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After letting myself cry, I splash some water on my face in the restroom and get a cup of coffee from a machine. It tastes like bitter mud, but I need the caffeine.
The doctor asks to speak with me instead of letting me back into his room once he’s done. He cautions me to keep things calm, and not to say anything to upset him.
“He doesn’t remember the robbery?” I ask.
“At this point, he doesn’t remember anything. He can’t tell me his name or where he lives.” He lays his hand on my arm. “That’s not unusual. Especially amnesia surrounding the event. He’s fragile right now. He may not remember tomorrow what you say today. Be patient and give him a few days to acclimate. A lot of his disorientation should pass. We’ll be running tests to see his level of function and what extent of rehabilitation he will require. His speech is a good sign, and the fact that he can move his arms and legs with little difficulty. We’ll know a lot more in a few days.”
“Can I…should I visit with him? I don’t want to make him worse, but—”
He nods and gives me a kind smile. “It’s good for him to know he has people who love him even if he can’t remember them. Don’t be alarmed if he becomes belligerent with you. It’s fear and frustration.”
“I understand.”
It’s scary, walking back into his room, and if I feel that way, I can’t imagine his terror. Waking up in pain and not knowing a soul, not even yourself.
The nurse leaves us alone and tells me to call if we need her. Oliver lies in bed, staring at the wall ahead of him. His eyes dart over to me when I approach his bed.
“Would you like another drink of water?” It’s the only thing that comes to mind to break the ice. There are so many questions screaming inside me that I can’t ask. Number one being why were you at The Stop Along at all?
“Yes, please,” he replies. He’s not as animated as before, probably due to whatever they gave him for anxiety. I pull the chair up to the edge of his bed and hold the water cup where he can reach the straw.
“The nurse said you’re my friend. I don’t know your name. She said mine but I don’t remember.” The tremble of fear in his voice claws at my heart.
“I’m Ella. And you’re Oliver.” He doesn’t resist when I take his hand. “We’ve been friends since we were kids.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t remember. This might be a dream. Maybe I’m still asleep.” He’s talking more to himself now.
“You’ve been through a lot. It might take a few days for you to get your bearings. I know it’s scary but try not to worry. You’re safe and you’re going to be okay.”
He turns his head to look at me. “I’m so tired.”
“That’s alright. You can go to sleep. You’ll feel better soon.”
He squeezes my hand. “Will you stay for a while?”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
His body seems to relax on a deep sigh, and he closes his eyes. Seconds later, his chest rises and falls with even breaths. I’m careful to keep my tears quiet while I retreat to the recliner.
I’m terrified about what the next couple of months might bring. What the extent of his injuries is going to be, but the fact he trusted me and wanted me to stay is enough for now. He’s still Oliver.
“I’ve got him, Alden,” I whisper, settling back to spend the night in the recliner.
CHAPTER15
The hope that Oliver’s memory would return quickly fades as a week passes, and then another. He seems like a different person every time I see him. Sometimes, he’s happy to see me, and other days I barely make it through his door before he screams at me to get out. When that happens, I comply, but I make sure he knows I’ll always be back.
It’s hard to watch and feel like there’s nothing you can do to help. This afternoon he glared at me the second I walked in. The nurse warned me he was having a rough day after a particularly hard morning in physical therapy. I’ve learned when he’s in that state of mind, it’s better to leave him alone, like he prefers, so I drop off the lunch I’ve brought him.
Instead of eating with him, I take my food to the cemetery and sit beside Alden’s grave. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” I say, unwrapping my cheeseburger. “It’s been hectic since Oliver woke up. I’m jumping between work appointments and the hospital. They’re going to be moving him soon to a rehabilitation center on the other side of town. He’s getting better in some ways. He has to use a walker because his balance has been affected and two months in a coma left his muscles weak. The doctors say he’ll progress in some areas faster than others.”
I take a bite of my food and imagine Alden sitting beside me, listening to me prattle on. “He doesn’t remember anything, Den. Not you or me or even himself. The doctors say it isn’t uncommon. He’s still recovering, and he has a long way to go. They think the memories will come back to him. We just have to give it time. It’s hard to watch him suffer. He has tremors in his hands, migraines, trouble thinking of words. His moods are unstable, and he’s angry a lot. I don’t know how to help him. I wish you were here. He’d listen to you. You’d know how to talk to him.”
A bumblebee floats lazily around me, then lands on the new headstone that was installed a couple of days ago. The shiny black marble bears an engraving of a tiny motorcycle, along with Alden’s name and the dates. It’s masculine and beautiful. I think he’d like it.
At first, I thought coming here might be too sad, and in the beginning, it was. But on days like this, when the weather is beautiful, I find a lot of comfort in the peace and quiet of the cemetery. And in talking to Alden about my life.
I tell him about the adorable twin babies I photographed yesterday and the hilarious moment when one of them shit through their diaper down the father’s arm. He would’ve loved that story.
