The tangled emotions of a dream I can’t remember cling to me. Anxiety churns in my chest, making my heart beat faster. A wet nose presses against my hand, comforting me. I wiggle my fingers and Blue’s snout pushes my hand so that I’m petting him. “Good boy,” I say through chapped lips.
“Sydney?” Mulberry’s voice reaches through the hazy space and pulls me closer to being awake.
Blue whines and I move my hand, petting his snout.
“Sydney!” Mulberry’s voice is louder, excited.
I pry my eyes open and find him hovering over me. When my eyes meet his, tears spring into his gaze. “Sydney,” he says again, his voice choked. My lips ache when I smile up at him.
He takes my free hand—the one not petting Blue—and kisses it. “Sydney,” he says my name again. It comes out almost like a prayer.
What is going on?
Mulberry looks up, his eyes catching on something next to the bed. I shift to follow his gaze. There are machines next to me—IVs and monitors. Confusion clouds my thoughts. “What?” I croak out, the word hurting my parched throat.
Mulberry grabs a cup with a straw next to my bed and brings it to my lips. I take a sip but then cough, splattering water all over myself. Mulberry helps me sit up and I can feel the needles in my arm, the monitors on my chest. Blue shifts to give me more room. Mulberry brings the straw to my lips again and this time I drink slowly, carefully, my gaze on the cup.
He moves it away and my eyes fall on my stomach. It’s huge. My son shifts inside of me and it is not a flutter—he’s big. Way big. “Sydney,” Mulberry says my name again, this time in a deep baritone meant to reassure. “You’ve been in a coma for a month.”
“What?” I croak out again. Blue’s wet nose swipes at my forearm and I lay a hand on his ruff, letting my fingers dig into the reassuring warmth.
“Hold on.” Mulberry grabs his phone and starts typing. “I’m going to have Dr. Guilder come and talk to you.”
“What about our baby?”
“He’s fine,” Mulberry quickly reassures me. “Totally fine.”
Relief washes over me and I lay back on the pillows. I’m in my room but the bed is a hospital bed. Just like Dan had when we got here. Blue lies next to me, fitting himself onto the narrow mattress.
My eyelids feel heavy, but I refuse to close them. I lost a month of my life. How the fuck did this happen? “What about Nila and Frank?” I ask.
“Merl took them back to Costa Rica with him. We thought it was best since we didn’t know…” Mulberry’s voice trails off. I glance over at him but he’s still focused on his phone. “Dr. Guilder is on her way,” he says, placing it on the bedside table.
Dark circles haunt Mulberry’s eyes and stubble coats his jaw. We’ve almost lost each other so many times. He picks up my hand again and kisses it. “I love you so much.”
I squeeze. “You okay?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his eyes growing red and shiny. “No,” he admits with a shy smile. “I’m kind of a disaster.”
“Come here,” I say, pulling him closer. Blue makes room as Mulberry wraps his arms around me. He buries his face into my neck then takes a deep breath, the air rushing over my skin. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m okay, the baby’s okay.” I rub soothing circles on his back. My arms feel heavy, the IV needles pulling at me, but I can move them. That’s got to be a good sign.
“I…losing you. Him. I can’t.” Mulberry’s lips brush against my skin with each word.
“It’s okay. We are both here. We’re fine.”
Mulberry pulls back, our faces close. “You don’t understand, Sydney, you almost died.”
“Not the first time,” I say, trying to make a joke. Mulberry shakes his head, clearly not ready to make light of my near-death experience. I smile, trying to lift his spirits.
He stares into my eyes, bringing a hand around and cupping my cheek. His gaze tracks to my lips, then back to my eyes. “I missed you so much.”
Blue whines softly as if in agreement. A knock at the door draws Mulberry away. I turn to look at my dog. He looks the same—mismatched eyes watching me with love and adoration I do not deserve.
“Sydney,” Dr. Guilder says in greeting. She looks the same too—bright blue eyes, blonde hair, an air of competence and caring. She pulls out her pen light and I obediently follow her directions.
