I came to in a room that was lit with a low-watt green light. Before my eyes fully opened, my brain was attempting to process what was happening. Strange, disjointed images floated through the haze in my skull as I drifted, half-aware and yet still submerged in a state of semi-suspension. Every internal sound was amplified, as though I was in a womb.
Where am I?
I want…
I need…
And then the thunderclap of remembrance struck at me and I tried to sit up, tried to claw at whatever was blocking my mouth and nose.
Case, oh God, where is he? Where is he?
My heart responded and there was a whirring array of mechanical noises, beeps and hisses. Voices lifted in alarm. My eyes wouldn’t open all the way; through half-slitted eyelids all I could perceive was that odd green light. There was something blocking my movement, inhibiting me, and I tugged at what felt like thin tubes attached to the undersides of my forearms.
“Hold her, get her down!” ordered a female voice, and hard, fast-moving hands were all over me in the next second.
I thrashed and nearly spit in my frustrated fear. My throat was too parched to allow for sound. The voice ordered, “Five milligrams, now!”
And then I sank into a velvety-soft darkness.
***
My mind felt muddy, clogged. I drifted and odd, random words floated across my view as though they were tangible objects, as though constructed of white feathers. I tried to reach for the word unicorn but couldn’t move my hand.
“Tish, can you hear me?” Mom whispered, her lips near my ear. I could smell her then, peaches and the scent of her golden hair.
I tried to nod but found I could not.
“I love you so much,” she whispered then and I could hear the tears coming down her face, I could actually hear the little wet tracks they were making, the soft plops as they hit the sheet beneath me. She said, “I’m right here, honey, I’ll be right here.”
And then I was out again, drifting away.
***
The next time I came to, my eyes opened all the way. The room, a hospital room I could plainly discern, was dim and my mother and Camille were both sleeping in chairs positioned near the bed. This time there was nothing in my nostrils, and I drew a single breath. It hurt. It hurt deep inside my chest.
“Mom,” I rasped, my throat parched and dry, maddeningly muffled, but she came awake at once.
“Tish, I’m here,” she said. Camille’s feet hit the floor and she joined Mom at the bedside.
I felt as though all the world had fallen away from beneath my body. I knew that I was going to die when I heard the answer to my next question. I knew this, that my heart would just give out and I would die, and my body began to shake so forcefully that Mom said fearfully, “Tish.”
I demanded, “Where’s Case?” I could hardly speak, I felt weak as a newborn kitten, but anger and desperation lent me strength, and I demanded, “Tell me.”
Mom cupped my shoulders, attempting to still my shaking, and brought her eyes close to mine. I had already started sobbing in dry, rattling huffs, trembling so hard my bones seemed to be breaking. I heard Mom say, “Tish…”
I tried to shove away from her, tearing at the tubes on my arms, determined to climb from this bed. Mom was breathless with concern and crying too, but she caught at my arms and said, “We’re in Bozeman right now, honey. Case is in critical care, upstairs. He’s been unconscious for two days.”
“Tish,” and Camille was also weeping, her hands on my face. “You pulled him from the fire. They found you collapsed beneath him.”
“Is he all right?” I demanded harshly, imploring them, tears streaking my face. I couldn’t bear to be in this fucking bed without answers. It hurt to talk, it hurt to breathe, but I said with all the strength I could muster, “I have to go to him…he needs me…”
“Sweetheart, they don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Mom whispered hoarsely, and I could see what it cost her to tell me this. I wilted, curled upon myself like something already dead. I covered my face with my forearms, tubes and IV needles seeming to jangle all over the place, and still I heard her voice as she went on, painfully, “He needed emergency surgery on a heart valve…his lungs are compromised right now…”
I moaned, feeling these words like physical blows to my body.
“Tish, he’ll be all right,” Camille said, even though I could tell she was crying. She insisted, “He will.”
Only for a second did I give into this weakness. I twitched away their gentle touches and sat back up, though not without difficulty. I said, my voice rough and hoarse, “Get me out of here. Right now.”
“Tish, you’re hurt,” Mom said, putting her hands on my cheeks. “Your lungs are burned, baby. Oh God, baby, what happened…”
I closed my eyes, trying to remember exactly, and my brain was impacted again with the knowledge of Case in critical care, floors away from me when it seemed as though we had just been snuggling in his bed. His heart, oh God, his heart. It was unacceptable for me to be away from him. I would not have it this way one second longer. I demanded, “I have to go to him. Mom, oh God, please…”
Mom restrained me again. She said, “Tish, you can’t, not right now.”
“Now,” I begged, and my heart rate was out of control. It hurt to breathe. I realized that something was missing and my right hand fluttered upward to feel for my hair.
