And then… I remember.
She was the nurse who checked my vitals the night I broke out of the hospital. The nurse who wheeled me down to my first physical therapy appointment.
I’ve been too distracted searching for Marley to pay attention to everything around me.
“Holy shit,” I say aloud, and the nurse blocking my way glares at me.
I give her an apologetic smile, and she grants me the crutch back, steering me to my room. I hurry to the window. I get there just in time to see the woman in blue scrubs call out to Marley, leading her away and out of the courtyard. It’s her mother. It’s got to be.
My mind is exploding.
I stagger to the bed, sinking down on it. “Holy. Shit.” She’s real. Marley is real.
I grab my phone off my nightstand, quickly starting a text to Sam, but the words won’t come out right no matter what I try to say. So instead I scroll through my recent calls and press Kimberly’s number.
I rip the phone away from my ear and quickly disconnect after the first ring.
No. Not yet. I have to be 100 percent sure this time.
Cardiology. The nurse said she’d been in Cardiology this week. And if she’s in Cardiology this week, maybe that means Marley will be too.
I flop back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, a smile breaking out on my lips.
36
The next evening, I check my hair quickly in the bathroom mirror as I wash my hands. I see that one stubborn, unruly strand of hair, but I don’t even try to smooth it down. Marley never seemed to mind it.
My face is still gaunt, though, from the accident and the weeks lying in a coma. Will she recognize me? A pasty complexion is probably the least of my worries on that front.
Grabbing my crutches, I brace myself, flicking the light out and heading into the hallway. I peer at the empty nurses’ desk before working my way down the hall, hiding behind doors and around corners as I move toward the sign that says CARDIOLOGY in big black letters.
Pushing inside, I quietly look around for her.
Doctors, nurses, orderlies, all of them distracted by the clipboards in their hands and the monitoring of their patients. No Marley, though. I try one waiting room and then another, stepping through the second door to find the seats are all empty. She’s nowhere to be found.
The only thing there is a book lying open, facedown on one of the green chairs. I walk over and pick it up, studying the intricate, flowery cover before flipping through a few pages.
It’s a love story, two people hell-bent on ending up together. And it starts with “Once upon a time…”
I go to put it down, but something about the cover is familiar. Images from the night of the accident pop into my head. The fluorescent lights flashing as I’m wheeled down the hallway, my eyes flicking down to see a doctor carrying a child, tears streaming down the little boy’s face. An elderly woman dragging a green oxygen tank behind her. A girl with long brown hair reading a book. This book.
I look over to the door, and that’s when I come face-to-face with those same hazel eyes from that night. The ones I’ve been dreaming of for weeks.
But this time they’re real.
It’s her.
Marley.
“It’s you,” I say, taking her in and moving toward her as quick as my crutches will let me. “I didn’t make you up.”
Something about her looks different. She’s paler. Thinner. Dark circles ring her eyes, dulling the usually vibrant color to almost brown. Her shoulders are hunched, bent forward, like she’s shielding something she doesn’t want anyone to see.
And on top of all that, she’s dressed head to toe in all dark colors, from the charcoal gray of her hoodie to her scuffed black shoes.
There’s not a single trace of yellow. What’s happened?
“Marley,” I say, reaching out. “It’s me. Kyle.”
When I move toward her, though, she hurries from the room, disappearing around the corner. I adjust my crutches under my arms to follow her, but when I get out to the hall, I can’t tell which way she went. She’s gone.
I freeze when I see her mom at the end of the hall, and I know I have to call it and get back to my room, so I crutch out of Cardiology and back through my wing of the hospital. When I get there, I collapse onto my bed and let out a long exhale.
I saw her. She saw me. She’s real… but she ran. My stomach sinks for the thousandth time. That can’t be a good thing. To have a girl literally run away from you.
Now that I can place her from before my coma, does that mean my brain just created a whole persona for her?
Do I even know her?
Does she know me?
* * *
Exactly twenty-four hours later, I limp back to the same Cardiology waiting room, hoping she’ll be there again. I round the corner to see her sitting in one of the green leather chairs.
It’s still as shocking as it was two days ago. To see her after I gave her up. To see her looking so different.
Her long hair hangs around her face, and she’s focused on a book open in her lap. In the chair next to her sits a book bag, unzipped.
She must feel my presence because her head snaps up, and when she sees me, she flinches. I take a small step toward her, but she shakes her head, jumping up and darting into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind her.
“Marley!” I call to her. “You know me.”
But then I hesitate. “Don’t you?”
Slowly, I approach the bathroom door, knocking lightly and resting my forehead against the wood.
“I don’t want to scare you. I’m sorry if I did. I just need to know if you’re the Marley I think you are, or if I just saw your face and then made up everything else about you.” Actually hearing myself say it sounds even crazier than I expected.
I stop talking and hold my breath, hoping that doesn’t sound stalkerish. When she doesn’t say anything, I continue. “Just please can you tell me if you know me? Tell me if you’re… you.”