Made in America (24 page)

Raven steps away from me, going over to the side of Amanda’s bed. My present gazes down at my past, admiring it.

“So she meant something to you?” she asks.

“She did. She still does.”

“What happened to her?”

“When we were nineteen years old we were coming back from one of Amanda’s adventures. She always liked to surprise me with stuff, and she’d arranged for this whole bed and breakfast weekend in Connecticut. Somewhere near Hartford. It was August, the sun was shining, the top was down, and we didn’t have a care in the world. She was sitting back in her seat with her feet hanging off the mirror, letting the breeze tickle her toes. I was driving, laughing along at her silly faces, watching the wind mess up her hair. She was…beautiful. So carefree and full of life. Kind of like you.”

She looks up at me then. Staring into my eyes as I continue.

“She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

“Grant,” Raven says, her expression already sensing what’s to come. “You don’t have to—”

“There was a logging truck that had been in an accident, only no one had arrived to help yet. It was just there, in the middle of the road, around a corner that I insisted on taking without slowing down. Amanda was joking about this video game we played,
Need for Speed
, sort of daring me to drive like we were in the game. At first I wasn’t going to because I was nervous she wasn’t buckled in, but she just had this way about her. A way that could get me to do anything. I took the corner, saw everything too late, and crashed. Amanda was thrown from the car a good seventy-five yards, ten of which I think she skidded. By the time anyone found us, it was a disaster.”

A tear streams down my cheek. I didn’t even realize my eyes were swelling up, but now that I do, it’s hard to keep my emotions in check. I look away, not wanting Raven to see me this way, but like the compassionate person she is, her feet find their way to my side, and her hand to my shoulder.

“Hey,” she whispers. “It’s okay.”

“The swelling, the bleeding, it was too much. They tried everything, but when it was all said and done Amanda fell into a coma, and she hasn’t woken for nearly ten years…until two nights ago.”

I turn my head to look at Raven. Her eyes widen as she whispers, “The phone call.”

“The phone call,” I echo. “I asked to be notified of any changes in her condition, day or night. I had to come, Raven, and there was too much to explain. There wasn’t enough time. I was hoping that if I got here quick enough I’d be able to see it for myself—hoping that I’d get to talk to her one last time—but I didn’t.”

“One last time?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking down at Amanda. She’s still beautiful, still the same girl I keep close to my heart. Still the same girl I fell in love with when I was five-years-old, and still the same girl I wanted to spend the rest of my life with when we turned eighteen.

It hits me, all at once. Partly because it’s been so long since I’ve thought about the relationship Amanda and I once had, but mostly because I realize that what we once had has now been lost, and I never got to say goodbye.

“She’s moved on, Raven. She was in an anoxic coma, but she’s transitioned into PVS.”

“PVS?”

“A persistent vegetative state.”

“Oh God,” she gasps.

“Amanda’s a vegetable, Raven, and she’s also my wife.”

- 25 -

Raven

“Raven, come back!” Grant shouts after me as I run down the hall.

My chest tightens with each frantic step and my pulse races. I can hear my heartbeat in my eardrums, the blood pumping pumping pumping. Rushing to get me the air I need. A big, deep breath of air that will fill my lungs and allow me to exhale all the pain I’m feeling inside.

Finding the stairwell, I take them two at a time until I spot the first exit sign I see and emerge from the hospital like a newborn emerging from the birth canal, because that’s what I feel like right now.

A newborn.

Someone who knows nothing. Someone who is completely in the dark about what came before them.

I put my hands on my knees and breathe deep; my vision becoming blurry with emotion as my throat clenches shut before a mammoth sob escapes it. A wife? All this time, Grant’s been married, and he never bothered to say a word because…

…because she’s been in a coma.

My brain tries to tell me that makes it okay. That just because the woman he married has been MIA for nearly ten years gives him the right to fall in love with me. To not say a damn word about his past for fear that I’ll leave him.

The irony of it all is that if he had of just told me from the beginning—told me that he was married to a woman who’s in a coma—I might have been a little more understanding.