Mom’s face was wet with tears. She said, “Your hair got burned away, sweetheart…we’ll trim what’s left for you…”
Camille stroked my head; the ends of my hair were singed, ragged, far above my shoulders. But I hardly cared about that now. I said again, through a throat that felt lacerated, “Let me see him, Mom, please, I have to see him…”
Because I was no longer on oxygen and considered in recovery, the decision was finally made to remove my saline drip, thereby allowing me out of the bed. I reeked of smoke and the nurse told me she would help me bathe, but Camille said, “No, I can do it,” since Mom had gone to pick up Aunt Jilly, Ruthann and Clint, who were all staying with relatives of Mathias, here in Bozeman.
My sister helped me to the bathroom and said, “When you get out of the shower we’ll fix your hair.”
Alone for the moment in the hospital room, pale evening light streaking through the lone window, I sank against my sister, weeping again. Camille tipped her nose to what was left of my hair, holding me close, murmuring in my ear.
“He’ll be all right,” she told me, again and again. “He loves you so much, he’ll be all right.”
“I love him too, Milla, oh God, I can’t be without him,” I choked in my terrible raspy voice.
In the bathroom I could hardly believe the person in the mirror was me, but I didn’t have time to worry about how I looked right now. I had to get cleaned up so I could go to Case and put my eyes on him. Touch him, tell him I was here and that he would be all right. There was no other option but for him to be all right. I focused on that thought as I let the water run over my skin, my short hair.
I sat on the bed then, which had been stripped and was awaiting new sheets. Camille knelt behind me, her big pregnant belly firm against my back. As she brushed my hair I could feel the baby pushing against my spine. Tears flooded my eyes, dripped over my face, as my sister combed out my hair. She had procured a pair of scissors to trim it, but I was too impatient, sick with need to get upstairs. And finally, they let me.
***
Case was on oxygen, a ventilator covering his mouth and nose. They had bathed him and treated his forearms, which had been badly burned; from knuckles to elbows he was wrapped in white gauze. A doctor had assured me that the repair to his heart valve had been relatively minor surgery, but that it was good we caught it now, as it may have turned into something far more concerning down the road.
“Your husband is actually quite lucky,” she told me.
My husband, she’d said. I didn’t correct her; God willing, the second Case was awake I was going to get Al in here to officiate; he was ordained, I knew.
Far more concerning was the smoke Case had inhaled while saving our horses. It was brutal to observe him this way, unconscious, with a machine breathing for him, another monitoring his vital signs. I put my hands on him, aching to touch him even further and let him somehow realize that I was here, close to him, that I would not leave his side until he awoke. His skin was cool beneath my fingertips as I stroked his forehead, his soft hair, his ears, tears streaking my face and hysterical sobs threatening behind my breastbone.
No, I told myself. You cannot lose control. Not now.
“Case,” I whispered painfully, and bent to kiss his forehead, the machines connected to him whirring. “Oh God, Case, my love, my sweetheart, it’s all right. You’re safe and it’s all right now. I’m here. Please hear me. I’m here.”
They let me sleep in a chair on the far side of his bed. But I spent most of the night kneeling on the chair alongside the bed anyway, well away from the side with all the machinery; I fell asleep with my forehead tipped on my folded arms, and dreamed terrible things.
I dreamed we were back at Camille’s wedding and he was telling me he loved me, and I wasn’t listening. I witnessed his pain, the aching inside of him, seeing his heart in my dream as though it was something in a cartoon, visible within his chest as he stood before me. I watched it crack into pieces, leaking from him, and then, with the suddenness of events in a dreamscape, the scenery around us changed and I was bent over him, outside in the foothills, cradling his head and shoulders upon my lap. He was dying, and a bullet hole in his gut was killing him. His blood was hot and wet across my entire lap. And then I screamed and screamed, unable to prevent this from happening.
I woke with a cry, my own heart throbbing. I tried to draw a deep breath and couldn’t, standing too quickly, so that blood rushed away from my head and I almost fell over. I bent close to Case, touching his face so carefully, crazy to see him awake, the nightmare so vividly terrifying in my head.
“Case, I’m here,” I told him. “Oh God, baby, I’m here. Please know that I’m here.”
He remained unchanged through the next day. The Rawleys, Dad, Mom, Camille, Ruthann, Clint and Aunt Jilly came and sat with me, by turns. Everyone was horrified, stunned. None of them tried to say much that first night, just knowing that their presence was what I needed. I begged Aunt Jilly to tell me what she saw, what the future held.
“I can’t just make a Notion happen, sweetheart,” she said gently, stroking my burned hair, and pain raked me to hear the endearment from her tongue, the one Case used most with me. I was his sweetheart, his love, and I would be until the end of time. Oh God, if something happened to him –
But I couldn’t finish that thought.
Aunt Jilly caught my hands and whispered, “I can’t see all of it, Tish, but it’s something from the past. There’s something from the past that you have to understand.”
“Will it save him?” I begged her. I couldn’t cry I was so terrified, so desperate.
Aunt Jilly’s eyes, blue as my own, held steady and she whispered, “I don’t know. But you have to try.”