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HARPER
*
I WOKE UP IN AN UNFAMILIAR room. No, not just any room. My eyes were unfocused, but I could see the rails on the bed. I heard the monitors beeping before my vision cleared enough to make them out. I put my hand to my face suddenly aware of the oxygen mask. My heart began racing. What had happened? Was this just another bad dream? It seemed like a stream of overlapping nightmares had played out in my mind all night.
I could remember one clearly. I looked a lot like the Ophelia in paintings I’d seen. But my red hair wasn’t flowing, it was twined around me like a suffocating vine, and I was unable to move my limbs. I was floating down a mossy green river. Rowley Ford stood on the river bank. "Dammit, let her sleep," he kept repeating over and over.
I touched the tape on my arm which held a needle. This was definitely real.
A nurse came in. She glanced at me and then at the monitors, and then back at me.
She removed the mask. "Good, you're awake."
Clearly anticipating that I'd be thirsty she poured some water into a plastic cup, added a straw, and held it to my mouth to drink.
She only allowed me a sip before taking it away.
"I'm going to miss my bus. What time is it?"
"How are you feeling?" she asked instead of answering my question.
"Not great. Did the motorcycle hit me?"
"Actually, it was a mugging. There was a witness."
I remembered running down a residential street to get to the salon, no, not the salon... the bus station. I remembered the bright lights of the motorcycle and then nothing past that.
I tried to sit up, but my head felt like it was too heavy.
"Take it easy. You suffered trauma to your head."
That explained why it was aching. I was suddenly aware of a tender spot and lifted my hand to touch the side of my head, but my arm was aching, too.
"You should leave the wound alone. The staples will come out in about five more days."
With my other hand, I pushed up the sleeve of my hospital gown. There was bruising from my forearm to my shoulder.
The same disjointed images that had appeared in my nightmares, flashed through my mind. "I think I missed my bus."
"Can you tell me your name?"
I frowned at her in confusion. How did they not know who I was?
"We had no way of identifying you. There was no missing person’s report matching your description."
"Missing person’s report?" Who would file that on my behalf?
"Wait, does that mean I've been here for forty eight hours?"
"There isn't actually a waiting period to file. That's just the movies." She checked the computer tablet she held. "But you have been here for nearly two full days."
"Have I been unconscious all that time?"
"In a coma," she stated flatly.
Two lost days. That was too long. Too long for what though?
"Do you know your name?"
"Of course, it's Harper McCray. No, wait, Harper Newton." That wasn't right either. I glanced at my left hand and stared at the diamond ring. That was certainly not the ring Finn had given me, besides we were divorced. "Definitely, Harper McCray."
"And where do you live?" the nurse asked.
I rattled off Finn's address. "That's wrong,” I said almost immediately. "I don't live there anymore. I'm sorry, I can't seem to remember where I moved after the divorce."
She glanced at one of the monitors. "Your heart rate is rising. No need to get anxious. Holes in memory are not unusual with this type of injury. They often resolve themselves with time."
She set down the tablet. "Do you know where you are now?" she asked as she replaced the IV bag.
"Somewhere in California?"
"Las Vegas, Nevada," she said.
Why was I in Vegas?
"Has he been here?"
The nurse furrowed her brow. "Who is he?"
I shrugged and then wished I hadn't, every part of me seemed to be sore. I didn't know myself who I was referring to.
"Nobody has been here. We didn't know who to call." She picked up the computer tablet and typed something into it.
"Oh, right."
Suddenly, I felt unbelievably tired.
"Has my husband been here?"
"I thought you said you were divorced."
"I can't seem to put two and two together."
"Nothing to worry about," she said in a reassuring tone. "It will all come back to you."
"I have my license in my wallet." I was too weary to enunciate properly.
"What?" the nurse asked.
"My ID. It was in my purse."
"Stolen. You were mugged," she said. This time she sounded a little frustrated.
I knew I was repeating myself, but was I still dreaming?
