Greetings from the Flipside (29 page)

“Silly,” her mom said. “You can't go to Idaho in a coma.”

The nurse was back and seemed to be hustling people out of the way. Hope looked for the man with the nice smile, but couldn't find him. “It's going to take a bit for you to understand what you've been through. Be patient with yourself.”

“How did I come out of the coma?”

The nurse looked contemplative. “Well, I think a lot of people helped. Your poor mother, she prayed herself silly—though I suspect,” she said in a hushed voice, “she was pretty much silly before that. And we did CAT on you.”

She had a sense she'd been around cats.

“Coma Arousal Therapy,” the nurse explained. “I did that on you, but I had some help. Couldn't have done that without him.”

“Who?”

“Lan! Lan!” Sam was again at her bedside, filling the entire side of the bed, it seemed. He looked familiar in an unfamiliar way, like she'd known him before. Of course she had. They were married . . . or going to be. She was going to have to find that out, but the words were still hard to come by. “As soon as I heard you were here, well, I had a lot to process, of course. I mean, I had my own grieving to do, as you can well imagine. But that's what I always loved about you . . . you took me at
my
pace.”

“Sam?” He seemed to be acting so weird.

“I've been such a jerk.” And then, from his back pocket, he pulled out a card, bent in half to fit in the pocket, crumpled at every corner. “The card says it better than I could. And no card could make up for what I did. I just got scared. But being without you proved to me that I love you. I just needed that proof, you know? I'm not a take-it-by-faith kind of guy.”

Behind him, Hope saw the guy with the smile. He stood in the doorway but the smile was gone.

Sam continued. “I want to throw you a wedding! On my parents' yacht! You won't have to do a thing. You've been in a coma—who would make a coma chick throw herself
another
wedding, right? I don't think they make a card for that kind of a jerky move.”

Then, just like that, the man behind Sam left. Hope felt an emptiness she couldn't explain, and then a memory arrived like a letter to a mailbox. It was a letter, in fact, that she saw . . . a letter from Sam, slipping from her fingers, floating to the ground, breaking her heart in two and three and then a million pieces.

“I'm sorry about everything that happened to you,” Sam said.

“I'm not.” It was the first two words that felt right and solid on her tongue. “I think it was the best thing you could have done for me. You woke me up.”

“But I'm back now.” He threw open his arms like he was the gift she'd been waiting for.

“No, you're not. We're not. Ever.”

“All right now, all right! Time to let the lady have her space.” The nurse shooed everyone out, telling them she needed thirty minutes or so to run some tests. The room grew quiet and Hope didn't know what to say. But then the words started flowing.

“Who was that man here, with the really nice smile?”

“His name is Jake. He found you and has barely left your side for over a month.”

“He looks so familiar. I know about him, but how could I?”

“What do you know?”

“His wife left him. He was very sad about it.”

The nurse looked at me. “Between you and me, I don't think he's told another soul except you the whole story.”

Hope nodded because somehow she knew that.

“I'm Bette.” Hope watched her take notes and push buttons. “The neuro doc is on his way to take a good look at you, but by all accounts, you're going to be just fine. Things might be fuzzy for a while, but you'll be okay.”

Hope looked out the window. She was drawn to the sunlight. The doctor arrived.

“I'm Dr. Ryan,” he said, grinning at her. “You gave us quite a scare, you know that? We didn't think you'd wake up. And then we almost lost you. You're a fighter, I'll give that to you.”

Had she and this doctor met before? It was like this was a dream, and somewhere else was a reality.

He shined a light in her eyes, asked the nurse to run some tests she'd never heard of.

“For any of your coma patients,” Hope asked, “have they ever . . . have they ever told you they saw stuff in a coma, like people and faces, before they woke up?”

“Sure. I mean, just like in a dream, you see people you know, things that are familiar to you. Some of what you hear around you, in the room, can bleed into your dreams.”

“And what about people they hadn't met yet, in real life . . . but then they see them when they wake up?”

