Cherish (Covet #1.5) (3 page)

“You heard the doctor. It’s going to take time. I’m happy to stay here if there’s someplace you’d rather be.”

I can tell he wants to argue, because that’s what Dylan does best, but his need to leave, to be unencumbered, far outweighs his willingness to win this match. He wants to leave so badly he can taste the freedom. Staying put is not in his repertoire.

He asks for my phone, and when I hand it to him, he keys in his number. “I’ll be back in a little while. Call me if anything happens.”

I’m probably the last person Dylan would choose to stay by Daniel’s side, but that just proves how desperate he is to leave.

He gives Daniel one last look and then bolts.

After my mom has come and gone and I’ve cleaned up a bit and changed clothes, I spend the next few hours alternating between the chair and Daniel’s bedside. I’ve run out of things to talk about because I haven’t spoken to him since the divorce, and it’s not like we have a lot of common ground right now. My feelings toward him, however, are nothing but tender. I loved him far too long to feel any differently.

Around lunchtime I leave Daniel’s side. I need to go to the bathroom and grab something to eat, and I want to check on the reserve officer. But when I walk past his room, it’s empty. My steps quicken as I burst through the door, my eyes searching for the cluster of police officers I spotted this morning. There are only two now. Officer Spinner is back, and he meets my expectant and still-hopeful look and shakes his head slowly.

I know it doesn’t mean that Daniel will also die, but at that moment the death of one is inexplicably linked to the other. Maybe the reserve officer was injured more severely than Daniel. Maybe he wasn’t as strong. Maybe there’s no way to make sense of any of this.

I rush past the officers and head for the nearest bathroom where I lock myself in a stall and try to catch my breath as I sob. All I can think about is the people who were surrounding the reserve officer’s bed.

I’m no longer hungry, but I buy a Sprite and some crackers from the vending machine. I walk the halls for five minutes, taking deep breaths and rolling my neck from side to side, working out the kinks.

Later, after keeping watch over Daniel for most of the afternoon and into the evening, I slump over in the chair, exhausted and emotionally worn out. I doze, amazed at how I’m now able to tune out the sounds of the machinery and ignore the near-constant presence of medical professionals.

Dylan doesn’t return.

CHAPTER FOUR

JESSIE

Mimi gently shakes me awake, tears cascading down her face. I pull her toward me, hugging her fiercely, and add my tears to hers. There is something inherently comforting about my former mother-in-law. Her body is soft and round, and she smells like Jergens cherry-almond lotion. I feel better already now that she and Jerry are here.

Jerry is standing next to Daniel’s bed, looking down at his son like he doesn’t know what to do or how to fix this. Mimi and I join him, both of us sniffling and trying to rein in our emotions.

I bring them up to speed on everything I know. “I’m sure there will be someone who can answer your questions. They’ve been wonderful to Daniel, and to me too.”

The room is already feeling a bit crowded, and this becomes even more noticeable when Dylan reappears fifteen minutes later as if he’s been magically teleported from wherever it is he went.

How does he do that?

Now that they’re all here, maybe they’re wondering if I’ll leave. Maybe they
want
me to leave. Free up some space for Mimi’s sister, Jackie, or one of Daniel’s friends or fellow officers.

Or Claire.

But Mimi looks like she’s about to fall asleep standing up, and if anything, Jerry is in even worse shape after being behind the wheel for twelve hours. It’s doubtful they stopped for anything other than gas and bathroom breaks, and they must be exhausted. I may be able to convince them to go home and get some rest once they’ve talked to a doctor, so I step out of the room and ask a nurse if there’s any way she can find someone to speak to Daniel’s parents.

“I’ll be happy to check for you,” she says, smiling.

She must have been successful because a doctor comes into the room moments later. It’s not Dr. Seering, but this doctor seems very aware of Daniel’s patient history, and he answers Mimi’s and Jerry’s questions kindly.

Mimi doesn’t want to leave, but Jerry and I convince her. “I won’t leave his side,” I tell her. “I’ll call you if anything changes. Please, Mimi. Let me do this.”

