Ten Below Zero(75)

“What did I do?” I asked warily.

“Everett had the surgery.”

I felt my knees grow weak and I grabbed a hold of her, desperate to stay standing. “Are you kidding?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “He had the surgery three days ago. His MRI scans look amazing. He’s awake. He starts chemo to kill the cancer cells soon, but we wanted you to come. To see him.”

My heart was aching. But it was the good kind of hurt. “How is he?”

Bridget knew what I was asking. And that’s when I saw her smile slip. “He did suffer some memory loss. But it seems like it’s just pockets right now. Not a specific duration.”

I told myself that if he lost his memory, it’d be okay. I’d have it for the both of us. But if he was someone else, if this Everett wasn’t my Everett, it would tear me apart.

Bridget broke a few traffic laws on the way to hospital, but I was thankful. I was desperate to see him. I didn’t have a photo of Everett, so my dreams had been my refuge, my way to see him again.

When I arrived to the hospital, I followed Bridget down the corridor with shaky legs, pressing my hand against the wall for support. I saw Patricia, Everett’s mother standing next to a man in a white coat outside of a closed door. Bridget stopped and introduced me to Everett’s doctor. But my hands were itching to open the door, to see him.

The doctor turned to me, with compassion in his eyes. “Parker. I want you to be prepared for what is about to happen. We don’t know if this is short term or long term memory loss. We don’t know how much he actually does remember. Memory loss is a tricky thing. He could regain his memories, but it might not be for some time. Or he might never remember.”

“Parker,” Patricia interrupted. “Everett doesn’t know you’re here. He doesn’t remember you,” her voice wavered. “You can walk away, right now. If his memory is completely gone, it will be like you were never here.” Tears pooled in her eyes and she lifted a shaky hand to grasp mine. “No one would judge you.”

I stared into her eyes, frosty blue like those of her son, who was lying on the other side of this door. I swallowed and then squeezed her hand. “I would. I would judge myself, for walking away from him. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I love him. I’m here, I’m alive because of him.”

She smiled, her lips trembling as the first tear spilled down her cheek. “And he’s here because of you. Thank you, thank you for saving him.”

I pulled her in for a hug and swallowed the lump that had settled in my throat. “He saved me first.”

And then my hand was on the door knob, turning and pushing it opened. The door opened with only a quiet whoosh. My eyes instantly found him, asleep on the hospital bed. His head was wrapped with thick white bandages and his left arm was resting across his abdomen, the wires coming from his veins resting peacefully against his hospital gown. One foot was sticking out of the blankets and my hands itched to cover it.

Instead, I walked towards the large window. The light flooded the room, making everything appear more alive. I looked back at the bed, took in Everett’s warm complexion. He looked the opposite of how I thought he would. He looked peaceful, healthy. I knew, from what Bridget had explained on the ride over, that the doctors felt confident that they’d removed the entire tumor. I felt relief then. It poured into my veins and into my bones, and I was nearly brought to my knees with it. I turned to the window, tears pooling in my eyes. I bit my lip to stop its trembling.

“Are you a nurse?” His voice was groggy, as if he was learning to use it for the first time. And the words themselves pierced a small piece of my heart. But it was his voice. It was Everett. I held on to that knowledge before I wiped the tears from my eyes and turned to face him, the window at my back.

He was squinting at me. I moved one step closer to his bed, but kept my hands clasped in front of me. “No,” I said, slowly shaking my head. I took another step closer.

“Are you a doctor?” he asked, confusion on his face.

I shook my head and moved one tentative step closer.

“Are you going to a funeral then?” It was said with mild disdain. I let out a breath of relief. It really was him.

“No, I’m not going to a funeral.”

He gestured to my clothing with his hand, the hand that wasn’t poked with needles. “What’s with the fancy clothing then?”

I was close enough to sit in one of the bedside chairs, so I slowly lowered myself into one of them. I didn’t let my eyes meet his. Instead, I just glanced around him. I knew if I stared into his eyes, I would fall apart.

“I just came from a trial.” I brushed my hands down the black slacks, wiping away the sweat that had gathered on my palms. “I helped put someone, a bad someone, away for a long time.”

“Good for you,” he said. It sounded earnest. And it stabbed my heart again. I wanted to tell him all about it, to thank him for pushing me. For breaking the ice that I let form around me. For helping me remember. But I stayed silent and nodded, swallowing another lump.

“So…” he started, dragging the word out. “I’m guessing we know one another?”

My heart stumbled in my chest. This was harder than I’d expected. I nodded, not trusting my voice.

“Sorry. I am a bit forgetful these days.” It was said with a laugh from him, and a wince from me. I looked down at the tiled floor and tried to think of what to say. “But there’s good news,” he said, his voice sounding hopeful. I lifted my head and finally soaked up some bravery and looked into his eyes. His eyes shined back at me.