Wake for Me (Life or Death Series) (12 page)

I always loved picnics, but secretly I wish we didn’t have to invite Uncle Jack along on every single outing.

Pulling my hair back to avoid the whipping strands, I slide back down into my seat, glancing sideways at Uncle Jack’s carefully crossed legs and perfectly fitted gray pants. He dresses almost exactly like my father, and for some reason, it’s always bothered me.

“Get your own fashion sense, why don’t you,” I mutter, but Uncle Jack ignores me.

As he drives, my father is humming a familiar tune. It’s the same one he used to sing to me when I was little, and I smile and start to sing along, forgetting my temporary bad mood.

“
Au clair de la lune, mon ami Pierrot
…”

Laughing, my father turns to catch my eye. His face is missing, skin hanging from bone. I scream. My mother turns to shush me, and her head rolls sideways, falling from her neck.

***

Viola woke from her latest nightmare with a muffled cry.

As usual, she couldn’t remember any of the details. But it didn’t matter, because the terrible feelings that remained were vivid enough on their own. Fear, paranoia, angst. Regret. And worst of all, that inescapable feeling that she was missing something.

Something important.

The night terrors—as Dr. Chocolate Barbie called them—had only gotten worse since the day they’d finally told her, almost a week ago now, that her parents were dead. It had taken them two entire days to break this news to her. Sam said they’d wanted to make sure she was strong enough. Aiden said he didn’t want to see her cry. But all of them were liars.

They hadn’t told her, because they hadn’t known what to say.

Apparently, “Sorry Viola, but you went to sleep one day with everything and woke up two weeks later with nothing” was too harsh a truth for anyone to put into words. Even Uncle Jack, who had flown back from Paris to see her yesterday after taking care of her parents’ funeral, kept saying, “There are no words,” to her, over and over.

But there were words. There were lots of words.

Even if Viola had trouble saying them out loud, that didn’t mean she couldn’t think them. Disbelief. Shock. Confusion. Anger. Suspicion. Helplessness. Guilt.

And the most unbearable word of all: orphaned.

A big part of her wanted to feel sorry for herself, to confess to someone—anyone—how afraid she was. But the part of her that kept her going, the part that was her father’s daughter, told Viola she was stronger than that. She wouldn’t ever let anyone know how beaten down she felt.

And she’d never, ever let them see her cry.

When Nurse Bouchard came into the room, Viola forced herself to smile in welcome. Just as she had smiled when Aiden had come barging into her room earlier in the day, and when Phyllis the trauma counselor had visited after. It seemed that Viola’s days had become an unending parade of people who expected her to crumble at the drop of a hat. Every waking moment was a lie, and every bit of sleep was torture. If things continued this way much longer, Viola was going to lose her grasp on what little shred of sanity she had left.

“How are you doing, baby girl?”

“Good…thanks…” Viola gestured to the phone on the wall. “Can…you…help…call Jack?”

Nurse Bouchard looked at her watch. “It’s kind of late over there, don’t you think?”

“No…” Viola told her, feeling frustrated that she even had to explain herself at all. That she couldn’t even make a simple phone call by herself. “Still…in…New York.”

“Alright, then,” the nurse said, reaching into the pocket of her latest eyesore uniform—bright green with hot pink flowers. “Since it’s a local call, why don’t we just use my cell phone?”

Viola nodded. She wished she could just make calls by herself, but the phone in her room didn’t stretch to the bed, and her own cell phone was somewhere at the bottom of the river. Just thinking about it made her shudder, and she focused on Nurse B. instead, who was dialing the number off of the new emergency contact information listed on Viola’s chart. Seeing it made Viola’s eyes tear up, and she looked at the ceiling, counting silently to herself until they dried up again.

“Yes,” Nurse B. said when the call had connected. “I’m calling from Our Lady of Mercy Hospital for Jacques Gosselin. Tell him it’s his niece, Viola.”

Uncle Jack wasn’t really Viola’s uncle, but most Americans didn’t seem to know that. Even though he looked nothing like her father, he spoke with the same accent, and they’d always been so close that most people just assumed they were related. Except Viola, who used to tease Uncle Jack about changing his last name to Bellerose so he didn’t have to keep explaining to everyone that he was just a family friend. Now, though, he was pretty much the closest thing to family Viola had left. And she was grateful for him.