She finally relents, and when they all leave I pull the chair right up to the bed, reaching through the railing to hold Daniel’s hand, catching fragments of sleep until the sky lightens and Daniel begins to live another day.

CHAPTER FIVE

JESSIE

Mimi and I keep our vigil at Daniel’s bedside, joined by Jerry and sometimes Dylan, although his presence is less dependable and his whereabouts are apparently a secret, even to his parents. I overheard Mimi telling Dylan he was welcome to stay with them and Dylan replying vaguely that it wasn’t necessary. Mimi tried to hide her hurt expression and failed.

There has been very little change in Daniel, save for the fever that developed and spiked on the morning of the third day, which worried everyone, even the doctor. But we were told it wasn’t uncommon, and they were able to bring it back down fairly quickly. The stress and worry of the fever is counterbalanced when Daniel is successfully removed from the ventilator. I spend several hours watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Now we’re waiting for him to wake up. According to the doctor, it will be hard to determine the neurological damage the bullet left behind until he’s conscious and can speak or respond to commands. Mimi and I switch off fetching each other something to eat or drink, and we take turns catching some sleep on the little couch. Officer Spinner retrieved my car, so I’m able to run home every day for a quick shower.

The doctors seem a little flummoxed and have admitted that typically someone in Daniel’s situation should have awakened by now. The news sends Mimi into near hysterics, but the doctor reminds her that head injuries are a tricky thing.

“Don’t put too much stock in it,” he says, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder.

Now she’s quiet. They brought in another chair several days ago, and we sit next to each other amid the noise, watching as the nurses perform their litany of tasks, the order of which we’ve memorized.

We watch and we wait.

CHAPTER SIX

DANIEL

Voices.

Noise.

Blinding, excruciating pain.

Agony.

Darkness.

CHAPTER SEVEN

JESSIE

Mimi is down in the cafeteria the first time it happens. I might have missed it myself if I hadn’t been looking at Daniel at the exact moment his eyelids fluttered. Shooting up from my chair like it’s on fire, I lean over the bedrail and stare down at him.

Come on, Dan. Do it again.

His eyelids remain still. This doesn’t prevent me from practically screaming with joy when Mimi walks back into the room.

“He moved,” I say. “I mean his eyelids did. They fluttered.”

We stare down at him as if our combined hope will make him do it again. There is no further movement that day, but later when we tell the doctor, he smiles and says, “It’s a good sign. It means he’s starting to wake up.”

Emerging from a coma is not like waking up from regular sleep. When Daniel opens his eyes the next morning, they seem out of focus, and he shuts them almost as quickly, as if the light hurts him. But Mimi, Jerry, Dylan, and I all witness it, and the mood of the room improves palpably. There’s a celebratory feeling in the air as we surround his bed, cheering quietly as if he’s won a race.

Later that day, we step out of Daniel’s room and gather round as Dr. Seering tells us what we can expect.

“As Daniel emerges from the coma, he’ll become more responsive and aware of his surroundings. He’ll begin to follow verbal commands, but he may not follow them every time, so don’t get discouraged.”

“What kind of commands?” Mimi asks.

“Squeezing your hands, opening his eyes when you ask him to. As his immediate family, you are active members of his recovery team. You’ll need to help him adjust, slowly and calmly. Try not to overstimulate him, but encourage goal-directed responses.”

“Will he know who we are? What if his brain is too damaged?” Dylan asks.

It’s what everyone fears, but I turn sharply in his direction, wishing he’d used more tact, because the question causes Mimi’s eyes to fill with tears.

“One thing at a time,” Dr. Seering says evenly, and I want to throw my arms around him when he gives Dylan a pointed look and then reaches out to squeeze Mimi’s shoulder and give her an encouraging smile.

Around dinnertime, Mimi tries her best to elicit some activity from Daniel. “Can you squeeze my hand?” she asks hopefully, reaching through the rail to hold Daniel’s large, warm palm in her own.

He doesn’t squeeze back, and she looks crushed.

“Soon,” I tell her. “I bet he’ll squeeze back soon.” I convince Jerry to take Mimi down to the cafeteria for something to eat, and as soon as they leave, I approach Daniel’s bedside.