“I’m fine,” I protest, which is truly absurd but I can’t seem to keep the words in my mouth.
“You’re remarkably fine, yes,” she admits. “We were able to use an intravenous total parenteral nutrition line rather than a feeding tube. You were always able to breathe just fine on your own. It’s as if your brain just needed a rest. I don’t understand it, but these things do happen. To be honest, you’re somewhat of a miracle.”
I cringe at those words. “Let’s not go there,” I say.
She cocks her head. Guess she hasn’t heard how Rida used saving me as evidence of her gifts from God. How I terrified an entire city—chasing ISIS fighters from it, using that myth as my weapon. They called me the Miracle Woman.
I’m not a miracle or a hero. I’m just a woman who gets pissed off easily and acts on those feelings with violence. I’m also a woman who can survive. That’s all I am. A violent woman who manages to live.
“You do have a catheter in,” Dr. Guilder says. The words make me suddenly aware of it and I wince. “I can take it out if you think you can make it to the bathroom.”
“Yes,” I say quickly.
Mulberry leaves the room, taking Blue with him. Dr. Guilder and I spend a few painful minutes together and then she helps move my legs to the side of the bed. I’m wearing compression socks that go up to my knees and a hospital gown—the kind open in the back. My head spins a little as I come to fully sit up.
“I’m okay,” I say, as much to myself as to Dr. Guilder, whose focus on me is a little unnerving. It’s as if she expects me to fall…or slip back into a coma. I guess I can’t blame her. She doesn’t know what a lucky pissed off bitch I am. Women like me, we survive.
Dr. Guilder offers her arm, and I am not too proud to take it. I rise slowly, carefully, so fucking heavily. My legs shake with the effort. “I’m so heavy,” I say out loud.
“You’ve gained weight,” Dr. Guilder says. “Which is a good thing,” she adds. “Your son is doing well because your body has done well. Your blood pressure is under control. You’ve lost muscle tone but not as much as you could have—Mulberry has worked with you every day. He is very devoted.”
I ignore that because I can’t deal with it. At all. “Why did I go into a coma?” I ask.
Dr. Guilder doesn’t answer for a long moment. I take my eyes off my sock-clad feet and turn to her. “I don’t know,” she admits. “It’s not unheard of though, comas like this. As you can imagine I’ve done a lot of research in the last month. But I don’t know what made you go into it…or come out.”
“That’s comforting,” I joke.
“Your brain has suffered a lot more than the average person’s.”
“You’re telling me.” I return my focus to my feet. We are going for a walk, to the bathroom. Now. We are starting with the right one. I wriggle the toes so we all know which leg I’m seeking to command.
Dr. Guilder doesn’t say a word as I slowly, carefully, make my way to the bathroom. When I get to the toilet I grin. She helps me pee and then we make our way back to the bed. By the time I’m resettled against the pillows, I’m exhausted and sweat beads my hairline.
Mulberry returns with a plate full of food and I am suddenly ravenous. “Pasta,” I say. “You do love me.”
“I’ll leave you for now,” Dr. Guilder says. “But I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t overdo it.”
“I’m good,” I promise.
She nods, as if she believes me, but her brow is creased with concern.
“I messaged your mother,” Mulberry says. “And let the council know you’re awake. Dan is going to come see you soon.”
“Thanks. What about Robert?”
Mulberry doesn’t answer until I look up from my bowl of pasta. “I didn’t reach out to him.”
I swallow as fear grips my throat. “Are you stupid or just selfish?” I ask, the words biting and way meaner than I mean them to be.
Mulberry’s eyes storm over. “Sorry I didn’t want to answer your husband’s phone calls.”
“You know he will tear the world apart looking for me, right?”
“You’re so sure he loves you?”
My eyes go wide. “He’s a fucking psycho, you know that, right? A powerful psycho who is married to me—and scarily protective of me.” I put down my fork, no longer hungry. “Give me my phone,” I say. “Hopefully he hasn’t done anything too crazy.”
Mulberry stands and paces away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s on your bedside table.”