“
Bonsoir,
mon chouchou
,” he said, when Nurse B. put the phone up to Viola’s ear. She was still having trouble holding her hand up for long periods of time, but her fingers were getting stronger every day.

“Hi…Jack…” Viola said, happy for the sound of his voice, which was a poor substitute for her father’s, but still sounded like home. “How…are…you?”

“I’m well.” His voice sounded tired. “How is your speech therapy coming along?”

“Good…” Viola pursed her lips. She’d been toying with an idea since he’d visited her, and she wanted to bring it up to him before he left town again. “When…can I…be home? Terri…said…she’ll call someone……to refer…to come…to…
maison
.”

Nurse B. raised her eyebrows, and Viola shrugged. Sometimes, when she couldn’t grab the right word in English, her mind compensated with French. Who cared? It wasn’t like Uncle Jack didn’t understand her.

There was a long pause, and Viola almost asked Nurse B. to take the phone away so she could check if they’d been disconnected. But then she heard some voices in the background, and Uncle Jack sighed.

“I’m sorry Viola,” he said. “I don’t think it’s a good idea just now. There’s a lot of financial mess going on right now, and I’m dealing with it as best I can. I don’t want you to be concerned. Just devote yourself to getting better, and I promise, everything will be here waiting for you when you are back on your feet.” Another commotion sounded in the background, and Uncle Jack called to someone. “Yes, I’ll be there in a moment. I’m sorry,
mon chouchou
, but I’ve got to go back into a meeting. Lord knows how your father handled all of this, and was still able to golf. He truly was an exceptional man.”

Tears filled Viola’s eyes again, and she hated the fact that she couldn’t raise her hands high enough to brush them away.

“Miss…him…so…much….”

“I miss him as well, sweet girl,” Uncle Jack said, in a soft voice. “More than you know. Now, get some rest and I’ll come visit you again, as soon as I can.”

Viola opened her mouth to struggle out a goodbye, but the call disconnected before she could come up with even a simple ‘
au revoir
.’

When she gave in and sniffled, Nurse B. took the phone away. “Don’t cry, baby girl. It’ll all get better soon, you’ll see.”

At the sound of sympathy in the nurse’s voice, Viola’s tears turned to ice.

“Not…crying,” she said. “Allergic…to cheap…pillows.”

“Alright,” Nurse B. said, but her expression clearly read ‘yeah right.’ “I’ll go get you one of those hypoallergenic pillow cases, does that sound good, Miss High-Maintenance?”

“Yes…” Viola said, challenging her with a stare. “And…water.”

Throwing up her hands, the nurse left the room.

As if he’d been waiting just outside the door, Sam slipped into the room a few seconds later. Viola smiled, but this time she wasn’t faking it. Out of all the people she interacted with at the hospital, Sam was the only one who didn’t talk to her like she was some kind of invalid.

Raising her hand as high as she could, Viola pointed toward the door.

“You’re...hiding…from her,” she accused.

“Guilty,” he said, coming around to sit on the chair. He leaned in close, and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone this, but she scares the bejesus out of me.”

Viola chuckled softly. “She…knows.”

“Really?” Sam frowned, slumping onto his elbows at the edge of the bed. “Well, that’s humiliating. I really thought we were kind of on equal ground, like arch-nemeses or something.”

Unable to help herself, she grinned. He really was kind of adorable, for a geek.

“Secretly…likes you.”

Sam looked up at her, his face hopeful. “Really? I hope you’re right. I don’t know what it is about her. I just can’t seem to come up with a reply soon enough, you know?”

Her face deadpan, Viola shook her head. “No…idea.”

It took him a second, but Sam’s face went bright red. “Oh, God. I’m sorry!”

His hand flew to hers, covering it. It was meant as a gesture of comfort, Viola knew. But to her, it felt much more intimate.

“I’m such a jerk,” Sam apologized. “Of course you know what that feels like. But it will get easier, I promise.” He let go of her hand and stood up. “I mean, you’re already doing so much better than any of us could’ve hoped.”

Viola’s hand felt naked. She flexed it, trying to shake the feeling that it was meant to be doing something more than just sitting there.