“Daniel. Open your eyes.”

Nothing happens.

I try again a few minutes later, a bit more urgency in my voice. “Daniel, I want you to open your eyes.” I’m rewarded for my efforts when he opens them briefly, but the way he’s looking at me, as if the lights are on but absolutely no one is home, scares me to death.
It means nothing
, I tell myself, and I don’t say anything to Mimi when she and Jerry return half an hour later.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JESSIE

We are given so much information over the next couple of days that I start to take notes, typing them into my phone and then transferring them into a small notebook I purchased in the hospital gift shop. I record all of Daniel’s movements and his responses to our commands.

It gives me purpose.

Daniel is now able to keep his eyes open for longer stretches, and he squeezes our hands almost every time we ask him to. But his gaze is still unfocused, which is noticed by everyone, and he hasn’t spoken. A verbal response is the next hurdle we need to clear, and Mimi is becoming more despondent by the hour, especially when Daniel keeps his eyes closed for a twelve-hour stretch. Progress in the ICU seems to follow the adage of “one step forward and two steps back,” so I try to buoy her spirits.

“Let’s not get too discouraged. Tomorrow will be better,” I promise.

Though I had no way of knowing just how true that promise would be when I uttered it, the next day brings a miracle. Shortly after nine a.m., Daniel opens his eyes, focuses intently on my face, which is right in front of him because I’m pulling up his blanket, and croaks out the word “Honey.”

Mimi and I start to cry, but they are tears of joy.

Now we can wait patiently and optimistically for whatever comes next, because we know the significance of that word.

We know it means Daniel’s brain will be fine.

When we tell Dr. Seering about it during afternoon rounds, he is cautiously optimistic. “His progress is very encouraging. You’re obviously contributing positively to his recovery, so keep it up.”

“What can we expect next?” I ask.

“There should be continued improvement, but Daniel will likely experience periods of confusion and agitation as he leaves the depths of his coma behind. He may even become combative. We can give you some techniques to help de-escalate and redirect him. The road will be bumpy for a while, but that’s to be expected. It’s fine as long as he keeps making progress.”

Mimi, Jerry, and I—and sometimes Dylan—have become a well-oiled machine when it comes to taking care of Daniel. I’m becoming more aware of my reluctance to bow out and let them take it from here.

I want to stay.

I want to help.

We share the good news about Daniel’s recovery with Officer Spinner. There is much to rejoice about, and the news spreads quickly, especially as the encouraging updates continue. Over the next few days, Daniel recognizes and responds verbally to me, his parents, and Dylan. But we push him too hard one day, asking too many questions.

“Shut up,” Daniel says, yelling at us to leave him alone and jerking his arm away when Jerry tries to soothe him. There’s a hardness in his voice that startles us all, and we let him be.

We have to tell Daniel at least three times that he’s been shot because he keeps forgetting. His brain is like a sieve, and it seems as if everything we tell him leaks right back out; there’s really no way to plug the holes. His frustration is evident by the way he scowls and snaps at us, but I can’t tell if the frustration comes from not remembering anything we tell him or because he
knows
he can’t remember.

The next day when I’m trying to pull up the sheet to cover his chest in case he’s cold, he pushes my hands away.

“Why are you even here?” he yells.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t want you to help me.”

I back away. “Okay. I’ll just…‌be back later.”

“Don’t bother.”

One of the nurses witnessed our exchange, and later, out in the hall, she says, “Don’t take it personally, dear. In my experience, people treat the ones they love the worst.”

“It’s okay. Really.”

Because if anyone knows the truth in those words, it’s me.

CHAPTER NINE

DANIEL

I feel like I’ve been flung into another dimension, one that’s full of pain, disorientation, and confusion. I’m constantly poked and prodded and asked to perform on command.

Everything hurts.

I can’t remember anything they tell me.

All I want them to do is leave me alone so I can sleep and escape from the pain. They actually forced me to get out of bed and stand, and the exertion made me puke because it felt like my head was splitting in two.