I spot it, and reach over, picking it up. There are messages from my mom, Merl, Dan, Lenox, even unemotional Petra sent a text. I navigate to my thread with Robert. My breath stops.
There are a lot of messages. A lot. The last one, sent last night, reads: I am coming for you.
“Shit,” I say out loud. I need to call him.
“Can’t you see this is all a setup, Sydney?” Mulberry says, drawing my attention back to him. He’s standing by the door. “He wants you to think he loves you, that he’s a good guy.”
“I don’t think he’s a good guy,” I say, my voice clipped. “But I do think he cares about me. And I know him, Mulberry.”
“He cares about winning. That’s it. That’s all he has ever cared about.” Mulberry runs a hand through his already mangled hair. “I can’t believe you care about him at all. It’s so…” He grunts in frustration and turns to the door but doesn’t walk through it.
I don’t say anything. Because there isn’t anything to say.
Mulberry turns back to me, his nostrils flared, cheeks red, breathing heavy. “I love you, Sydney. You’re having my baby.” He says it low, quiet. As if I’m the one who’s upset. As if I’m the one having a freakout and need reality reiterated for me.
“I’m well aware of the situation, Mulberry. I am also cognizant that those facts do not dictate my behavior in one direction. I’m not going to become some good little wifey to you.”
“Of course not!” Mulberry roars, then shakes his head. His voice reined in, he continues. “Of course you’re not going to do that. You’re going to be you. Always you. Just…” He stops, his voice trailing off into some unfinished thought.
“What?” I ask.
Mulberry’s gaze meets mine for a moment and then he turns away again, giving me his broad back. The T-shirt he’s wearing is tight and I can see the hard lines of his shoulders underneath.
Mulberry always gets cut when he’s going through a difficult period…usually brought on by his frustrations with me. “I understand I’m hard to love,” I say.
Mulberry snorts and shakes his head. “That’s not it,” he says. “You’re too easy to love.” He turns back to me, a sad smile on his lips. “I’d give anything for you to care about me the way I care about you. All I want in life, Sydney, is you.”
The words steal my breath. We stare at each other. His fists are balled, arm muscles tight, his jaw clenched. “I think it’s an idea of me,” I say slowly. “Because if you want me, just as I am, then you’d understand that I can love both you and Robert. That I’m not a normal person. I’m not like…” I stop because I don’t know what I’m not like. I just know… “I want what I want, Mulberry. And if all you wanted was me, the real me, then you’d want that too…for me.”
I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. And from the look on Mulberry’s face, he can’t either. But it’s true. And it’s at the crux of our relationship’s fucked-upness. Mulberry is always trying to save me from myself. But I don’t want to be saved. I want to be loved. For all of me.
Tears spring into my eyes. “I’m sorry,” Mulberry says, closing the space between us in two ground-eating strides. He wraps me in his arms and I’m enveloped in the familiar darkness that is my face against his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his breath hot on my hair.
The tears come, and they don’t give details as to why. It’s just a whirlwind of ache and swollen pain. A sob racks through me and my fingers tighten in his shirt, twisting the soft material so that my knuckles press into his muscles. “You’re right,” he says. “You’re so right. I’m…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He just holds me as the storm rages, settles, and finally leaves. I pull back and he lets me go.
“Here.” Mulberry reaches over and grabs a box of tissues from the bedside table. His arms still around me, he rips one free and passes it to me before throwing them back to the table and getting his hands back to my body—like he’s afraid if he lets go, I’ll disappear.
I snuffle my face into the tissue, blow my nose, swipe at my swollen eyes. “I’m fine,” I say, because that’s the kind of thing that pops out of my mouth after sobbing uncontrollably after waking up from a coma. It’s true though. Tears don’t mean you’re broken. I blow my nose again, still not looking up at him.
“I get it,” Mulberry says. “I hear you.”
My gaze rises to his and I find him there—his hazel eyes sad but true. We don’t speak for a long moment. I don’t know what we are waiting for but it feels like something is coming. A new beginning…or a final end.