Chapter 10
People always ask what it’s like waking up in a hospital when you don’t remember what happened. Nosy people, that is—that’s why I don’t feel bad giving a generic answer. Something simple, like it was scary. Or it was like an out-of-body experience.
But the truth is, when I woke up, I didn’t really believe what was happening to me.
The first thing I remember is the pain, but I’ll skip the gruesome details. Second is my parents at the side of my bed telling me I was in an accident after the Valentine’s Day Dance. They didn’t know I couldn’t remember the dance yet—not until later, when I was asking for Pete. The third thing is my hands.
When I first woke up, I couldn’t move my body much, so I spent the first couple days in the hospital bed looking at my hands. A nurse saw me staring one day and told me that the little piece of plastic attached to my finger was called the pulse oximeter. It was used to measure oxygen in my blood. I thanked her, although it sounded more like a moan. But she had been mistaken—I wasn’t looking at that piece of plastic or the machine I was hooked up to.
I was examining my bare fingernails. It didn’t add up. There was no way I went to a dance with unpainted nails—Carmen wouldn’t have let me. I remember feeling like I was in some bad sci-fi movie. These people by the side of my bed were pretending to be my parents.
This of course was paranoia, most likely caused by the painkillers. I later found out that doctors take nail polish off patients before surgery, which explained why I wasn’t wearing any. But when I was first staring at my hands, they were like proof to me that I couldn’t possibly have been in an accident after the dance. Except as I told my parents I didn’t believe them, they looked at me with the same concerned expression that Andy has now while driving to the next paper heart.
You paint the gown red
(Ask for Sydney)
I pull the paper heart out in the car and read it again, even though I instantly knew where I needed to go—“paint the gown red” is one of my favorite Essie shades, and Carmen and I always go get our nails done at the same spa before big events. This includes our first day of high school, before her sweet sixteen, and before any kind of dance. In Carmen’s eyes if you forget to do your nails, you might as well be wearing sweatpants. That’s a little extreme if you ask me, but as judgmental as that is, I always do enjoy getting ready with Carmen—sometimes it’s the small things that make a big event fun. We used to beg our moms to take us, and then by the time we could drive, it was a full-fledged tradition.
When Andy pulls up to the entrance of the inn where the spa is, he’s facing me with a furrowed brow. “Thanks for the ride…really,” I add, because even though he thinks I’m ridiculous for chasing these hearts, he has helped me so far. Now it’s time to do this on my own.
I’ve been to this spa hundreds of times before the accident but never once afterward. I considered coming back to see if it would help reignite my memories, but I chickened out. The doctors said the chances are slim to none anyway, and the thought of returning felt eerie, like it is now.
“I should go before I lose the nerve,” I say, unbuckling my seat belt.
“Lose your nerve? Why’re you nervous? You look kind of freaked out.”
I don’t respond because I don’t even know why I’m nervous. Maybe it’s just because the thought of being back where I was the day of the accident is a little unnerving. The girl I was then must have been excited to go to a dance with her best friend. She had no idea what was about to happen to her that night.
“Do you want me to wait for you?” he asks. “Really, it’s no problem, I’m not working today. I took the day off.”
Suddenly, I feel a twinge of guilt. Did he take the day off to be with me?
“Don’t worry,” he says like he can read my mind. “Someone covered for me. Sarah Chang, do you know her? She goes to your school.”
I wince at Sarah’s name but then nod, feeling guiltier than ever. Sarah’s working an extra shift because I needed a ride.
“Well, thanks for the offer,” I start to say. “But my sister is coming to get me.”
This is true. I texted her on the way and she’s getting me with Steve on their way back from snowboarding. Maybe she agreed because I sent her a bunch of SOS emojis in a row. Or maybe she did feel guilty about not taking me this morning.
“Oh, okay,” Andy says softly, like he’s disappointed. He grips the steering wheel tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go.
“For the record, I’m sorry about what I said back there. I can tell whatever you’re looking for must be important,” he says, gently touching my elbow.
His eyes are sincere and it makes me want to explain why it’s so important. But how do I even begin? I’m about to try when he removes his hand to press a button by his window. There’s a loud click from the door unlocking.
“Was almost going to trap you in here with me.” He winks.
I laugh. “Almost worked. But yeah, I should actually go now. Thanks for not holding me hostage, and for everything.”
“Don’t mention it. I hope everything goes well.”
“Me too,” I admit.
He smiles as I slide out the door, heading to the entrance of the building without looking back. The inn is in the middle of nowhere, which is why people from NYC like to stay here for quaint weekend getaways. But the spa is open to everyone, not just guests, and I’m glad for that. It’s one of those places that doesn’t look like much from the outside. But when you enter, it transforms into a hidden oasis. I swear they do that on purpose to trick people so it’s never crowded and always a soothing experience. As soon as I open the door, I’m hit with the calming scent of lavender.
See? This is supposed to be relaxing, I tell myself. This is going to be fine.
