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I look at him a few times while we eat. He is intently focused on the TV. He catches me looking at him once, I blush and look away but not before I catch him smirk. Wow. I wish he would smile and smirk more because I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight.
“So, what’s your story?” I ask once we finish eating. He is about to take a sip of his drink, but he freezes. He quickly recovers and then drinks the entire glass. I try to wait patiently, but in his silence, I wonder if I’m being too much too quickly. I don’t know how to navigate a situation like this. So I take a step back. “Sorry, was that too much? Too intrusive? I don’t want to make this harder on you,” I say gently.
“You’re not. It’s not you,” He says, but the tightness to his voice contradicts his words.
“Can I do anything to help you?” I ask in a small voice.
“You already are,” He answers quickly before rubbing his face with his hands. My heart warms a little at those words.
“Hey, look at me,” I say and he turns to face me. His face is no stranger to me. I’ve looked at it so many times since I was fifteen years old. In anger, resentment, but now…in longing. “It’s me. You don’t have to be nervous.”
“It’s not that I’m…nervous. Well, I am. But honestly, I just don’t…don’t talk about serious things. With anyone. I never, ever have,” He says, looking embarrassed.
“Okay. Well lucky for you, I talk about things, serious and not serious, with lots of people. All the time. So, I can help.” I smile confidently. He stares at me then with his look. I feel my face grow hot under his scrutiny.
“I’ve…I’ve had a really shitty life, Madeline,” He says softly, quietly. My heart begins to break at those words.
FOURTEEN
ELLIOT, NOW
One more week passes before we are given the green light to leave the hospital. I’m thankful Ana has come almost every day, and if she wasn’t able to, Mads’ parents were here to help. I want more than anything to be alone with her, but I know she doesn’t want to be alone with me.
I can tell she is nervous to ask where she will go when she leaves the hospital. I overheard her asking her parents to take her home to Penbrooke, to the only home she remembers, and that hurt a lot. Her parents reminded her that the doctors told her to resume normal activity, since that would be the best chance of her memories coming back.
I pulled Ana aside yesterday in the hallway outside Mads’ room. “I overheard Mads asking her parents if she could go home with them. I’m sure she is freaking out about coming home with me…would you stay with us for a few days? Maybe until she gets more comfortable? If she ever gets more comfortable—” I covered my face with my hand.
“Of course. I’ll stay as long as you both need.” Ana pulled my hand off of my face and held it tight. “She is going to be okay.”
I nodded, unconvinced. “I hope so.”
“I know so,” Ana insisted. She leaned in for a hug before letting me go and went to gather her things to leave.
After packing up Mads’ belongings, I pull up our car—the only one we have now since hers was totaled—in the front of the hospital. The nurse wheels out a pink faced Madeline in a wheelchair holding her pillow in her lap. It is hospital protocol to wheel all patients out when they are going home. Mads tried hard to fight it, but she lost.
I had already brought her bags to the car. I get out to open the passenger door for her, while her dad helps her into the car. Her bandage has been off for awhile now. The incision is hidden under her hair, but she was not happy about the bald spot they needed to make in order to operate. It's only about three inches long, and her hair is thick enough to cover it. I reminded her that it would grow back, but she ignored me.
Mads’ parents have to head back home, but Ana follows us in her car. This is the first time in weeks that we are alone. I put the radio on quietly to try and break some of the tension.
“So where do you live again?” You. Not we.
“We,” I emphasize, “live in North Hadleigh, and that’s where you teach. At North Hadleigh Middle School.”
“That’s a good school,” She comments.
“You’re a good teacher,” I respond.
“Thank you,” She mutters under her breath.
“You helped me with my schoolwork all the time in college,” I say quietly, trying to find something we can talk about to ease the tension and make her more comfortable.
“I did?” She asks, turning to face me. I nod before she turns to face forward again.
Ten minutes pass before I speak again. “Do you want to stop and grab a drink? Or some food?”
“No, thank you. I don’t have any money.”
“I have money, Mads. We,” I emphasize, “have money. We share a bank account,” I say kindly. She looks at me quickly and then turns away.
