Page 81 of Nothing Less than Magic
“Where do you want me to start? Because I don’t remember a whole lot of the accident.”
“It was awful, I can tell you that. Sly and I caught the first flight out. By the time we got to the hospital, they’d already induced you.”
I didn’t know Wallace had been to the hospital, though I’m not surprised. One of the things I love best about him is how much of a family man he is. He has eight nieces and six nephews he dotes on, and two brothers and a sister, who are his best friends.
“You were so pale, Chelsea. Sly was beside himself. And Lolly . . . what can I say? You know how she is. Doesn’t give anything away, that girl. But she was dying inside. No one could see that better than me. She’s not the mystery she thinks she is.”
I laugh, but I beg to differ. She’s a complete mystery to me. She shows up at my bedside as if she cares, then leaves without ever saying goodbye. And never calls again. Who does that? Especially your own flesh and blood? I want the Lolly in my dream. At least there, she was willing to meet me halfway.
“Well, anyway, thank God you’re here.” He pulls me in for another hug, then points to the plate he’s piled high with cheeses and fruit. “Now eat. You’re wasting away.”
I nibble on a piece of the Manchego, even though my stomach is still recovering from the stop-and-go of the cab ride. “The place looks great.”
I note that the drapes have been drawn, hiding the view, and know instinctively that’s it’s been done for my sake. Because of my fear of heights. This is where it started, where my acrophobia first took root when I was just twelve years old. No mystery why. No psychology degree needed.
Wallace glances around the apartment as if he’s seeing it for the first time. “Doesn’t it, though? It was six months of construction hell but worth it.”
He stops hovering and sits down beside me. “Enough small talk. What’s the deal with you and Austin? Sly says he never left your side at the hospital and has been there every day since.”
“Yeah, he’s been really good.” I let out a long sigh. “Great, even.”
He leans in. “And yet you sound miserable about it. Why is that?”
“I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, when he left, I had no warning. Nothing. One day we were this perfect couple, and the next, he was packing up and leaving. He didn’t even give a good reason. Then he gets engaged to this woman Mary, who apparently he’s no longer engaged to.”
“People make mistakes, Chelsea. Maybe it took a crisis to see what he had in you, what he could’ve lost. Perhaps he’s worth giving a second chance is all I’m saying. But I’m no marriage expert, not like you.”
“I don’t feel like much of an expert anymore. The coma really messed with my head.” I laugh at my unintentional pun. “And now I’m all mixed up.”
“How so, sweetheart?”
“Did Uncle Sylvester tell you about my dreams? While I was in the coma, I had this incredibly lifelike hallucination. I was myself, but at the same time, I was different. I had all these friends and social activities. I know that doesn’t make sense, but it was as if I was living a completely new life. And this is the thing, Wallace. I liked that life better than my real one.”
He rests his hand on top of mine. “Sly told me a little bit about it. This is what’s important to remember. What happened to you is beyond traumatic. You almost died, Chelsea. Hallucination or no hallucination, you don’t just automatically bounce back from that. It’s a process. You give yourself time to heal physically—and mentally.” He looks at me, really looks. “And you know, it might not be a bad idea to talk to someone . . . a professional.”
“I am a professional.”
“Of course you are.” He waves his hand in the air. “But you know what they say. ‘She who represents herself has a fool for a client.’ ”
“That’s for lawyers, not psychologists.” I stifle a laugh.
“You get the gist.” He squeezes my shoulder. “You need someone who specializes in this sort of thing, someone who can be objective. Someone who understands these dreams you had. And let me just suggest this, if you loved the life you hallucinated, why not create it in your real life? A young woman like you shouldn’t work so hard. You should have lots of friends and a calendar full of social events.”
I don’t know why, because I probably sound like a lunatic, but I blurt, “But there wouldn’t be Knox Hart.”
“Who’s Knox Hart?”
“A man in my hallucination.”
“Ah, the plot thickens, as your Uncle Sylvester would say.”
Yes, the plot always thickens. Or as Uncle Sylvester’s favorite screenplay writer Jim Thompson would say, “There is only one plot—things are not what they seem.”
“And could this Knox fellow represent someone real in your life? Because it seems unlikely, at least from what I know about dreams, that you pulled him out of thin air. Austin maybe?”
“Not Austin, definitely not Austin. And I don’t think so. Don’t think I’m nuts, but I’ve done extensive research to track him down, and he simply doesn’t exist.” I tell Wallace about my ER doctor and the power of suggestion.
“Is the ER doc single?” Wallace waggles his brows.