“Taxi!” I shout to a nearby cab.

“Miss Young,” someone calls.

I look to see the same driver I came in with from the airport. No doubt one of Grant’s. I bet he knew this whole time that I was coming.

Fucking Abel.

The cab pulls up to the curb and I hurry in. “BWI,” I tell the man behind the wheel.

He speeds off and I collapse back against the leather seats, my chest heaving. The tears flow freely while I process everything. Or rather, try and process everything. It feels like every neuron in my brain is fried, like someone poured water on the computer in my head. It sparks and pops, unable to comprehend the last month.

“Miss, are you okay?” the cabbie asks.

I blink and swipe at my eyes. His ID says Edmond Hussein. He’s dark skinned, with a big bushy mustache and concerned eyes that gaze back at me in the rearview. There’s a gold wedding band on his ring finger, and pictures of two little girls on the dash.

“Yeah,” I sniff. “I’m fine.”

Edmond shakes his head. “You don’t look fine. You look broken.”

I stare out the window, watching as we roll down the Parkway and the buildings give way to trees and foliage the closer we come to the airport.

“Aren’t we all broken?” I murmur.

“Raven?” Tito says, surprised to see me when he answers the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

I try and save face; try to not let the last few hours show in my eyes until I’m inside, but standing there with my arms at my side, seeing the look of concern on my best friend’s face—it’s too much, and everything catches up with me all at once.

I collapse into his arms, crying uncontrollably while he rubs my back.

“Shh, baby doll. It’s okay. C’mon inside.”

Tito leads me into the living room he and Frankie share, setting me down gingerly on the couch. He disappears for a moment before returning with a bottle of watermelon punch.

“Here, drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

I take the bottle, managing a laugh as he sits down next to me with a box of tissues.

“You always know how to cheer me up,” I tell him. Then I take a good, long pull off the bottle and let the alcohol go to work warming my system.

“So c’mon, spill it. What happened?”

“God, Tito, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try the beginning,” he says. “That always seems to work for me.”

I nod, take a deep breath, and tell him everything. It all comes out in a big, jumbled mess, and a few times I have to stop to make sure I’m getting the order right, but by the time I’m done he’s heard all of it, from top to bottom, beginning to end, and my face feels like a puffy, bloated mess from crying so hard.

Tito says nothing. He stayed quiet as I talked, and he’s staying quiet now that I’m finished. Blowing my nose, I wait for him to say something—anything—but all he does is sit there, looking toward me but not at me.

“Well?” I shrug hopelessly. “What do you think?”

“I think,” he finally says, his eyes meeting mine, “that this is a very complicated situation.”

“Well that’s the fucking understatement of the year, don’t you think?” I roll my eyes, taking the last swig of my cooler. Then, throwing myself like a petulant child back against the couch I groan, “Tito, what am I going to do?”

“What do you want to do, Rave?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Do you love him?”

“I told him I did,” I mumble.

“That’s not what I asked. Do you love him?”

I stare at the blank TV set, thinking long and hard about my answer. The reflection of the two of us stares back at me. Still and unmoving. Images of Grant flash in my mind, and I take to heart how they make me feel. His smile, his body, his filthy mouth—but more than that, I think about the way he treats me. The way he looks at me. When I look past the hunger in his eyes, I see someone who genuinely admires me. Someone who cherishes the time we spend together. From the first moment I saw him, it felt like Grant knew the real me.

How can I not love someone like that?

“I do,” I answer softly. “I really do.”

Tito scoots closer and puts his arm around me. He smells like strawberries and Axe body wash. “Then you have to make it right.”

“I have to make it right? He’s the one who’s been hiding this secret. Why do I have to make it right?”

“Because, baby doll, it’s not his fault. Not in the way you might think.”

