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Darkness held me in suspended animation interrupted only by erratic shots of light that hit my brain like spikes, driving me deep into the depths of hell.
Consciousness returned in waves, ebbing and flowing with a distant tide. Mumbling voices disturbed my sleep. The words were a jumble from an alphabet I didn’t know.
Hands brushed my arms and my face. Fingers worked their way into my scalp. More words pushed their way into my head. They were comforting words, but I didn’t know why.
A faint peeping grew louder with each tide until it became an incessant beeping. With great effort, I opened my eyes to a bright blur of light and shadow. The light hurt. I closed my eyes against the pain and surrendered to the night.
The pain in my head brought me out of the blackness. I cracked my eyelids and the stabbing light leaked in. Raised voices spoke in tongues and quieted. I focused on the beeping, waiting for darkness to claim me again, but this time it remained out of reach.
I felt fingers on my forehead. My eyelids were pried open in turn. I blinked against the intrusion.
A blurry face pushed in. “Can you tell me your name?” A sense of déjà vu washed over me.
“Emelynn,” I said. My voice sounded unrecognizable, gravelly, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone who smoked a couple of packs a day.
This was not hell. It was a hospital. I’d survived. Emotions welled up and tears threatened.
“Welcome back, Emelynn. I’m Dr. Buchanan.”
I would learn later that Dr. Buchanan was the neurosurgeon who’d drilled holes in my head to relieve the pressure from the blood collecting between my brain and my skull. He’d also performed surgery to mend the leaking aneurysms in my brain.
I’d beat the odds by surviving, but I didn’t get off without paying a price. The resulting stroke had rendered my left side weak. Dr. Buchanan felt hopeful it would improve with time as my brain rewired itself. “You’re young and healthy,” he repeated more than once. He’d used those same words to precede his astonishment at the astronomical odds of my suffering such a catastrophic medical emergency, one he labelled multiple life-threatening subarachnoid hemorrhages.
For five days after the surgery, painkillers warped my reality. I existed in a world of sleep and haze. Mom had been in my room the day I recovered consciousness, and it seemed she never left my side. Other than Avery, she was the only person besides hospital staff allowed in my room. She was family. My only family. I couldn’t form the words to ask about Mason. The unrelenting pain in my head was my punishment, my regret and my shame.
Avery was often with Mom when I opened my eyes. They’d stop talking when they realized I was awake then coo and fuss over me until I drifted off again. After a week, I was stepped down from the high doses of painkillers. The surgeon told me I had to learn to live with the headache, that it could last six months or longer. If it lasted the rest of my life, I would bear it as the sentence I deserved.
When the narcotics were out of my system, I was moved out of the critical care unit into a private room. Ortez was waiting for me. I told him I remembered nothing. He volunteered what I already knew—that James Moss had killed Sebastian Kirk. They fingered Sebastian for the break-in at my condo and for the death of their constable. It was close enough. They found Kimberley hanging from a rafter in their Point Grey garage. Suicide, he’d said. I didn’t correct him.
Shortly after Ortez left, Sam arrived.
Mom patted my hand. “I’m going to stretch my legs, get a coffee.”
Sam took her seat beside the bed. “How are you?” I asked.
“Isn’t that my line?” Sam said with a chuckle. Laughing made my head hurt, but I managed a smile. “Your condo looks good. Your mom’s been busy setting it right. She had the balcony door replaced.”
“I thought Mom had moved in here at the hospital.”
“Avery convinced her to go home after the surgery. He knew you’d be out of it for a few days. I went over to check up on her and she dragged me out shopping for your new coffee table. You’d better like it ’cause I’m not doing that again.”
“You heard about Kimberley?”
“Yeah. Ortez told me.”
“Why aren’t you in a hammock somewhere warm with a cold beer?”
“That’s next. I wanted to see you first. How are you?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“The headache’s not going anywhere. My left arm is weak and my left leg isn’t taking direction very well.”
“They had you up and walking?”
“I wouldn’t call it walking. Shuffling is more like it, and that’s only with support. I’m not even allowed out of bed without assistance.”
Sam looked down at his hands. “Your surgeon asked me not to bring up what happened. Thinks it could be too traumatic. Might set you back.”
The image of Mason lying on his back flashed in my mind. I turned my head away from Sam and a sob escaped. My vision blurred and warm tears wet my cheeks.
Sam laid his hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Emelynn. When you’re ready, we can talk about it.”
“Stuart must hate me,” I said, between sobs. “It’s my fault. I should have listened to Mason.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. You set out to right a wrong. You followed the only clue you had. No one faults you for trusting your father’s word, your mother’s conviction. You got to the truth in the end. I didn’t get there any sooner than you did.”
“A man I loved is dead because I got it wrong. I’ll never be able to fix that. I can’t even apologize.”
Sam frowned and touched his fingers to his lips. “The doctor was right. Your memory is playing tricks on you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“My memory is just fine,” I said, sniffling now. “I know what I’ve done.”
Sam handed me a tissue. “No, I don’t think you do. You never loved Sebastian, not even close. You owe him nothing. And as for Stuart, he would like nothing more than to get in here and see you.”
Now it was my turn to look confused. “Why are you talking about Sebastian? I loathed the man.”
Confusion crossed Sam’s face. “Who were you talking about? Mason?” Hearing his name sent more tears rolling.