"There was a small luggage bag recovered, but it only contains clothes and grooming items."
"Could I have my phone?"
"It broke when you hit the street," she said. "Would you like us to call someone?"
I waved her question away. "No, no. I'm fine."
My eyes drifted shut. I felt her presence behind my eyelids. Was she still standing there waiting to ask me another question? I couldn't manage to lift my lids to check.
I felt myself sliding into a delirious state. A gale force wind had blown through my house and all the doors had flown off their hinges. I raced through the house past upended furniture, desperate to find someone. I was shaking with fear. I was all alone.
When I finally opened my eyes again, I found a different nurse leaning over me and asking me whether I was hungry. How many hours had elapsed? Was this even the same day?
Without waiting for an answer, she adjusted the bed so I was propped up, then wheeled a table into place and set a tray on top. A cup of broth, some kind of protein drink, and gelatin in a bowl. I ate a few scoops of gelatin, sipped half the drink through a straw, and then lay back down.
"Would you like to use the phone to call someone?"
After a moment's hesitation I said, "There's only my brother and he's probably on top of a mountain or in a jungle somewhere." Calling Finn to come sit by my bedside would he asking a lot of an ex-husband, besides it might give him false hope. Though my thoughts were jumbled, I knew I didn’t want to get back together with him.
Another nurse, another tray. This time the white plate held scrambled eggs and a slice of bread. There was a bowl of oatmeal and another with the ever-present gelatin. I made myself finish every bite. I wanted my strength so I could leave.
The days were still blurring together, but I knew I was improving. They'd moved me out of ICU. They'd taken the catheter out. And my waking hours were longer. But I was still living in a twilight space. For instance, had there been a detective asking me about the mugging?
I still felt weak, like I'd been bedridden for months. I willed my legs to make it the short distance to the bathroom. I checked myself in the mirror. My hair startled me again. I'd been trying to figure out what was wrong with it, why it looked so different. It was my natural shade and yet it wasn't. The red seemed darker somehow.
Someone had taken the time while I was in the coma to plait it into a single braid, probably so it wouldn't become a matted mess. I hadn't done anything with it since I'd woken up.
Time to check out the damage. I undid the braid then parted the hair on the side of my head to get a look at the shaved part and the ugly gash held together with staples. Not a pretty sight.
Unbidden, a scene pushed its way into my mind. It was of Rowley Ford digging his fingers into my hair and kissing me passionately. Knocked senseless for nearly forty-eight hours, and still trying to figure out my address or why I was even in Vegas, yet, clearly, nothing was ever going to knock that man out of my brain.
At some point in the day, a doctor came in to see me.
Was it the same doctor who'd checked my eyes with a penlight the day I'd come out of the coma? Or was this the doctor who’d rattled off questions to test my memory?
He didn't seem familiar. He was short and balding with a cherubic face. The kind of face you expected to beam kindness, but he was all business.
"How are you feeling today?" he asked without a smile. He checked my eyes and then asked me a series of questions. Another test of my cognition.
I answered carefully. And gave Finn's address again as my own, but this time without mentioning my doubts. I wanted out of here.
"I'd like to go home," I said.
"Before we release you, we'll need to do another MRI."
The doctor left and I turned my face to the window. The blinds were closed, but the Nevada sun was still filtering through. I heard footsteps and then someone inserted themselves into my line of vision.
It was a middle-aged man dressed in an ill-fitting suit with a tie speckled with grease stains. He had a cup of Starbucks in his hand. God, I missed coffee.
He showed me his badge and introduced himself as Detective Gillespie.
I adjusted the bed so I was sitting up straighter. "Could you please open the blinds? This hospital lighting is depressing."
He pulled the strings on the blinds to reveal a stucco wall.
"Not much of a view," he quipped as he pulled up a chair.
He caught me eyeing his coffee cup. "There's a shop just down the block. Would you like me to get you a cup?"
I was sorely tempted. "No, but thank you for the offer."
