Page 11 of Heal For Me

Henry claps me on the shoulder and squeezes. “None of the Pearson boys make great decisions when intoxicated. Remember when Dad thought it would be a good idea to paint the living room while liquored?”

I snort at the memory. “That color was awful.”

“Yes, it was, and Mum was pissed.”

For whatever reason, Dad thought a great anniversary present idea was to paint the living room pink. He says it was mauve when he picked it out, but it wasn’t. We woke up to pink walls and paint basically everywhere else in the room. Dad never touched a paint brush or tequila again. These are the moments I appreciate with Henry, reliving dumb stuff from our past, but it doesn’t change what was said in the hospital. It’s been weighing heavy in the back of my mind ever since.

We reach the locker rooms, and I pause, causing Henry to look at me.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said in the hospital room.”

“Don’t, I was a wanker.”

“Yes, you were,” I joke. “But so was I. And what you said about me not being there when Bridget was in the hospital is true. I should have been there, and I’m sorry.”

Henry’s face fills with equal parts acceptance and agony. He taps my arm on his way to the shower and I know that’s his way of accepting my apology. Henry loves to talk, but not when it comes to Bridget. What happened with Bridget isn’t something he likes to relive. It was a difficult time for the entire family. Mum used to cry every night worried about Henry and his mental state. I didn’t know that at the time, but Grace filled me in after the fact. It only sucked more knowing everyone was struggling and I was completely unaware. I knew about Bridget and the whole situation, but not about the aftereffect. If I wasn’t so selfish, I could have assumed, but I was at the peak of my career, young and blind to anything outside of what was directly in front of me. I’ll never forgive myself for not being there for my family, and I’ll never miss a big moment like that again.

For the first time in a while, hope blooms in my chest. I’m trying to not let it become overpowering, but the more the doctor speaks on Payson’s tests and the positive results, it’s not easy. He’s saying everything looks good from a medical perspective, the only thing to do now is wait for her to wake up and see what they are working with.

“Can we help her wake up?” Janelle asks the question that’s been simmering in the back of my mind.

The doctor purses his lips. “Kind of. There have been more studies lately that show coma patients are more likely to react to pleasant things from their life. Familiar smells, voices, touches.”

“Like her favorite lotion and song?”

“Yes, that, and holding her hand.” He gestures to Payson’s hand in hers. I dropped her hand when he walked in, like I do every time. I’m trying to come across as a caring coach, it’s difficult, but I think I have them fooled. Well, besides the nurse I had to give a hundred to keep quiet after she caught me kissing Payson on the lips. It was a simple peck, and I didn’t notice her behind me, but she saw and looked surprised when she did. I doubt she would have blabbed, but money can be an extra incentive to not do that. “Favorite television show or movie. Candles, food.”

We mutter to ourselves, planning to get things that Payson loves and bring them here. Jethro offers to bring Janelle by Paul’s place to grab a few of Payson things; it’s probably best we get most of her stuff out of there anyway, the less Payson has to go there when she wakes, the better. I’ll bring her by whenever, especially since Paul left it to her in his will, but I think it’s best we do it when she wants to, and not when she needs a hairbrush or something similar.

“Can you sit with her for a moment?” I ask Mum.

“Of course.” She picks up her knitting needles and moves closer to Payson’s head where Janelle was. I kiss Payson’s knuckles before following after the doctor. I find him at the nurses’ station scratching away on the clipboard, probably charting all the stuff he discussed with us.

“Doctor?”

He glances up and pulls his glasses off. “Yes?”

I suck in a breath, not sure how to word this. “What is it really going to look like when she wakes?”

He swallows, and flattens his lips, hopefully not about to sugarcoat it for me. That’s not what I want. I want to be prepared for the worst, so if it doesn’t happen, it won’t feel so bad. He lowers the clipboard and gestures for me to follow a few feet down the hall where there is no foot traffic.

“This is the easy part. Payson’s tests have all come back good, but that’s just the medical side of it. She was dead for three minutes, in a coma for the past couple weeks. There is going to be some kind of lasting affect, we just can’t be sure what it will be until she’s awake.”

“What are the possibilities?”

“Well, there are so many—”

“What are the odds she wakes up and remembers everything and it’s just like she left off?”

He flattens his lips, and my stomach plummets. “It’s not likely. Her mind will most likely make her forget what landed her here, the brain has a funny way of protecting us during the hard moments. She could remember everything up to the point she decided to . . .” He pauses, leveling his stare, and I nod, signaling he doesn’t need to finish. “But we won’t know until she wakes.

“Then there is the mental side of things that will need to be discussed.”

“Like?” I ask, confused on what he could mean since he said everything is okay.

“Rehab. A healing center. Payson has serious issues that need to be addressed and handled before she ends up here again for the same reason. Or somewhere else for a worse reason.”

There are those words again. Help Center. I don’t get it; he doesn’t know I am her help center.

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