“Mason is fine, Emelynn. Broken collarbone, mild concussion, but he’s fine.”
My voice hitched. “He’s alive?”
“Last I saw him,” Sam said.
I closed my eyes and wept. Mom chose that moment to return.
She rushed to my side, opposite Sam. “What have you done?”
Sam must have been mortified. “She thought Mason was dead. I told her he wasn’t.”
Mom bent down to me. “Dry your eyes, Emelynn. No crying. You know what the doctor said. It’ll make your headache worse.”
She was right. The pain in my head had shot into the red zone. I took the tissues she offered and practiced the deep breathing I’d been taught.
“I’m sorry, Sam,” I said. “Last time I saw Mason he’d been blown through the balcony door. He couldn’t breathe. Sebastian said he wouldn’t survive.”
“He’d recovered when James got there. Didn’t know where you’d gone.”
“He probably doesn’t want to see me again, but I have to apologize to him.”
“He would love to see you,” Mom said. “I couldn’t keep him out of the ICU.”
“I never saw him there.”
“He wasn’t sure how you’d feel about him, given everything that happened. He didn’t want to upset you. Let me call him.”
When Mason arrived, my mother hugged him, Sam shook his hand and then Mom and Sam left us alone.
“I didn’t know they made black slings,” I said. He stood inside the door and advanced with tentative steps. He approached on my good side and I extended my hand. He took it then leaned down and kissed my cheek.
“Can you ever forgive me?” I asked.
“Already have,” he said.
“I don’t deserve it,” I said, and the waterworks started again.
Mason brushed the tears away. “Your mom tells me you shouldn’t do that,” he said. He sat in the bedside chair. “I understand why you thought it was me. I don’t blame you or your mom. How could she know? And Sebastian was fanning the flames every chance he got. I should have seen it sooner.”
“I need to apologize to your father as well.”
“My father doesn’t know he was included in your suspicions.”
“You didn’t tell him?”
“No. And I never will. Just like I’ll never tell anyone about your crystal. Promise.”
I bit my lip and took deep breaths to keep the tears away.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard from James?” I asked.
“Is it true that you’re seeing someone else now? An architect?”
“No,” I said, disheartened. “I hired Ben to help me design a new cottage. James got the wrong impression.”
“James told me you accused him of stepping out with Grace Shipley.”
“Yeah, I did. Are you and James buddies now?”
“We had to stick around for questioning by the police. Went out for a few beers. For what it’s worth, I don’t think you and I were the only ones Sebastian was driving a wedge between. He worked pretty hard on you and James as well.”
“Divide and conquer?”
“You were his target. He wanted you isolated. I think you should reach out to James. See if there’s something worth salvaging.”
“He can’t accept that I took that seat on the Tribunal.”
“Talk to him.”
“What’s going to happen to Sebastian’s seat?”
“The Kirk family and their heirs have been permanently removed from the Tribunal Novem.”
“That was fast. How did Tiffany take the news?”
“She was relieved. The Tribunal offered to execute her. She has your mother to thank for sparing her.”
“My mother?”
“You know how this works. The wronged parties are offered restitution. You weren’t able to respond, so they called on your mother. I told them I’d stand with whatever decision she made.” My mother had made the right call. She’d followed her own moral compass—the same one she’d instilled in me.
The hospital put me up for a few more days then sent me home in a wheelchair. Mom had outfitted the condo with mobility aids and rehab equipment. I had a walker, forearm crutches and a cane; exercise balls and adjustable exercise steps; and grab bars and poles for every conceivable scenario.
A steady stream of visitors came by. Eden and Alex showed me photos of the condo they’d bought near the hospital. They were staying with Avery and Victoria until they could move in. Molly and Cheney brought flowers. She was overdue to deliver her baby and couldn’t wait to pop, as she put it. Stuart made a trip up and I shed more tears, though he didn’t know why.
Ben Nicolson dropped by with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. He offered to tear up our agreement in light of his prior relationship with Sebastian. I refused the gesture. Mom and I liked his work and we didn’t believe he had an ulterior connection to Sebastian.
The others in the covey came by, usually in pairs. My mother was probably orchestrating the flow so I wouldn’t tire. I didn’t mind. It felt nice to have someone looking out for me.
At nine sharp, three times a week, a physiotherapist came by and worked with me until I cried uncle. Progress was frustratingly slow and the headache persisted, but Avery and the physiotherapist were both convinced I’d eventually regain full mobility.
When Mason returned to Vancouver, I asked him to take my mom out for a nice dinner. She resisted, but I told her one evening alone would do us both good, and she’d earned a night off.
After they left, I poured a glass of wine and settled on the sofa. I opened the small box that held the earrings James had given me. I’d never gotten around to returning them.
I’d given considerable thought to what Mason had said about Sebastian driving a wedge between James and me. Sebastian hadn’t helped matters, but if I was honest with myself, I had to admit he’d only hammered at issues that already existed between us.
It had been a month since my surgery and James hadn’t reached out to me. Then again, I hadn’t reached out to him, either. I had thought I’d get over him and move on, but the ache of his absence persisted. Not a day passed where I didn’t miss something about him. I loved him, and it wasn’t going away.
I’d imagined my life without him, and that life felt empty. I pulled out my phone, held my breath and dialled his number.