"Ms. McCray, I don't know if you remember, but I was here before. You were pretty out of it," he said with a light laugh. "I wanted to ask if you recalled anything more about the incident."
I told him what I remembered, which was very little. "The headlights were kind of blinding. I have no idea what the driver looked like."
"You say the headlights were blinding. Was the motorcycle heading directly at you?"
I thought about that for a second. Jumbled memories were starting to shift and connect. "Not at first. I heard the engine behind me and glanced over my shoulder. That was the first time I saw it."
"What do you mean the first time?"
"It u-turned in front of me and passed me again with the lights on." There was an echo of panic, as though the experience had happened to me years ago. "Then it came up behind me again with the lights off."
"Make of the motorcycle? Any part of the license plate number?"
"It didn’t occur to me to check the license plate. And I'm no expert on motorcycles," I said. "I thought there was a witness."
"All they could offer was that it was the person riding pillion who snatched your bag. Because the helmet was pink they assumed it was a woman."
He stood up and glanced around the room. A detective had to have superior observational skills, right? He was probably noticing that there were no flowers or get well cards.
A nurse wheeled a cart into the room. The detective gave her a nod.
"Well, Ms. McCray, I hope you'll be feeling better soon." He removed a business card from a battered wallet and placed it on the stand next to the bed. "Call me if anything occurs to you."
As soon as the detective left the room, the nurse wheeled the cart over. She pulled on gloves and brushed my hair to the side with her fingers.
"This might sting a little," she said as she applied a strong smelling antiseptic to my wound.
She picked up a tool that looked like a cross between scissors and tweezers. "You'll just feel a slight tug."
She was right. It didn’t hurt.
“It’s healing nicely,” she said as she gathered her tools. I wanted to ask her what day of the year it was, but I was afraid it would prolong my stay. I thanked her as she wheeled the cart out.
Had five days passed since the first nurse had mentioned the staple removal timeline? Five days plus the two in a coma. I'd been here for seven days. I congratulated myself on being able to do simple math again.
It really felt more like weeks. Hours dragged by at a rate so slow I felt like screaming. I turned on the TV. Big mistake. The sound nauseated me and my eyes could hardly track the movement on the screen. I switched off the TV.
A nurse delivered another flavorless meal, which I consumed without thinking. After she collected the tray, I turned my face again to the window and stared out at the stucco wall.
The sun was lowering in the sky by the time I had another visitor. It was an attendant with a wheelchair.
"I'm here to take you for your scan," he said.
He wheeled me into a big elevator and pressed the button. I could feel the color leave my face as the elevator dropped.
I gripped the wheelchair armrests hard.
I breathed a sigh of relief as we exited, and shut my eyes against the sensory overload of the brightly lit hallway.
The attendant parked me in a small waiting room and then left.
The technician, a lanky man in a lab coat with narrow black-rimmed glasses, asked me to remove my jewelry. I only had the engagement ring. Obviously, somebody, I hoped a female nurse or doctor, had already taken the trouble to remove my clit ring for previous scans or other medical reasons. I blushed thinking about it. I would only have it re-inserted if Rowley wanted me to. I certainly didn't need any extra stimulation with him around. I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. Where were these delusions coming from? Had the accident triggered something that made me even more obsessed with him?
I pulled off the mysterious diamond ring and set in the plastic box the technician had provided, and a sadness fell over me. I wanted my husband. But it wasn't Finn's image that appeared to me. It was Rowley Ford again, gorgeous in a firefighter's uniform. Were these false memories? Leftovers from my comatose dreams? I imagined giving my head a good shake, and clearing out the false images.
The technician stepped back in the waiting room, shaking me from my confused thoughts. He offered me the choice of earplugs or headphones to help cancel out the noise of the machine. I opted for the earplugs. Listening to music while inside the tube would be too much stimulation for me to handle.
He advised me to shut my eyes if I experienced any distress during the scan.
I decided to close them the moment the scanning bed started moving into the tunnel.
