Remember Our Song (4 page)

“Try to stay calm, Beatrice, I know this isn’t easy to take in.”

“You don’t know shit,” I sobbed.

“Well, that’s true I suppose.  But I do know that it isn’t good for you to get worked up.  Don’t try to force anything, just let your mind wander a bit for now.  I know it doesn’t look like I’m good for much, but I can at least give you a bit more morphine, I noticed you haven’t pressed the button to administer it yourself yet.  You don’t need to worry, it’s all carefully controlled, you won’t accidentally overdose yourself.”

“I don’t need it.”

“A break like that?  All those pins in your leg?  You need it.”

Doctor Jensen pressed the button connected to something that was connected to my I.V drip and a few moments later the throbbing in my leg started dying down, though the pain in my head seemed a bit harder to touch.  Gradually I felt calm and lucid and looked at my doctor, who was writing something on that clipboard that spent its days attached to the foot of my bed.

“What now?” I asked.

“Just rest.  Tomorrow though… Jeremy is still here.  He would like to see you, maybe have a quick talk.  It’s totally up to you, though.”

I sighed, “OK.  I guess.  I’m really married? 
Married?
”

Doctor Jensen held up his hands, “Don’t look at me, I just work here.”

“Where’s my wedding ring?”

“Any
jewelry would have been taken off for your surgeries, I would think Jeremy has it.”

“Oh boy.”

*****

The next day dawned bright with the sun shining through the curtains.  I wasn’t sure how much sleep I’d had, I was so nervous about the meeting, but the sunrise certainly sneaked up on me, so I must have dozed off at least a little bit.  A nurse brought me some breakfast, and a surgeon carefully inspected my leg before another nurse put new bandages on.

All normal hospital-like things, but my mind was elsewhere, like what in the hell do you say to a stranger who says he’s your husband?  I didn’t have anywhere near enough time to ponder the question before Doctor Jensen in his infallibly white coat strolled into the room.

“How are you this morning?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Feeling up to this?”

“I guess so.”

Jensen looked out of the door and motioned for somebody to come in, which was this Jeremy Holt guy, as expected.  He looked to have had a change of clothes and a sleep since I’d last briefly seen him, and he was carrying a bunch of flowers, which he held out to me.

“These are…”

“Thanks.  They’re very… nice.  Uh… Doctor, where can I put these?”

“Here, give them to me.  I’ll find a vase for them, I’m a florist in my spare time you know.”

“Really?”

“No, I don’t have any spare time, but I think I’m qualified to find a vase anyway.  I’ll let you two have a chat, but if you need anything while I’m gone, the nurses and I are only a few seconds away if you press your buzzer.”

Under my sheet I gripped the little device with a button on the end tightly while I gave Doctor Jensen the flowers with my other hand.  He took them and, with a nod and curt smile to both of us, left the room.

“So…” I said.

“Uh… yeah.  Doctor Jensen said… well.  Oh boy.  Um… I’m Jeremy, nice to meet you?” he held out his hand hopefully.

“Beatrice
Hampton
,” I stressed my last name defiantly.  “So, you’re a helicopter pilot?”

“Not exactly.”

Chapter 4

Well, that explained a lot.  No wonder the hospital was so well-appointed and
had such a lot of space for me. It was a private hospital paid for by my billionaire husband.  I spooned the food in front of me into my mouth like a robot and although the meals had become a lot more colorful as time elapsed since my first awakening, I could barely taste anything.

I was bitterly disappointed in myself.  I had sworn to heaven, hell, and all of creation that I would never put myself in a position where I needed
anything from anybody, least of all from a man whose solution for everything was to throw money at it.  Yet here I was, a bed-bound invalid, with all my necessities and medical care bought by a God damned
billionaire
, a man who had no doubt crushed a lot of people’s livelihoods on his way up.  You don’t amass that kind of wealth without taking it from other people.

I would show them though, I’d be back on my feet in record time.  It would take more than a rich man who couldn’t fly a helicopter to keep me down.  That’s why I
shoveled the food into my mouth, I needed to build up strength so I could get the hell out of there.  After that?  Well, my plans hadn’t yet formulated much beyond walking again.

Jeremy came in to visit me every day, though I told him he didn’t need to.  Despite my best efforts it was weeks before I was able to put any weight on my leg, which was an
agonizing attempt to get to the bathroom that failed and had to be abandoned in favor of a wheelchair.

When my physical therapy
eventually started in earnest, I was wheeled to a room filled mostly with older people who were recovering from hip or knee replacements where I was told that my therapist, Ellie Lane, was going to put me through hell.

It started out easily enough, simply raising my leg up and down several times, but it was only a few days after that that I was supposed to shuffle along between two supporting beams where I could hold on with my hands.  Jeremy tried to help me to stand, but I slapped his hand away.

“I have to do this myself,” I said.

