Chasing Stars (42 page)

In a daze, I try unsuccessfully to open my heavy lids. I hear a constant and irritating beep and a strong smell of bleach burns my nostrils.

Confused, I try to remember where I am. For a moment, I think of the days when I used to date random guys and would wake up with the same disorientation. I mentally smile, that’s no longer the case. I am reassured with the memory of the consistent warmth of Will’s embrace, protecting me every morning. But where is he? Again, I attempt to open my eyes, but fail.

“Will,” I croak through parched lips.

“Oh, baby. I’m right here.” I sense his fingers tightening their grip around my hand. My chapped lips curve up in a tentative smile. I grimace. The slight movement causes extreme pain through my head. Boy, I must be in bad shape. But Will is next to me, and I can sense his love wrapping around me.

I perceive Will shifting from my side. A wave of desperation runs through me. He must notice my agitation, because he whispers, “I’m here, baby, I’m not leaving you.”

“Nurse, Portia is awake,” he says, through what I think is a phone.

“We’ll be right in.” I cringe, at the sound of the nurse’s voice through a speaker. I hate hospitals.

“Water,” I moan.

“Hold on, baby, the nurse needs to check you first.”

I still can’t open my eyes, but I can hear the cry in his voice.

“Come here,” I whisper.

His soft lips trail tender kisses on my face. I feel his tears wetting my skin. I try to reach for him, but the movement sends a sharp pain through my chest. I groan.

“Shhh. Don’t try to move,” he whispers against my ears. His hand lightly strokes my hair. “I am right here. I love you so much. I am so happy you are back. It’s been so lonely without you.” The warmth of his breath comforts me. All I want is for him to take me home, to our meadow, to our dreams, and to our lovemaking sanctuary.

“Excuse me.” I hear rushed steps approaching. “Will, can you wait outside so we can examine Portia?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Will growls and I smile inwardly. My fingers feebly squeeze his hand.

“Oh, well, I paged her doctor, lovebirds. He will be right in.” There is a smile in her voice.

“Honey, can you open your eyes?” The nurse asks me kindly.

“No, I want to sleep,” I say, “And water.”

“Hang in there, honey, the doctor will be right in.” She begins to probe, checking my temperature, and vitals. Within a few minutes, a doctor enters the room.

“How is our celebrity patient, ready to sign some autographs?” I hear the voice of an older man. Before I can answer, he proceeds.

“I am Doctor Schumacher, the neurosurgeon on call tonight. I need to check you.” He pauses. “I am assuming it will …be too stressful to ask the husband to leave the room?”

“I am not moving away from her.”

I cringe, moan, and with a great deal of effort open my lids.

“I thought so.” He smiles and his fingers begin probing me. “What’s your name, honey?” He flashes a light in my eye.

“Portia Miller,” I mumble.

“Oh, I understand you are newlyweds. Congratulations!”

I spend what seems like an hour responding to silly questions. But mostly, grimacing in pain when injured parts of my body are touched. Another two doctors join in, and they poke me and check my body like it’s a sack of potatoes.

Frustration runs through me, when I realize I have no recollection of the accident. One of the doctors reassures me it is common. In time, fragments of the accident might unravel in my mind.

In what seems an eternity, they clear me for chipped ice. Seriously, I am dying of thirst and all I get is ice. Being in a hospital bed must have robbed me of my mojo, because the doctors were adamant about it, even when I begged.

Exhausted, I am relieved when they leave my room.

“Baby, I need to make some phone calls. Your family, Stefan, my family, they’ve been worried sick about you.”

“No, lie down with me. I am so tired,” I moan, and yawn.

I look at Will. His face is stubbly, his eyes are sunken with dark circles underneath, and his hair is completely disheveled. He has lost weight. A lot. My heart swells with love and compassion for him.

He climbs in bed with me, and I snuggle inside his warmth.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“Three thirty in the morning,” Will says.

“Sleep with me, tomorrow you call them,” I offer, in a whisper.

“Yeah, it will be better to call them in the morning.” His fingers gently skim my face, and he plants light kisses on my hair, my eyes, my nose, and my lips.

“You want more ice?” he asks.

“No, I just want you,” I murmur, my mind diving into unconsciousness.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.” Is the last thing I hear him saying.

When I open my eyes I see dad sitting on the chair Will occupied last night. His eyes are closed and his hand holds mine. He appears pale and sad. No, broken. Dad has a wretched expression that pierces my heart. I feel the tears burn my eyes, and hear the monitor beeping as my heart rate increases.

Dad eyes fly open and his pained stare meet mine. “Portia,” he sobs.

I can’t answer. I have never seen dad so unkempt. His shirt is crumpled and he is poorly groomed. Heavy tears roll on his scruffy cheek. I remain quiet, partly because I feel weak, but mostly because dad’s behavior confuses me.

“Where is Will?” I finally ask, panicking with his absence.

“He is outside the room calling Dan, and Stefan.” Dad says. I truly don’t recognize his voice. It sounds grief-stricken.

Again, silence seizes me.

“The nurses gave me an update when I got here. Oh Portia, you got me so worried.” He says vainly wiping his face. Tears stream down fiercely. Now I am beyond puzzled.

I glance at the wall clock and frown. It is five-thirty. Why is dad here so early, did Will call him while I slept?

Dad must recognize my confused expression.

