Claire groaned, tears springing to her eyes at the all-consuming ache that gripped her body. Pressure and pain were indiscriminate, and she tried to control her ragged breathing.
“Good. Very good,” an unfamiliar voice said reassuringly. “I’m sure you’re in quite a bit of discomfort, but you’re a very fortunate young lady. Please don’t try to move yet.”
The bright fluorescent lights seemed to beat through her closed eyelids. “Where am I?” she croaked. Or tried to croak; the words weren’t as clear to her ears as they were in her head.
“Oh honey, don’t worry about it now.” Her mother’s voice was soft. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“What happened?” She imagined that her words were more clear, stronger.
The unfamiliar voice said, “You’re in the hospital. You were in a car accident. Your brother is fine. He has a broken collarbone but he’s recovering very well. No one else was hurt, except for you.”
“Is he okay?” Claire whispered.
“He’s fine, Claire. It wasn’t even a bad break.” Her mother sounded like she was on the verge of tears, and Claire forced her eyes open.
“Mom? Are you okay?” Her voice sounded raspy and strange.
Her mother choked out a laugh. “I’m fine, dear. You’ll be fine too.”
“It will take some time, though.” The voice belonged to a nurse wearing cupcake-patterned scrubs. She smiled down kindly at Claire. “Your car rolled twice and hit a submerged piling in the ditch. Your side of the car, and you, managed to take most of the damage. We got you stabilized, but you had some pretty serious surgery to go through. We induced a coma and you’ve just come out of it. You’ll feel strange, but you’re healing very well. If you continue this way, you should make a full recovery.
Claire frowned. Everything seemed hazy, both her eyesight and her sluggish thoughts.
She went home a week later, home being her parents’ house and not the apartment she’d been planning to move into when she started graduate school. A broken collarbone, three broken ribs, a collapsed lung, a cracked pelvis, some internal injuries that she mentally summarized as “liver and stuff got squashed,” and, the most serious, a traumatic brain injury. The swelling had been controlled only with a medically-induced coma lasting just over a week.
Her mother had taken a month off of her job at the boutique to take care of Claire, and after a week being pampered at home, Claire insisted that she could go back.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Her mother studied her worriedly. “Claire-bear, you look like you got run over by a truck. You’re so pale, and you’re barely eating. And don’t pretend that you aren’t hurting.”
Claire grimaced weakly. “The drugs make me blah. But Ethan’s here to fetch me the remote and snacks. I can go to the bathroom by myself. There’s no need for you to stay stuck at home every single day.”
“No more than an hour of television.”
“I know.” Claire wasn’t even tempted to watch more; she’d pushed the limit once to try to finish a movie. Not long before the end, the headache rose like a great, throbbing ocean of pain, drowning out any other thought. “I’ll be fine. I’ll lie on the couch and veg.”
After a kiss on her head, and a chat with Ethan, her mother felt reassured enough to drive away for a half-day shift.
Claire closed her eyes, trying to decide if she felt up to reading or whether focusing on a book would be too much. Maybe a nap would be better.
“Did you have any weird dreams while you were in the coma?”
She opened her eyes to see Ethan staring at her from where he sat on the oversized ottoman.
Claire considered the question. She did have strange memories, but it was hard to piece them into any sort of logical narrative. There was the king, all shadow and danger and malevolence. A boy clothed in black whom the king had carried. Blue ink spots on a marble floor.
“I think there was a crow-boy,” she said finally. “And a nightmare king who disappeared you.”
Ethan’s grew wide. “And he flew through the window like a bird of prey,” he whispered.
Claire closed her eyes, suddenly aching and dizzy. “It was just a dream.” She toyed with the familiar pendant on its chain around her neck.
“I’ve never had a dream like that before,” Ethan said. “Lots of dreams feel real, but that one felt important. Like I was supposed to understand something but I don’t get it yet. You remember it, right?”
“I don’t know if what I remember matches what you remember.”
“How long was it for you in the dream after he disappeared me?”
“A few seconds.”
Ethan frowned. “Dreams are so strange,” he muttered. “I was only out for a few minutes. I woke up right as the ambulance arrived.” His voice changed, and Claire opened her eyes to see him brushing away tears. “It was really rough, Claire. There was blood and everyone was shouting and I was so scared.”
“I’m sorry.” The words seemed inadequate, and she reached out to put her hand on his arm. “I wish I’d been more careful.” Her throat closed with emotion. I almost got my little brother killed. “I’m so sorry, Ethan.” She rubbed the side of her thumb against the edging on his sling. “Does it hurt much now?”
Ethan’s eyes widened. “It’s fine, Claire. It was scary to see you like that!”
Claire smiled faintly. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that too.”
Claire was more or less mobile six weeks after the accident, but she was hardly up to moving by herself. Graduate school started in two weeks. She’d been reluctant to postpone entering graduate school for an entire semester, so after some serious discussions with her parents and with her doctor about recovery, she had decided to attend this autumn semester, despite the lingering headaches and fatigue. She’d picked out a studio apartment by looking at pictures online; technically her mother had done most of the searching and just presented her with a few options, since she wasn’t supposed to look at a computer screen for more than an hour a day yet.
