The pulse in my throat darts down my arm when I press my phone against Noah's ear. I keep it there until my mom's muffled voice switches to silence. Tears well in my eyes when the return of my phone to my ear occurs with my mom's quiet sobs coming down the line.
“Look after my boy,” she requests, her voice cracking.
“I will. I promise.”
After a few more heartfelt words, I disconnect our call, dump my phone into my bag, then remove the tears from my cheeks. While recalling what Dr. Miller said about Noah's recovery not being just about movements, but emotions too, I prop my backside on the edge of his bed before talking to him as if he can reply.
“What took you so long to ask me out?”
I've asked him similar questions before, but he only ever smiled his panty-dropping grin before acting ignorant to my interrogation.
“You can’t run now, Noah,” I declare cheekily while counting the beeps of his pulse.
Boom boom, boom boom.
Nothing beats the sound of his beating heart.
18
Over the next five days, Dr. Miller continues with her twice-daily physiotherapy sessions with Noah. I watch from the corner of the room as she talks to him, asks him questions, and tells him stories about her life. She's grown very fond of Noah, which isn’t surprising. Everyone who meets him idolizes him. It doesn’t matter if you're as young as a newborn baby or as old as dirt, when Noah shines his light on you, you feel its warmth from deep within.
“Today, we’re going to try something different,” Dr. Miller advises Noah while gesturing for me to join her at his bedside. “Lie down.”
I gawk at her in surprise, shocked. I’ve been sneaking into Noah’s bed regularly the past two and a half months, but this is the first time I’ve been given permission to do so.
When Dr. Miller notices my shocked expression, she smiles before once again wordlessly requesting for me to do as demanded.
Shrugging, I kick off my shoes, then slip into Noah’s bed. I snuggle into his side like I usually do when I’m alone with him. I don’t care that Dr. Miller is eyeballing us like a voyeur. I refuse to give this up for anything.
“Now close your eyes and listen carefully to me speaking.”
I close my eyes as requested by Dr. Miller. Because Noah is no longer on the ventilator machine, the room plunges into eerie silence.
“Take in slow, deliberate breaths as you feel yourself relax. Relax your toes, your legs, your chest, and your shoulders until all the muscles in your body relax.”
My eyes pop back open when I hear a rustling noise. While I'm cuddled into Noah's right side, caressing his body with mine, Dr. Miller is massaging his left side. Her eyes narrow into tiny slits when she notices my gawking stare. I snap my eyes shut while biting my bottom lip to hide my smile.
“Can you see Emily, Noah?”
My breathing slows when Noah’s hand flutters against my back. Even risking death won’t stop me from popping open my eyes to see if Dr. Miller noticed Noah’s response to her question.
I'm confident she has, as her smile is as bright as mine.
After leaning on my elbow, I glance at Noah's handsome face. My broad grin slackens when I notice a sheen of moisture pooling in the corner of his eyes. It’s not quite a full teardrop, but enough for it to be noticeable.
I tab at the tiny blob with my thumb before silently grilling Dr. Miller with stern, panicked eyes.
She keeps her focus on Noah. “Keep breathing Noah, in and out; breathe in a nice deep breath, hold it in and then breathe it out.” She gives me a sympathetic look before pushing Noah to open up more. “What do you want to tell Emily, Noah?”
Noah's brows furrow a mere second before his heart monitor sounds an alarm about his high heart rate. When fret crosses Dr. Miller’s face, my pulse jumps just as high.
“Breathe, Noah. Keep breathing, in and out. Try and stay calm,” requests Dr. Miller as she curls her hand over Noah’s now clenched fist. “It’s okay. You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”
While Dr. Miller praises Noah for how well he is doing, I slip out of his bed. The more she praises him, the more his heart rate lowers, but I’m too queasy to continue with her experiment. I’m so uneased by Noah’s agitated responses, I head to the bathroom to splash some water on my face.
Noah is responding to the techniques Dr. Miller is using, but they’re always negative. Why would he react that way unless he’s in pain? It kills me wondering if his rest is not as peaceful as it seems, and I’m not going to mention how it felt seeing tears puddle in the corner of his eyes.
When Dr. Miller enters the bathroom a few minutes later, she musters up a fake smile. “Can I ask you something?” She waits for me to nod before leaning her shoulder on the doorframe. She looks baffled, but also interested.“When did Noah last see you?”
