Page 115 of All I Have Left

Immediately, his fingers close around mine, hard, reassuring. I don’t care that he’s hooked up to machines or how long we’re in this hospital because this moment between us, the love in his eyes is evident. My hands want to reach out and touch his face. Comfort the fear so honestly portrayed in them and the warmth of his skin beneath my palms.

We’re asked to leave after that as they increase his sedation again. He becomes too restless, trying to fight to move. A slight spike in his cranial pressure indicates he’s in pain.

“We’re taking it hour by hour again,” Leigha tells us, escorting me back to my room.

Julia stays with me. “We’re going to get through this,” she tells me.

“I’m so nervous about him waking up.”

She breathes in slowly, reaching for my hand. “Why?”

“What if he remembers?”

“The accident?”

Heat rises in my chest and I nod, but deep down, I want to scream that it wasn’t an accident. It was a vicious attack Shane planned out.

“If he does, we help him through that too. This isn’t going to be easy, honey. This is going to take a lot of physical therapy and mental, for both of you, but if anyone can get through something like this, it’s Grayson. And you. Have faith in yourselves.”

Faith? Could I?

The truth is, I have to. It’s the only way we’ll make it.

53

EVIE

Friday the Fourth of July, I’m released from the hospital in Birmingham. I see an orthopedic doctor that same day and my right hand is put in a hard cast that will remain for three weeks. Lance broke four bones in my hand with his knee and I hadn’t felt a thing. Goes to show you that emotional triumphs physical every time.

That night, I spend hours holding Grayson’s hand and get the first bit of good news. The pressure in his head is slowly starting to decrease. His catheter clots once and they have to clear the blockage, but other than that, he’s making progress.

It’s hard to leave the hospital and know it’s going to be a long time before he joins me—if he does.

My mom stays with me at the hotel, a room with a view of the hospital, and I keep my eyes on the second floor throughout the night. It’s not like I can see his room. There are no windows in his room, but it doesn’t stop me from keeping an eye on the hospital.

“He’s in good hands,” Mom tells me, handing me a Styrofoam cup of chicken noodle soup she’s begging me to try. “You need to get some rest and eat something so you can take your antibiotics.”

I take the cup in my hand, the smells of chicken and vegetables not as revolting as it had once been. “I keep thinking something is going to go wrong and I won’t be there when it happens.”

She sits next to me on the couch near the window I’m staring out, darkness surrounding us. Every once in a while, there’s a flash of color in the sky as people celebrate their independence. In many ways, I feel like ours has been ripped from our lives.

Mom touches her hand to my shoulder. “We keep our faith, baby girl. We keep praying.”

I take a sip of the soup and eventually finish it. I take my antibiotics and the pain medication and keep watching the lights in the sky. That’s when my mom opens up to me for the first time. I haven’t heard much about her struggles with my dad, until now, when she feels like I’m ready to hear about that time in her life.

“The first time your dad ever hit me, I told him I was sorry.” Tears flood her distant eyes, flashing with colors in the sky. I think of Grayson and his reaction to fireworks, my mind not on the conversation in front of me. And then she says, “Two days later, he hit me in the head so hard with a cast iron pan because Ethan threw up on him, I blacked out and don’t recall what happened after that. You guys were six months old at the time and I’d been unconscious for so long, your cries woke me up. He was nowhere to be found and there I was, blood all over my face and two babies that had been left alone for hours.”

“Had he given you any indication before that he was abusive?” I ask, daring to ask my first question. She’s yet to ask me anything about Shane, giving me space and time. That’s all my mom ever does for me—listens and waits for me to initiate the conversation. She’s the most patient, tender, giving person I know.

“No, not really. He had always had a quick temper, got in a lot of fights, but with me, no, never.” She brings the wine in her hand to her lips. I’m actually jealous she’s drinking. I wish Icould drown my pain and anxiety for what comes next in alcohol. “When I first met him, he had this undeniable charisma about him and a wild side. Coming from a very Catholic family, I wanted to be just like him. I felt like I was drawn to him by a magnet or something. Two weeks after I met him, he took my virginity in his Mustang.”

I raise an eyebrow at the coincidence of the Mustang. “He didn’t….”

“Yep. He had a Mustang. Same year as Shane’s even.”

“No wonder you cringed every time you heard Shane’s Mustang coming down the road.”

“That’s why.”

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