Page 40 of The Photo
Unfortunately, he can’t mend the hole in my heart with a sticky plaster and a daddy bear hug. It’s not his fault I was stuck in this godforsaken ward, minus a phone and contact with the outside world—Noah.
I remember my perfect level-headed plan to escape from the bedroom window. It was either that or get butchered by the masked asshole who left an imprint of his retina on my thumb.
Of course, I had to fall awkwardly.
Of course, I smacked my skull on impact.
Of course, I busted my ankle.
Of course, they cut off my ankle bracelet because of swelling.
I don’t do things by halves. I promise you that. It’s like setting my little heartbeats on the line, each one queuing patiently as the days pass, all of them pulsating for a man who’s left me to rot in a hospital bed without so much as a bunch of tulips. His career is important. I get that, but so am I.
A small torchlight shines in my wide stretched eyeball. The doctor's warm breath smells like milky tea and chocolate.
“You sustained a traumatic head injury, Rowan. Now that we’re happy with your progress, you can go home. The concussion will most likely fade over the next few months. You’ll be groggy for a while and may suffer from the odd spell of dizziness or irritability.” The doctor bends over and manipulates my ankle. A pinching sensation makes me yelp. “I’ve given your parents the post-concussion fact sheet.” He stands and slides a pen out of his shirt pocket. “As for your ankle. There are a few torn ligaments, so take your time walking. Don’t overdo it. When you're resting, keep it elevated.” His pen scratches the medical notes on the clipboard. “She’s all yours.” He nods at my dad and leaves.
Over the past few days I’ve endured a string of eye tests, an MRI scan and persistent questions. I’ve endured bland boiled chicken sandwiches and a middle-aged woman in the bed next to me, who talkedevery minute of every hour.I thought Chelsea was chatty, but this lady thought nothing of poking her head around my curtain to ask if I’d seen the rain clouds outside or to check if I'd like another packet of peanuts. She won me over eventually, when the peanuts kept flowing.
I was lucky. My parents visited most days, but poor Janet, or Jackie, or is it Jayne? Ugh! Short-term memory is a thing of the past since my head hit concrete. Anyway, Barbara was just lonely. No one came to see her. Even though my tolerance was fraying, I never turned her away from the foot of my bed, and in the evening, I offered her my custard and jelly pudding because it made her smile.
What I don’t remember is my arrival in the emergency room. The x-rays are a hazy blur and seeing my mother’s pale face is like a dream.
“Did they get my equipment back?” I wave to Barbara and keep limping to the exit.
My father drops his chin. “No, honey. They took everything.”
“My camera?”
“Uh-huh.”
“My laptop?”
“They cleared out the apartment, honey.”
Worst of all, when Chelsea stopped by to see me yesterday, she updated me on the whole trashy celeb website catastrophe. The unlawful thieves uploadedmyphotographs, and I’m getting the blame for it. According to Chelsea, Noah has been silent on social media since the whole incident unraveled.
I don't have his number stored anywhere other than on my stolen phone. Chelsea reached out to him from her personal social media account. When I asked if he replied, she just patted my hand and stayed silent, offering a sympathetic smile instead.
“Rest at home with us. It will do you a world of good.” Mother forces her positivity on me. She’s putting on a brave face because her eyes crease with concern. “I’ll make your favorite tomato soup. You need to eat something, Rowan.”
My heart rate slows. “I will, Mum.”
The car ride home to the suburbs stirs no joy, not even when I see our family home through the trees. Our seventies style house is modest with a wraparound garden. No matter the value, it holds the happiest, priceless memories. When I come home, it usually feels like my sanctuary. Unfortunately, it doesn’t feel like that today. Instead, I’m restless and numb.
“Here we are. Albert will be happy to see you again, Rowan.” Father winks in the rearview mirror and pulls up the handbrake.
A glimmer of love seeps back into my veins. Albert gives me unconditional love. He trusts me. He loves me. He worships me. He would never think badly of me. A pang of loneliness competes with sorrow. My ribs constrict and my shoulders sag.
I’ve been on a merry-go-round of emotions since I was admitted to the hospital without a single word from Noah. It’s obvious he thinks I betrayed him by selling photos for a life changing payout. That realization hurts me more than any bash to the brain. Just because I don’t have a pile of money stacked up doesn’t make me immoral or heartless.
We have a bond that overrides deception, or so I thought. I save my passwords and important information on my laptop's hard drive. There is no way to reach him, not that he wants to hear the truth. His silence is proof of that.
Mother helps me out of the car and along the path to our house. I don’t need assistance, but she longs to feel useful, and I’m happy to be close to her.
Inside, the hallway is cool, and a sweet smell of vanilla clings to the air. It’s a familiar aroma that hurtles me back to oversized aprons and wooden spoons slathered in frosting.
“I baked your favorite shortbread this morning.” Mother rubs my arm. “I’ll put the kettle on.”