I wipe my snowy shoes on the doormat before heading to the front desk off to the right. When I do, I’m greeted by a woman with rosy cheeks and long shiny jet-black hair. “How can I help you?” she asks when I’m standing in front of her. The desk is covered with pamphlets of all the spa services—massages, facials, you name it. But I’m not here to browse.
“I’m…I’m looking for Sydney,” I say, repeating what the paper heart said. Once the words escape my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound. I don’t actually have an appointment—there might not even be a Sydney that works here.
But the woman looks at the computer on her desk like she knows who I’m talking about. For a moment my heart speeds up, until she frowns. “Name, please,” she says.
“Ella,” I reply softly, realizing that I could be completely wrong after all. “Ella Fitzpatrick.”
The second I say my full name, her head snaps from the computer to me. Her rosy cheeks instantly pale. “Just one moment,” she says. There’s a phone on the desk that she lifts now as she presses a long fingernail to the screen.
“Ella Fitzpatrick is here to see you,” she says after a couple of seconds. It must be Sydney. I can’t hear what she says back on the other end, but the woman with the jet-black hair nods. “Yes, absolutely,” she says before she hangs up. Then she turns back to me, her expression now warm. “Sydney will be with you in just a moment. Please take a seat.”
I raise my eyebrow. How did I go from almost being turned away for having no appointment to this?
As I head over to the velvet couch, I can’t help but think about who my admirer is again. It seems like Carmen’s still my best bet. She can be a force when she wants something. The GoFundMe account is a good example of that. Besides, if not her, who could it be?
I try to remember all the possible admirers I wrote down in my notebook aside from Carmen, but for some reason I’m drawing a blank, like I do sometimes when I’m anxious. I suddenly feel light-headed and am relieved to sit down. Across from the couch there are magazines to peruse while I wait, but I don’t currently care what hairstyle is trendy right now or what celebrity is dating who.
I’m sitting here for what feels like forever, which is probably more like ten minutes, when a woman with short red hair pops out of the glass door. She rushes over and hugs me like she knows me. As she lets go and sees my face, her eyes are all wide, as if she’s messed up already.
“You must be Sydney,” I say with a smile.
“Yes, dear,” she says. “I’m sorry for coming on so strong. I’ve just been waiting for you to come back for a while now….When I heard you might finally be ready…” She trails off in almost a wistful way.
“You’ve been waiting for me?” I ask. “Who told you I’d be coming?”
“Oh, come on now. You know I can’t tell you that. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
Fred from the flower shop said the same thing. I’m sworn to secrecy.
Who are they protecting?
I nod so she knows I understand, but really I don’t.
She gives me a small smile. “Let’s get started with your mani-pedi.”
I skim the nail polish rack, paying as much attention to the names on the bottles as the actual color. Adore-a-Ball, Diamond in the Cuff, Sole Mate. Eventually, I settle on Paint the Town Red for my hands and Scavenger Hunt for my toes, which seems extremely fitting.
As I hold the bottles in my hand, I realize one thing. Sydney may be sworn to secrecy about my admirer, but she may still be able to tell me about the last time I was here before the accident.
I sit in silence as Sydney fills the tub. Normally, the sound soothes me, but now the rushing of the water makes my questions rush to the brim of my mind too. Once she turns the knob off, I can’t hold them in any longer.
“Do you remember anything about that day?” I ask. I don’t have to specify what day I’m talking about. The way she bites her lip now tells me she knows what I’m asking.
Sydney grabs one of my feet out of the tub and begins to file my toenails before looking up at me from her stool.
“I had a feeling you were going to be curious.” She eventually sighs. “And I really wish I could remember more.”
You and me both, I think. There has to be something she remembers.
“Well, was there anything Carmen and I were talking about?” I ask.
“Carmen?”
“Sorry, the friend I was with,” I answer.
She shakes her head. “I’ve seen you here with another girl before, but that day you came alone.”
Alone? Why wouldn’t Carmen have come with me? That doesn’t even make any sense.
She must see the confusion on my face, because she offers a small smile.
“I do remember one thing,” she says, dipping my foot back in the water and grabbing the other to file. “You were texting some boy even while I was trying to give you a manicure—that’s why I remember it.”
A boy? But I broke up with Pete three weeks before the dance.
“Was his name Pete?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “I wish I knew, darling, but we didn’t talk about it. I was just worried about you not messing up your nails with all the texting.”
I nod. “Sorry for being a brat on my phone while you were trying to work. You must have thought I was really rude.”
“Oh, I didn’t think that. No,” she says, looking at me with a glimmer in her eyes. “Actually, I thought you were just in love.”
“That can’t be right,” I say, mainly because I know I’ve never been in love—not really. But also because Pete and I had been broken up by then.
She shrugs. “You asked me what I remembered, darling. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”
With that, I’m left speechless. I sit through the rest of my pedicure in pure shock. As she paints my nails with Scavenger Hunt, all I can do is wonder why my admirer wanted me to come here. Was it so I could hear that?
After my manicure, I’m so dazed, I don’t even realize that I’m leaving the spa without a new paper heart.