“I haven’t been sleeping well, so I usually come early in the morning.”

The news has me stunned. Why do I have the impression dad is genuinely distressed?

“Oh, Portia, this is not the time or place, but I need to ask you to forgive me. I cant be another second without your forgiveness. The pain of almost losing you has showed me how pathetic a father I am,” he wipes his nose, and continues. “All your life I neglected you. Please give me a second chance to be the dad I always knew you craved but never had the courage to be. I am sorry Portia. I am so sorry. Please give me a second chance.” He chokes.

“Daddy…”

“Portia, please give me a second chance.”

“I love you so much, daddy…” Tears, heavy with the pain I’ve carried, roll down my face. “Don’t be upset. You don’t have to say anything, Daddy. The only thing that matters is that you are here with me.”

“I love you, Portia. I will make it up to you. I don’t want to ever lose you again.”

He brings my hand to his lips and closes his eyes. A sigh escapes his mouth. A healing silence envelops us. For a moment we just relish on the love humming in between us.

Will enters the room.

“Hey babe, I called your mom, Tarry, Nick, Dan and Stefan. They will come over later in the morning.” He hands dad a cup. “Here Dad, I got you a coffee.”

He circles the bed and sits next to me. I look from dad to Will and back at dad. What happen when I was in a coma? Did Will just called dad by Dad?

I restrain from commenting. Dad stands up. “I am going to the restroom.” He informs.

As soon as the door closes, I turn to Will. “Dad?”

“You caught on that, huh.” He says smiling. “A lot happened while you were out. We’ll talk later.” He kisses my head. “How are you feeling?”

“Sleepy…” I yawn.

“Get some rest baby. We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Certain of that, a feeble smile crosses my lips, as sleep drags me under.

For almost a month, we endured the awful hospital bed. The nurses, who initially reproached me for sleeping with Portia, eventually gave in and ignored us. I guess we violated their policies. Oh, well. As Stefan said once, we have to act the part and so I acted as if we were entitled to break the rules. I would be ashamed of doing that under different circumstances, but there was no way I would stay away from Portia during her stay there.

Finally, the doctors decide to discharge Portia. But she is going home with orders to continue an intensive schedule of physical therapy. We dodged the press and left the hospital without journalists and paparazzi bombarding us. The drive from Manhattan to Connecticut is the longest and most excruciating one of my life. At every bump, I sense Portia’s body tense. Even though she never complains, I notice her wincing at times. She is braver than so many people I know. My hand holds hers. I bring it to my lips and plant a kiss on her knuckles.

She still has a cast on her left leg, a splint on her right hand, and wears a soft collar. Her ribs have yet to completely heal.

Tarry has gone back to London, and Niki went back to LA. Her mother left too. She stayed in Manhattan for two weeks, during which she insisted I was a famous musician. I have no idea why.

Stefan stayed at the hospital as a spokesperson for Portia. He is doing a press conference as we drive home. He convinced Portia to release a small video to the press, and to post on her official web page later today. He feels that the fans deserve a private message. Portia agreed, recognizing the outpouring of prayers and concern she received. Stefan has also arranged for a visit from the nurse who administered first aid to her, at the scene of the accident. Apparently, the man became an instant celebrity. Amazingly, never once, did he breach her privacy during the numerous interviews he granted to the media.

Mr. McGee, who now I call Dad insisted Portia stay at his city apartment with quick access to the best therapists and doctors in the nation. But Portia would not even consider it. She claimed the best therapy for her, was to be home with her family. I didn’t say anything, but I caught the sting of her voice when she said that. In all honesty, I think she remains a little fearful of him rejecting her again. Although she won’t admit it, I know inside that she is thrilled he has displayed some sort of regret during her stay at the hospital. However, at this point she is shielding herself from being hurt again. She still has difficulty believing that he only left her bedside for a few hours at a time. Seeing his remorse and suffering first hand has made me sympathetic to him. Therefore I even agreed to call him dad. Which now caused Portia to insist we also call Dan and Maritza by mom and dad. Surprisingly, I love it. Honest truth.

Dan and Maritza, I mean, mom and dad offered their home to us. Portia flashed her mesmerizing smile, albeit slower than she did before the accident. Although she was genuinely grateful, she declined.

When I confronted her about the barn being the best place for therapy, she smiled at me and said, “Will, we both know, PT stands for pain and torture. Since I have to continue to endure it, I will do so at our secret haven.” That settled it for me and, though I worry if the place is the most suitable and comfortable place for her to receive rehabilitation and continue her healing, inside I am thrilled to be back at our little piece of heaven.

“We changed a few things in the barn, while we were at the hospital. Lucas hired a contractor to add a kitchen,” I inform Portia, who is silently observing the woods.

“That’s good, Will,” she says.

I pull over and park at the barn and then I exhale with relief. This was the hardest damn drive of my life.

“Welcome back home, baby.” My gaze captures hers, and I choke up a bit when I notice she is crying.

“What’s the matter?” I tuck her hair behind her ear.

“Will, could carry me to the meadow?” she asks.

“Oh, baby, we have to take it easy. The doctors were very clear. You need the rest to heal.”

“Well, technically, you are doing all the heavy lifting.” She frowns. “I must weigh a ton with this heavy cast.”

Unable to deny her simple wish, I inhale, and say. “OK, baby, I’ll take you there, but only for a few minutes.”