“That's not medically possible.”

“In what realm is it possible?”

The doctor smiled mildly at her and patted her shoulder, before turning to the nurse. “Let's make sure her electrolytes are in balance, okay? Hope, I'll be back to check on you later.”

Bette continued to do her thing. Hope's attention was drawn to all the cards, all over the room.

“I don't know this many people.”

“Pardon?” the nurse asked.

“Where did all these cards come from?”

Bette smiled. She grabbed a handful and laid them carefully on the bed in front of Hope. “I think you'll find one signature more than any others.”

Hope opened the first one. It was signed
Jake
.

17

Y
our legs are strong. Your mind is right. You're on your way to your new life. A lot of people have been praying for miracles for you, sweet girl.”

“Thank you for everything, Bette,” Hope said, hugging her. Then she noticed the little bride and groom, still sitting on the bedside table. She walked to it. Once it seemed so big—it seemed it meant everything. Now it was just a small piece of plastic. She took it in her hand and tossed it in the trash.

Bette watched the symbolic moment, her hands clasped solemnly in front of her.

Hope felt lighter than ever. Just then a woman rounded the corner into the room, wearing pink scrubs and pushing a wheelchair.

“Candy here will take you down to where your mother is waiting with the car,” Bette said.

Hope looked at Candy and laughed.

“What?” Bette asked. Hope shook her head, and Bette grinned. “Another person from your coma world?”

“When will it end?”

“Maybe it won't,” Bette said with a knowing smile. “And maybe that's a good thing.”

Candy grinned and rolled the wheelchair forward. “I hear somebody's been released! Glad to see you looking so alive!”

Hope sat in the wheelchair, put her bag on her lap and looked up at Bette. “I hope he understands I needed some time to think—to come to terms with my life—to realize I know a good thing when I see it.”

“Sounds like a greeting card,” Bette laughed.

“You think he will even talk to me?”

“I think it's worth the risk to try. Bring him a peace offering.”

“Tuna?”

“Something less potent, more romantic.”

“Got it.” Hope reached out for a hug. “Thanks for everything, Bette.”

“You'll forgive me for poking your poor little feet?”

Hope laughed. “I don't know what was worse—needles or tuna.”

Candy rolled her out. As they approached the elevator, Hope let out a laugh.

“What is it, doll?” Candy asked.

Hope pointed to the guy walking by, thin as a rail, a tangling of IVs hanging off him. “It's just that I saw him once . . . at my house . . . he stole my—never mind.”

“You sure they cleared you for release?”

“I was this kooky before, I assure you.”

Downstairs, she was loaded into the car. She couldn't wait to get back to Poughkeepsie. It felt like the longest drive ever. She didn't even need to ask. Her mother knew to take her straight to the nursing home.

“Not too long, now. Doctor's orders to take it easy.”

“Can I have a moment alone, Mom? With Grandma?”

Her mom smiled and handed her the Columbine flower Hope requested she bring. “I'll just wait out here for you.”

Her legs still felt a little shaky as she walked in. The home was quiet and she went unnoticed down the hallway to her grandmother's room. Tinny Christmas music blared through the intercom system in the ceiling. Cheap garland wrapped in tinsel was strung this way and that. A small, plastic pine tree stood humbly in an out-of-the-way corner.

A lot had changed, but this had not: her grandmother sat in front of her window, quiet and still and but a whisper of who she was. Some cards were missing, Hope noticed, from the grouping by the window.

Hope knelt in front of her, eye level. “Hi, Grandma. It's me. Hope.” She handed her the Columbine flower.

And then, there was a blink. And a look. Her grandmother was
looking
at her.
Into
her. “That's what your daddy named you.”

Hope felt breathless as she nodded. “Yes, Grandma. It's me.”

“I will never understand why your Momma wouldn't let us have a funeral for him. After the accident that night. I told her it was wrong, to let you hope we'd find him.” She spoke as clearly as if she'd never been lost inside that mind and body of hers.

