Chapter 32 - Abby
THIS IS THE FOURTH time I’ve opened my eyes in this hospital room. The tube in my throat is finally gone. I have vague memories of my parents standing at my bedside, wearing gloves and masks. I think I remember being wheeled into an X-ray room. I’m so thirsty.
“Mom?”
A nurse in purple scrubs and a mint-green mask over her mouth arrives at my bedside. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
There are less machines beeping than there were the last time I woke up. My entire body feels sore, as if I did a hundred dead lifts recently. But the soreness in my chest is the worst. I’ve obviously undergone another heart surgery. I remember this pain.
“Where are my parents?”
“They went back to the hotel to change their clothes. They should be back in just a few minutes. Your… your other parents are outside. Can I send them in?”
“Where’s Caleb?” My voice cracks on Caleb’s name. “Why is it so cold in here?”
“You’re running a slight fever. You’re on a high dose of anti-rejection meds right now, and that suppresses your immune system.”
“Anti-rejection?”
The nurse finishes checking the drainage tubes coming out of my chest. “I’ll let your family explain everything.”
She leaves the room and I feel so alone. This room is so cold. It’s not a regular hospital recovery room. It looks cold and lifeless like a surgical room. And there’s a small antechamber off to my left where the nurse removes her gloves and mask before she tosses them into a waste bin. She steps out into the corridor for a moment, then she comes back into the antechamber with Chris and Claire. They spend at least five minutes scrubbing their hands and arms, then all three of them put on more gloves and masks.
As they approach my bed, something feels different. Quiet. Too quiet.
“How long have I been here?”
Claire’s eyes are puffy and glistening. “Fifty-two hours.”
“More than two days? Where’s Caleb?”
Claire opens her mouth to say something, then she stops herself and turns away.
Chris looks me in the eye and flashes me a weak smile. “Your parents will talk to you about Caleb.”
“Why? Where is he?”
Claire turns around and leaves the room without another word and Chris looks stumped.
“Please tell me what’s going on here. I wake up with tubes coming out of every hole in my body and the nurse just said something to me about anti-rejection meds. Did I get a heart transplant? What happened? Please… I’m scared.”
Chris hangs his head for a moment and when he lifts it again, there are tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to be the one to break your heart. Please don’t make me do this.”
The heart-rate monitor starts beeping loudly as my pulse races. The nurse is at my side a second later, injecting something into my IV line. Within seconds, drowsiness overtakes me and I drift off with Caleb’s name on my lips.
THE FIFTH TIME I wake, my parents are there. My dad is standing like a soldier at my bedside, his hands behind his back, his chin dimpled with the effort of holding back his emotions. My mom stands right next to him, her gloved hand wrapped tightly around my fingers.
“Don’t lie to me,” I whisper through the tears.
“I won’t lie to you, sweetheart,” my dad says, his voice thick with emotion. “But I think Caleb would rather tell you everything himself.”
I open my mouth to curse him for lying to me by pretending that Caleb is alive, but before I can speak another word, he pulls a white envelope from behind his back. The sight of my name on the outside of the envelope in Caleb’s messy scrawl sends a bolt of pain through my chest.
“I wanted to wait to give you this later, but I don’t think Caleb would have wanted that.”
“Stop talking about him like… that.”
I want to tell my dad to stop talking about Caleb like he’s gone, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I draw in a long breath as I take the envelope from my dad’s large hand.
“We haven’t read it. We just opened it to make it easier for you,” he assures me as he takes a step back.
“We’ll be right outside, honey.” My mom squeezes the words out through her tears.
I hold the envelope up in front of my face and stare at the letters A-B-B-Y and I imagine Caleb sitting at the table in the apartment he shared with Greg. I imagine his beautiful fingers curled around the pen as it slid across the paper. When did he write me this letter? What was he thinking?
I guess I’m about to find out.
I lay the envelope on my belly, then I struggle a bit to slip the folded piece of white paper out with just one hand. But a few seconds later, I have the paper out of the envelope and unfolded. I lay it facedown on my belly for a moment.
Caleb, wherever you are, please give me the strength to make it through this.
I sniff loudly and let out a long sigh. Then I lift the paper off my stomach and read.
Abby,
How do you thank someone for giving you a reason to live? I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few years since you came into my life. And for three years, I came up with nothing.Then my dad died and there you were again. My friend. My girl. My sunshine, bringing light to my darkest days. When the estate lawyer called me to his office to pick up the inheritance check in January after my eighteenth birthday, it got me thinking about what I wanted to leave behind after my death. Like my dad, I don’t have much to give, but I do have one thing I hope will still be useful when I go. Something you fixed up and made all shiny and new for me.My heart.Abby, the first time I spoke to you in the hospital, my heart danced. And I don’t think it ever stopped. You gave my heart quite a workout, sunshine. So I know that the moment they took my heart out of my chest and put it in yours, my heart danced its final dance as if nobody was watching. You can be anything you want to be now. Chase your dreams, Abby.
Always yours,Caleb
I throw the letter over the edge of the bed and try to breathe, but I’m in so much pain, breathing seems secondary. The nurse rushes in and injects something into my IV line again.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out except for a soft squeak.
“What did you say, sweetie?”
The drowsiness is taking hold again, and my throat relaxes enough for me to get out four words. “You were my dream.”