“You…ask?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to distract herself from her problems by reminding Sam about his.

Sam puttered around the room, stopping at the flowers by her bedside table. They were dead, just like the people who’d brought them, but Viola refused to let the nurses remove them.

“What?” He looked distracted.

“Chocolate…Barbie. Did….you ask?”

Sam turned back toward her, a confused look on his face. Then the lights went on.

“Oh, about the peripheral neuropathy study?” He glanced at the door again. “No, not yet. It’s been crazy lately, with the conference coming up. I told you about that, right?”

Viola nodded. He was being evasive, which made her want to shake him. But she could barely stand up, let alone throw around a full-grown man. Especially a man as tall as Sam, with such broad shoulders and nicely toned arms. He could probably throw her around pretty easily, though.
Mmm
. She blinked, realizing he’d caught her staring. God, what was wrong with her?

“Well anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’m thinking of waiting to ask him until the end of the month. When things settle down a little bit.”

Viola rolled her eyes. Sam had only one flaw, as far as she could tell: he lacked an assertive gene when it came to things he wanted, but thought he didn’t need.

“Too late,” she told him.

Sam shook his head. “No, it won’t be too late. He isn’t making a final decision until the end of the month. That gives me plenty of time to prove myself. And then who knows? Maybe he’ll even offer it to me.”

Slowly and carefully, Viola turned her hand palm-up and raised it a few inches in the air. She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. It was a skill she’d been practicing with the physical therapist, and she was very proud of it.

“Come…close.” Sam looked slightly afraid, and she laughed. “Such…a wuss. Twice…my size.”

“Fair enough,” Sam said, coming back to sit on the chair. He leaned toward her, putting his elbows on the bedside railing.

“Closer.”

With a labored sigh, he leaned forward until his face was about six inches away from hers. Viola could count his individual eyelashes, and smell that weirdly familiar hint of chlorine on his skin.

“Man…up,” she told him. “Nothing…good…ever came…free.”

Sam broke into a grin, and leaned back in the chair with his hands in the air.

“Oh, come on! That’s easy for you to say. You’re like a millionaire, or something.”

Actually, Viola’s current net worth was hovering somewhere around fifteen million dollars, and that was before she turned twenty-one and gained access to her trust fund. But she wasn’t going to tell him. That would’ve been tacky. Instead, she smiled sadly and held his gaze, Sam’s warmth giving her the courage to admit the utter truth:

“Trust…me. I’m…paying. Now.”

Sam’s smile died, and Viola kicked herself for making him feel sorry for her when she’d meant to make him see that, really, she wasn’t all that different than him. Everyone had to pay their dues, at one point or another. Even heiresses.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“
C’est…la vie
.” Sometimes, the French came easier than the English, and vice versa. “Don’t…be sorry. Be…courage.” She wrinkled her forehead, trying and failing to find the right word. “Be…
assuré
.” Damn. Close, but still wrong. Terri, her lumpy sweater-wearing speech therapist, had cautioned against tiring her speech center out with too many long conversations.

“I get it.” Sam took her hand again, this time with an encouraging smile. “You’re saying I should ask for the things I want. I shouldn’t wait until it’s too late.”

“Yes,” Viola said, relieved. “Or…Brady says…grab life…by the balls.”

Sam laughed, and Viola smiled, feeling victorious. She liked making him laugh. For some reason, it almost made her feel like her old self again. Maybe it was because his responses were so easy to predict.

Suddenly, she had the oddest urge to run her fingers through his soft, shaggy hair.

From the doorway, Nurse Bouchard cleared her throat. She was holding two new pillows, a bag of steaming microwave popcorn, a pitcher of water, and was struggling to balance a plastic cup on top of everything.

“I don’t s’pose one of you feel like helping me with this?”

Sam stood up and crossed the room, awkwardly taking the pitcher out of the nurse’s hand.

“Sorry, Nurse Bouchard,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were changing the sheets. Would you like some help?”

Nurse B. glared up at Sam, probably wondering if he was out of his damn mind for offering to do something no full-fledged doctor would ever offer to do.

Viola laughed at Sam, shaking her head. She gestured toward the clock.

“Not…bed,” she said. “Three…thirty. Almost…time…for stories.”

Sam looked confused, while Nurse B. just looked scandalized.