Hope didn't want to lose her back into wherever she'd been. “What are you talking about, Grandma?”

“After his car went into the Hudson, when he was out getting you ice cream. Mint, I believe it was. Even though they never found his body, we all knew he was never coming home. I wanted to tell you, but she wanted to hang on to that . . . she didn't want it to be real . . . there was another world she wanted to live in, where things might be made right someday.”

Hope shuddered. Was her grandmother speaking the truth or nonsense? She watched her brush the Columbine flower against her shoulder. Why was she suddenly speaking now?

A lot of people have been praying for miracles for you, sweet girl.
Bette had told her that at the hospital during her recovery and now it seemed those prayers were transpiring right in front of her.

“Grandma, are you sure?” Hope whispered, but she knew in her heart it was true.

“Such a sweet boy. Such a sweet, sweet boy. Good manners. Shy smile.”

“Who?” And then, like that, her grandmother was gone. The light in her eyes vanished and she gazed out the window, then looked at Hope again, as if she'd never seen her before in her life.

“Well, hello, young lady. Can you get me a flower?”

Hope stood and took a couple of steps back. She noticed the missing cards again. Where had so many of them gone?

The cold winter
wind snaked around the heavy headstones, grazing their legs as it went. Her mother huddled against her.

“Why are we at the cemetery?” Her hair was standing straight up in the air, doing its own hallelujah wave, in the wind. “There's not even a grave here.”

“I know, Mom. That's the point. I need you to hear me. Okay?”

“Okay, I've never spent enough time listening to you, and I want to. Because I noticed, when you were in that coma, you weren't talking and—“

“Mom.”

“Yes?”

“Dad is dead.”

“No, honey. He's just . . .”

“Mom. You know he's gone. You don't want to know it, but you do. He loved you more than anyone else on this earth . . . except me.” Hope laughed through her own tears. “You know, if he had somehow survived that accident, he would have come home. It's time to let go.”

It started as the tiniest sniffle, and then it grew to a sob so freeing, Hope imagined that it felt as if every lie she'd ever held on to was being carried off by the wind. Her mom turned and buried her face into Hope's neck.

“Mom, let's . . . you know.”

And for the first time since her dad disappeared, Hope was the one who did the praying.

“Thank you so
much for driving me,” Hope said. “I can't drive for two more weeks.”

“Are you kidding me? I wouldn't miss this for the world.” Becca pitched a thumb toward the backseat. “She's cute, I'll give her that, but she literally sucks the life out of me. Milk. Energy. Sleep. I got nothing left except to observe how other people live their normal lives.”

“Don't look at me! I'm nothing normal.”

“Well, you're not dull, I'll tell you that. Dumped at the altar. Attacked and thrown into a coma. Wooed while unconscious. And I thought having a baby was exciting.”

“What ever happened to that girl?”

“What girl?”

“Who attacked me.”

“Your mom didn't tell you? They caught her just a mile down the road. She was from the Children's Home. The news said they sentenced her to community service at the YMCA.” Becca's eyes widened. “What? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

Hope shook her head. “Maybe I just saw what my life might have been if I hadn't had a mom who prayed so much for me.”

Baby Abigail let out a tiny cry from the backseat. Becca nodded toward the building. “So, this Tuna Guy—you think he's the real deal? Sounds fishy to me.”

“Becca, you were right.”

“About?”

“It wasn't my geography that needed to change. It was me.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Hope smiled. Maybe reality bled into her coma life, but she'd found just the opposite to be true too. “Okay, it's now or never. You're waiting out here, right? In case I have to make a run for it?”

“You got it.”

Hope got out of the car, took a deep breath and stood in front of Heaven Sent Flower and Gift Shop. The last time she'd seen that sign it was on the side of the truck and only read
HEAVE
, which was exactly what she did.

The building number was 352. No surprise there. Large snowflakes began to fall lightly across her face. For fun, she stuck her tongue out to catch a few.