I had to
suppress a smirk of triumph when I saw the chastised look in his face, he might think he had the whole world on a string but he would never control me.  Nevertheless, learning to walk again was every bit as hellish as I had been promised.  I was a sweaty wreck by the time I first managed to get all the way to the other end of my supporting rails, just as much from the pain as the effort.

But I did it, God dammit, I did it, and it was only another week and a half after that when I reached some milestone that Ellie had set
, whereby she was happy for me to be discharged.  Back in my room there was a small meeting involving Ellie, Doctor Jensen, Jeremy and myself.  I considered requesting that Jeremy leave but had a nagging question in my head, namely ‘where was I going to live?’

“So, from a mobility standpoint, I’m happy with Beatrice being discharged.  With crutches she’ll be able to do everything she needs to do,” Ellie turned to me.  “Stairs will be a challenge, and you’ll need to keep coming in for therapy, here or somewhere else closer to home, but you’ve worked really hard and recovered well, good job Beatrice.”

“I’m happy with everything else, there aren’t any signs of infection and you haven’t had any dizzy spells, or reported any of those shooting pains in quite some time now.  There’s no reason you can’t check out,” Doctor Jensen said

“What about her memory?” Jeremy asked

“Well, like I’ve said before, there’s nothing, medically, that can be done about that.  It’s rare for amnesia to be permanent and the best way to full recovery is to surround oneself with things that should be familiar.  Keep it gentle though, I wouldn’t take any rides in a helicopter anytime soon.”

“That’s it?”

“The brain is orders of magnitude more complicated than any other organ in the body.  We are a long way from fully comprehending everything that goes on in there.  However, think of the brain like a huge, intricate, three-dimensional map and think of memories like particular towns on that map, OK?  Then we can think of brain injuries as major disasters that damage the roads going into those cities.  There’s two ways we can get to those cities again, one is that the roads get repaired by the natural process of physical healing, the second is that we learn the new roads to those cities.  Some combination of these almost always happens with amnesia, so the odds are still for a full recovery, though it is a worry that there hasn’t been any improvement after this long.”

“By any chance do I have my own place?” I asked.

“Uh… well, no.  You moved in with me when you came down here from Seattle.”

“How much money do I have?  I don’t feel comfortable living with you, Jeremy.  No offence, but I don’t know you.  I should live in an apartment or something while I recover.”

“But, Bumble Bea, Doctor Jensen said you should surround yourself with familiar things.  Money is no object, but I just want you to get better.”

“I’ll be fine.  And don’t call me ‘Bumble Bea’ it makes me sound like an idiot.”

Jeremy blushed and glanced at Jensen and Ellie before looking back to me.  “I’m sorry.  Look, I don’t want to, and won’t, put any pressure on you.  It’s a big house, you’ll have your own room, a driver to take you to the physical therapy sessions, or we can find somebody who can do it at home maybe.  And you’ll be surrounded by familiar things, or things that were familiar anyway.  Please.”

“Bah.  OK, whatever.  We’ll see how it goes.  What needs to be done now, Doctor?”

“Just a few pieces of paperwork and you’re free to go.  Here.”

Jensen passed me a couple of forms on a clipboard with a pen held in place under the clip.  I scanned the documents, they looked pretty straightforward, and then began filling them out.

“I’ll get the car, can I meet you out front in a few minutes or something?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes, we’ll bring her down.  Your last ride in a wheelchair for a while, Beatrice,” Doctor Jensen said.

“Forever, I hope,” I said.

Jeremy picked up my bag and strode out the door with it, I watched him go and then continued with the paperwork before Ellie stood to leave too.

“It was nice to meet you, Beatrice.  I wish all my patients were fighters like you.  Make sure you get the rest of your therapy organized soon, this is no time to get slack.  It’ll be months before you walk normally, but I know you can do it.”

“You too, Ellie.  Can I call you to set a schedule for that?”

“Yes, or like your husband said it might be more convenient to find something a little closer to home.  I’ll email you a list of people I’d recommend.  Bye”

My lips pursed at the mention of my ‘husband’ but I gave her as polite a smile as I could manage before she left, leaving just Doctor Jensen and I in the room.  I tried to finish the forms as quickly as possible but I could feel his gaze on me like my Dad’s when I was a kid and trying to convince him it wasn’t
me
who broke that window.  He could drag all the information he wanted out of me with just a solemn look on his face.

“What?”

“You’re a tough cookie, Beatrice.”

“Thanks.”

“No chinks in your armor, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean is there anything else you’d like to talk about before you go?  I’ve never seen anybody so… uh… resentful of assistance in my life.  There’s no shame in asking for help, especially after being through something like you have.  I’m here to help, your… Mr. Holt is here to help.”

“I learned the hard way that I’m the only one I can really rely on, Doctor.”

“Fair enough.  In that case trust yourself.”

“You mean, don’t go to Jeremy’s house?”

“No, I mean obviously things have happened in the last eight years or so.  You’ve made a lot of life decisions in that time.  Trust that you made the right ones, and give yourself a chance to remember.”

