Part 30 (2/2)

”You're Alieya Mae Silverstein Tavare, my best friend. You love drawing and painting and sappy chick flicks. You still hang onto the possibility that mermaids are real and the moon is made out of cheese. You dance in the rain and catch snowflakes on your tongue. You like the beach, the mountains, and the change of seasons. You're scared of spiders and snakes, clowns and purple elephants. You don't like popcorn, but love the little half-popped kernels. Sunrises and sunsets calm you. You laugh like a kid. You're smart. You're funny. You're as talented as h.e.l.l. And when life throws you a s.h.i.+tstorm, you know-you know, Ali-how to scatter the clouds.”

Yes. Yes, I remember now.

I nod. ”I need to draw.”

”Maverick bought new paints and set up an easel in the living room,” she says.

I follow her out, to where my husband has prepared a works.p.a.ce for me. In the corner, he's even given me something to draw.

I set to work, Finley sitting silently behind me. I begin with painting the whole canvas with charcoal. Slowly, I fill in the background with a texture that only exists in my mind. Then long brush strokes form the outline of the roses. The stems are simple, and even though the flowers Maverick left don't have thorns, life does. They're sharp and cut deep, so I add them. Lastly, I frame the edges in black, because darkness is always there, pus.h.i.+ng its power in over us.

But light breaks through the darkness, robbing the power it has. That's what I'm doing now: s.h.i.+ning light.

I step back to study what I've created.

The roses are lying in a bundle on the floor. Loose petals form a line down the linoleum, becoming longer and thinner until they turn into a stream of blood. Color changes from crimson to gray, gradually fading into the black. At the end, no color remains.

”Ali,” Finley whispers.

”There's color,” I say.

”It's heartbreaking.”

I bite my lip as a tear rolls down my cheek. ”It's me.”

Chapter 49.

Present day 7:32 p.m.

I nibble on the food Finley brought up from the cafeteria. It's an actual meal with meat and sides and a slice of carrot cake, but I don't know why she got so much. Most will end up in the garbage.

I swirl the p.r.o.ngs of my fork into the mashed potatoes, not even looking at them. The crimson has dulled, but it's still there, waiting patiently for its next flare-up. Dr. Santos should be here any minute.

Finley distracts me by stealing a bite of my cake.

”You know, everyone says hospital food is the s.h.i.+ts, but this carrot cake is halfway decent.” She takes another forkful and holds it up to my mouth like I'm an infant. ”Come on, try it.”

I shake my head. ”No, thanks. You can have it.”

”Normally I'd force your mouth open and stuff food into it-I've done it before. I'll do it again-but this time I'm gonna say 'your loss.'” She scoops up what's left of my dessert and eats it in two bites.

”Here,” I say, scooting my plate toward her. ”You can have it all if you want.”

”Nope. All I wanted was the cake. You get to eat the rest of it. Sustenance, you need some.” She pushes my tray back at me. ”Eat.”

”I'm not hun-”

”Please don't make me manipulate you by reminding you that Maverick would want you to take care of yourself. I really, really hate doing it.” She points a finger at me, eyes wide with sternness. ”But I will, so...” She blinks, a half-grin telling me she's serious. I don't like serious Finley.

”Remind me again why I called you?”

”To remind you that you haven't called Maverick's parents yet.”

I groan. ”I'm not going to. Not yet. Not until ... until I have to.”

”And when's that?”

”I don't know. When I have more to say than-”

Knock, knock.

I look up as Dr. Santos lets herself in. Laney comes in behind her and stands behind the computer. I stand up too.

”We're at almost nineteen hours. We need to wait out the remaining time. I've ordered another CT scan at that time. Depending on what the scan shows, will determine our next steps,” Dr. Santos explains.

My heart sinks. That isn't what I'd expected to hear.

My gaze roams over my husband. ”Okay, um. So what are you looking for on the CT scan?”

”Cognitive brain activity, bleeding, swelling, anything that looks abnormal.”

”I'm sorry. Ah.” I suck in a breath and focus on her. ”Walk me through this. What if those abnormal things are present?”

”If there's swelling and it's pus.h.i.+ng up against his skull, we may need to go in and relieve that pressure. If there's significant bleeding, if there's increased damage to his frontal lobe, he may require another surgery. There are many factors we look at. Best case scenario is limited cognitive activity and we keep him sedated longer, allowing for ample time for the brain to heal itself.”

”And if those things aren't present ... ?”

”Then we'll bring him back here, turn off the Propofol-the medication keeping him sedated-and see what happens.”

See what happens?

I shake my head. That's not a good enough answer. ”So you don't know what will happen?”

”I'm sorry, but no. The brain is complicated. Think about hoops, or milestones, in a line to consciousness. The brain begins on one end and has to move through each hoop, creating new connections that pave the way to the next hoop. When all of those have been reached, then the brain returns to a conscious state. Each individual will move through those hoops at a different pace.”

”Like hours difference?”

”Days, weeks, months. Years.”

”Years?”

”Sometimes the brain trauma experienced damages one of those hoops. Sometimes, given enough time, those hoops can repair themselves. Sometimes they can't. Sometimes there's a break in the chain and the patient can't move on to the next hoop.”

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