But even without seeing, I could sense the smallness of the space. My hands instantly turned clammy, my pulse rate increased.
Behind my eyelids, scenes were coming fast and furious. Rowley angrily snapping shut the jewelry box with the engagement ring. The relief I felt seeing him at the concert and running at him and hurling myself into his arms.
"You'll need to stop moving." The technician's voice was loud enough over the intercom to be heard through the earplugs.
In the past week, my gaps in memory had been filling in slowly, in drips and drops, like water from a leaky water tap, but these memories were coming in a torrent.
A life insurance policy. Playing slots in a casino. Rowley so tired he could barely stand, but repeating the marriage vows with such conviction that my heart ached. Tears started leaking from my shut eyes.
What I'd promised him appeared before me like a formal document. Phrases repeated on the page. Home in seven days. Learn to trust me. My claustrophobic panic was suddenly overtaken by the panic of getting home to him.
"Hang on for just another minute," the technician said.
On my way back to the room, I made plans. It seemed vital to walk through the door under my own steam. I'd promised I'd make it home, that I'd come back to him. He had been convinced that the whole tour was just an excuse to get away. The dynamics would be completely different if he had to come fetch me. He would never know if I'd really intended to come home or whether my injury had prevented me from running away.
I couldn't talk the nurse into bringing me my small suitcase. I would just have to return in the clothes I was wearing when I fell.
There was no shower stall in the room they'd placed me in and walking to the shower facilities had been about the only exercise I'd gotten in the last few days. My balance had improved a lot. I no longer had to trail the tips of my fingers along the wall as I made my way down the short hallway.
At the entrance to the stalls, I collected the usual; a folded white towel, a small bar of soap, and a plastic tube of shampoo. Once inside the stall, I let myself cry. I'd royally screwed myself by insisting my timely return would prove my devotion to him.
Back in my room, I sat on my bed and dried my hair with the extra towel I'd grabbed. It was possible that I'd get an all clear and they'd release me today. Wishful thinking! Somehow I didn't think they would discharge me this late in the day.
I'd heard visitors chatting in the hallway as late as eight at night. I'd just stroll out like I was a visitor.
I opened the nightstand drawer where I'd seen the nurse deposit the plastic bag with my clothes.
There was a rip in my jeans and my t-shirt was streaked with asphalt and so were my white sneakers.
I found my unused bus ticket in my pocket. I stuck it back into the pocket. I was going to hold onto it for proof.
Now, I just needed to arrange for a ride home.
Finn? No, that would be beyond stupid. Lili? I'd helped her out of tricky situations before. Also, hers was one of the few phone numbers I had memorized.
The phone on the nightstand had a sticker on it with directions for long distance calls. You could choose to apply the charges to your bill, which was the only option that worked for me, considering I had no credit card. I got her voice mail and left a message. I hoped I didn't sound too frantic.
When the phone rang, I grabbed it on the first ring.
"Hey, babe," she said. "Sorry, I didn't recognize the number. Are you okay? Your husband has been looking everywhere for you."
Relief surged through me. He hadn't given up on me. "I need a huge favor." I told her my predicament.
"Oh my God. Do you want me to call Rowley and tell him?"
"No," I nearly shouted. "I want to surprise him," I said, trying for a calmer tone. Surprise him? How insane that must sound.
"Relax, Harp. What's the name of the hospital?"
I read the name off the logo on the plastic clothing bag. "You'll have to look up the address. But don't pick me up here. I haven’t been officially released."
"Seriously? You're making a break for it?" Lili had impulsive tendencies, too. If anyone would understand, it would be her.
"There's a Starbucks right by the hospital. I'll be waiting inside."
"Okay, calling in sick as soon as I hang up. I should be out of here in less than twenty."
"You're a lifesaver. I'll reimburse you for the gas once we get home. Also, those pink lace-up boots of mine you covet. They're yours."
"Ah, you don't have to do that.” There was barely a pause before she said, “What am I saying? Hell, yes, I'll take those boots."