“Okay, now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“Put yourself in Grant’s shoes, Rave. You’re young, you fall in love, get married, and all of a sudden the life you once knew is ripped from your heart. I mean, from the sounds of it this girl was his everything, and he’s been carrying that around for ten years. Then all of a sudden there you are. Making him feel things he thought he’d never feel again. He’s confused. He’s torn. What would you have done if he told you the truth right from the start?”

“I would have been understanding about the whole thing.”

“But would you have stayed?”

“I…” Shutting my mouth, it dawns on me that I shouldn’t be so quick to answer.

My own relationships have been less than stellar. Cheating, the absence of any sort of connection…my luck with men has been snake eyes on the roll of the dice. Who’s to say that if Grant told me the truth from the get-go I wouldn’t have seen that as way too much baggage and took off?

Then I’d never’ve known the man behind the empire. The man behind all that money. I wouldn’t have gotten to know him, and he wouldn’t have been able to get to know me. Know my past, my heart. I wouldn’t have fallen in love, and I wouldn’t be here now feeling broken.

Tito’s right. In hindsight I don’t think I would have stayed. It would have been impossible to justify.

“No,” I whisper.

Tito nods. “I know you wouldn’t have, and so does Grant.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” I pout.

Tito hugs me closer. “No, it doesn’t. But if you really love him, you’ll fight for that.”

“Shouldn’t he be the one fighting for me?”

“Possibly, but I think Huffy’s game might be a little off considering the circumstances. Don’t you?”

Breathing deep and exhaling an exhausted rush of air, I don’t know what to think right now. This is all so messed up and it feels like whatever I do is going to make things worse. I’m sure Grant doesn’t blame me for storming out of the hospital like I did, but if I see him, I don’t know what my reaction is going to be, and that scares me. I do love him, but no matter what, this whole thing has changed us, and only time will tell if that’s for the better or not.

And that’s what I need.

Time.

A lot of time.

Sitting forward, I reach for my purse and start digging. When my fingers clench around my cell phone, I pull it out and glance at Tito, who’s watching me with an interested arch of his brow.

“Rave? What are you doing?”

“Trust me. I’m doing the only thing I can think to do right now that seems even remotely sane.”

Pulling up Grant’s number, my thumbs send a text.

I’m okay. I just need time.

Hitting send, I collapse back on the couch and wait for his response. Before I know it, my phone is buzzing in my hand and Tito’s looking on expectantly.

“That didn’t take long,” I murmur.

GRANT: Take all the time you need. I’ll be here for us when you’re ready.

I show the reply to Tito before chucking the phone back into my purse, and curling up in the crook of his arm.

“It’ll be okay, baby doll,” he says, rubbing my shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

- 26 -

Grant

“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Huffman,” Eloise smiles.

She sets the mug down on my desk and makes her way toward the door. Watching her leave, I admire her fragile frame adorned conservatively in an ankle-length black skirt and flowered blouse. Her salt and pepper hair is tied up in a severe bun, reminding me of a librarian—only less sexy.

I take a sip of my coffee and scowl. “This is all wrong. Again,” I bark.

She spins, a look of disappointment on her weathered face. “Oh?” she hesitates.

“I take two sugars and one cream, not one sugar and two creams.”

“I’m very sorry, sir,” she says upon her approach. “Let me take care of that for you.” She reaches out her liver-spotted hand to take my cup, but I pull it away.

“How many times do I have to tell you? You’ve been here three days and have gotten it wrong every single time.”

“Sir, I—”

“Never mind. You’re fired. Get out.”

Eloise flinches, stiffening her spine. She stands there, staring down at me while I busy myself with the mountain of work that’s slowly been piling up since Raven’s sabbatical began.

“Come on,” I say, not bothering to look up from my laptop. “You’re, what? Sixty years old? I’m sure this isn’t the first time you’ve been fired.”

She gasps, bringing her ancient hand to her neck while trying to remain graceful. I look up then, feeling slightly ashamed of my comment, but not really giving the feeling much thought because ever since Raven left I’ve been bombarded with incompetent assistants I’ve had to rely on a temp agency to find, and none of them have lived up to my standards.