Everything hurt, but she was off the painkillers aside from the occasional over-the-counter ibuprofen to push the aches aside long enough to fall asleep. She was nearly bald. An arc of fresh, red scar tissue edged by the dots of staples marred the left side of her head just behind her ear; that was from the longest laceration from the car window. The surgeon had used the same wound to drill into her skull to relieve the pressure on her brain. They’d shaved her entire head to stitch up the other lacerations, so now she looked like… well… she wasn’t sure what she looked like. Not a punker; she was too shy and boring for that. Not a cancer patient; the fuzz they’d left over the rest of her head was too dark and thick. But she didn’t look like herself, or what she imagined she ought to look like.
After all the pain and discomfort, it felt ridiculously unfair to have to look in the mirror and see someone else. Someone with her features, though her eyes were still shadowed like those of a raccoon from the two black eyes she’d gotten from the air bag, and her cheeks were still slightly swollen from the fluids and the possibly-cracked cheekbone. Someone who looked tired and a little frightened, someone with no hair and a big red scar on her head, someone who looked… older. More serious.
Her friend Beth came to visit before school started. They sat on the back deck in lounge chairs with tea and fresh scones Beth had brought from the Java Jim’s. Eating hurt. Chewing hurt. The bright autumn sun beat down on Claire’s newly shorn head, stinging the tender skin, and she’d finally had to move the chair into the shade.
“You’re really lucky, Claire.” Beth stared off into the distance, not looking at her friend. “You haven’t seen the pictures of the car, have you?”
“No.”
“I’m honestly surprised you’re alive at all.” Beth took a slow bite of her scone. “Maple cinnamon. You should eat more.”
“I’m not that hungry.”
Beth studied her. “What’s bothering you, aside from the obvious?”
Claire rubbed her thumb over the rim of her cup. “I don’t like being bald.” Her throat closed with unexpected, unwelcome emotion, and she muttered, “It’s probably stupid. But I really don’t like it. My hair had finally gotten a little of wave, and it was pretty. I don’t have the cheekbones to pull off a pixie cut, much less a buzz like this.”
Beth snorted. “You’re alive, Claire. Hair grows back. Don’t worry about it. And you have gorgeous cheekbones.”
Claire raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Says who?”
“Says me! You want me to shave my head too?”
Claire blinked at her. “What? No!”
Beth pulled her golden curls forward with both hands. “I’m serious. I’ll do it if it would make you feel better. We could be baldies together. I’ll buy us matching bandanas.” She grinned. “No! Little old lady hats with flowers on them!”
Claire giggled, then groaned. “Ouch. Don’t be ridiculous. Cutting off your luscious hair won’t make mine grow back faster.”
“But would it make you feel less alone in your baldness?” Beth met her eyes seriously. “It’s not about the hair. Claire. We’d make a cute pair with our heads bare… um… because I dare and I care!”
Claire laughed, then groaned more pathetically. “Oh, Beth. Don’t make me laugh.” She tugged on the pendant on her necklace, feeling the familiar ridges and bumps. It was comforting, and she was both surprised and grateful that it hadn’t been lost in the accident or the hospital stay.
When she let go of it, she forgot it again.
The sun fell below the trees. Claire shivered, the air a little too crisp for her to feel comfortable. Beth had left, having promised not to cut her hair off in solidarity with her friend but having made plans for another visit in three days. With some effort, Claire dragged herself into the house, juggling her paperback and the empty cup and plate with crumbs from the scone. With some effort, she had managed to eat the entire thing, and now doubted she’d be able to choke down much of dinner.
Two days after Beth’s next visit, Claire would be on the road to Charlottesville, Virginia, land of racehorses and wine and beautiful old brick buildings with lots of character. It was a lovely, albeit expensive, place to spend the next few years. Fortunately she had several scholarships; the awards wouldn’t cover all her costs, but a part time job would cover the rest. Her parents would help move her into the little studio apartment she’d leased.
She slid into the hot shower, letting the water soothe the lingering aches.
A week later, her parents slept on an air mattress on her living room floor after moving her few things into the apartment. Ethan slept on her couch. Her apartment was on the second floor with a lovely view of one of the many grassy areas around campus, edged by an old brick wall that exuded historic charm.
Claire felt, if not entirely healed, at least able to face the walk across campus to her classes. She didn’t have a car yet and didn’t want to drive anyway.
“Are you sure you’re all right, dear?” her mother asked for the hundredth time.
“Yeah, Mom. Thanks.” Claire smiled reassuringly. That had gotten easier over the weeks.
Ethan hugged her gingerly. “Have you had any more weird dreams?” he whispered in her ear.
She shook her head, glancing at him. “Have you?”
“No.” He studied her face, then glanced away. “But I keep wanting to.”
Claire frowned. “Don’t. I can’t imagine anything good could come of that.”
“What are you two whispering about?” her father said cheerily.
“Nothing!” Ethan’s voice squeaked, and Claire grinned at him, watching him blush. He was all gangly teenage limbs and floppy hair. Only a hint of little boy roundness remaining in his face. The thought of him in the wreck brought sudden tears to her eyes, and she wrapped her arms around him again.
“Love you, little brother.”
“Love you too, big sister.” He smiled at her. “Next time I see you, I’ll be taller than you. So enjoy it while it lasts.”