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“That’s right, baby. Come back to me.”
I whimper again and make an attempt to open my eyes. My lids flicker but don’t lift.
“Good girl. That’s it. You can do it. Open your eyes.”
I have to see the face that goes with that voice. Ineedit more than anything. I try again, this time managing a slit between my lashes. Even the small amount of light blinds me, so I squeeze them shut again.
“Scarlett, you can do it.”
“I know I can do it,” I mumble grumpily. “But it’s bright and I don’t want to.”
There’s a choked sound. Maybe a laugh. Maybe a sob. Then “Let me close the blinds and you can try it again.”
I listen to some rustling in the room for a minute. “Okay. Try now.”
I blink a few times. When the brightness isn’t so painful, I open my eyes completely.
I’m in a hospital room—stark and soulless—and Arthur is sitting in a small chair beside the bed. With a frown, I say, “You should be sitting in that better chair in the corner.”
“It’s too far away from the bed.”
“Then move it if you have to. That chair you’re in is going to kill your back.”
“My back is fine.” He’s smiling fondly and scanning my face at the same time.
“It’s not going to be for long in that chair. You need to switch the chairs.” I’m getting anxious because the chair looks so uncomfortable. How long has he been sitting there, leaning forward in that way he does when he’s stressed? His back is going to go out again. “Arthur, please.”
“All right.” He gets up and scoots the small chair out of the way. “I’m doing it now. Please don’t get so upset.”
I relax as he drags the larger, more comfortable chair over into the place near the bed, moving the small one into the corner.
He sits back down in the better chair.
I let out a relieved exhale.
“I’m okay, Scarlett. You don’t have to worry about me. You’re the one in the hospital.”
“I come here way too much.”
“Yes, you do. After this, let’s take a decades-long break from hospitals. My poor heart can’t go through this again.”
I reach out, fumbling until he takes my hand in both of his. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, baby. The only thing wrong with me is that I’m worried about you.”
“Oh. Okay.” I swallow. “I think I’m okay. I have a little headache.”
“They said you might have hit your head again when you fell. They couldn’t find a bump or red spot, so it couldn’t have been too bad this time. It looked to me like you just fainted.”
I wrinkle my head, trying to think back. I was in Arthur’s office. I fell toward the floor, everything going black.
“What do you remember?” he asks softly.
“I think I did faint. That’s what it felt like. I was being bombarded with so much all at the same time, and it was too much. Or something.”
He waits for several seconds before murmuring, “What were you bombarded with?”
It coalesces in my mind. Two complete narratives. No longer separated by that swirling fog. No longer shattered into fragments and scattered to the dark corners of my mind.