“OK, I’ll try,” I sighed.  “Now let me finish with these forms.”

Doctor Jensen wheeled me out the front doors of the hospital himself and I saw Jeremy standing by some big black car, not quite a limo but complete with a driver nonetheless.  When he spotted me, he opened the back door and took a few steps forward to meet us.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a man with a huge camera got down on one knee beside my wheelchair and I was nearly blinded by the flashes as he took several snaps in quick succession.

“Beatrice!  How does it feel to finally get out of hospital?  Any on-going issues, Mrs. Holt?”

I felt my heart pounding in my chest at the unexpected interrogation and sweat sprang out on my forehead as the barrage of questions continued until two men from hospital security each grabbed the man by a shoulder and hauled him first to his feet and then dragged him away as easily as if he hadn’t been struggling with all his strength.  I was hyperventilating by the time he was out of sight.

“Holy shit,” I said between gasps.  “What’s happening?”

“Just calm down, Beatrice,” Doctor Jen
sen was kneeling in front of me. “Breathe.  Watch me.  In… out… in… out.  You need to avoid surprises like that.  You might have forgotten the trauma you’ve just been through, but your body knows it’s been hurt badly.  This is a minor panic attack.  Just breathe.  Good.”

“God damn.  The reporters stopped coming weeks ago, I didn’t think.  Sorry, I’ll
organize security from now on,” Jeremy said.

“Not a good start, Mr. Holt.  I can’t stress enough how calm we need to keep things for Beatrice.  No ‘welcome-home’ parties, just rest, nutritious food and let the familiar environment sink in.”

“OK, will do.  Thank you for everything,” Jeremy shook his hand before holding his hand out to me.  “Are you alright?”

I felt a hot flash and then my breathing and heartbeat began to come properly under control.  I looked at the offered hand and gave him my crutches, which had been lying across my lap until that point.

“I’m fine.  Move please, I can get in there myself.”

Using the wheelchair and the open door of the car I hauled myself upright, all my weight on my good leg, and managed to
maneuver myself into the vehicle.  Scooting over to the far side, I gritted my teeth at the two or three bumps my leg sustained in the process and stared out the window.  The driver, who until then had been busy making himself look busy glanced at me through the rear view mirror.

“Good to see you again, Mrs. Holt.”

“Thanks.  Call me Beatrice.  I’m having some problems with my memory though, what was your name?”

“Stan, Ma’am,”

“Nice to meet you.  Sorry if that sounds weird.”

“No problem, Ma’am.”

“Beatrice,” I repeated.

Jeremy climbed into his seat with an ease I deeply envied and buckled himself in, I followed his example.

“Home please, Stan.”

“Sir.”

Stan drove the car like the professional he was, smoothly and with confidence, knowing the exact route to where he was going and making all his lane changes at the earliest convenience.  Jeremy tried to strike up a conversation with me, saying how good it was for me to be coming ‘home’ but as a city I didn’t even know rushed past my window, it felt like anything but a homecoming.

As far as I could remember ‘home’ was a piece of crap apartment in Seattle with about a thousand cockroaches for every human resident.  It wasn’t much, but it was all I could afford by myself on a fast food wage and it was
mine
.  Well, I supposed it was really my landlord’s, but that was beside the point.

Eventually we got out of the city proper and made our way into what was obviously the right side of the railroad tracks. 
The more we drove the further back from the road the houses got, until most of them had walls and gates.  Then, as often as not, they had a security guard stationed in a little shack outside the gate, reading a newspaper when they weren’t questioning the business of whoever happened to be trying to get through.  The house that Stan turned into was one of these, both he and Jeremy waved to the guard as the gates swung inwards to let us through.

I’d never been a materialistic person, but I had to snap my jaw shut when I
realized it was hanging open after seeing the mansion we were driving to.  Three levels high and ludicrously wide, a huge fountain gushed water in the center of a large turning circle at the end of the driveway.  As we pulled up in front of the steps a doorman, or butler, or something strode down and opened the door on Jeremy’s side.

Jeremy stepped out and then bent back in to grab my crutches while the man walked around to my side.  I pai
nstakingly moved my legs to the ground and pulled myself up on the frame of the door before accepting the crutches back from Jeremy.

“So wonderful to have you back, Ma’am.  I’m Lee, in case you don’t recall.”

“Nice to meet you.  Please, call me Beatrice, I’m not royalty or anything.”

“Yes Ma’am…er, Beatrice.  Old habits die hard.”

“Lee, could you please get the bag from the trunk and take it to the Dayton room?”

Lee raised an eyebrow but promptly did as he was told as I adjusted the position of my crutches until I felt ready to hobble inside.  Slowly but surely I managed to get up the stairs, Jeremy holding his hand a few inches behind my back in case I fell, not quite daring to touch me.  I was breathing hard by the time I made it to the top and through the door, so I almost groaned when the first thing I saw upon crossing the threshold was a huge staircase.