There was no sound; nevertheless, Emily’s lips were moving, Claire was nodding and shaking her head—answering questions that Meredith couldn’t hear. John’s blotchy face caught Meredith’s attention as he knelt next to Emily with his hand on Claire’s knee. Dr. Fairfield and Dr. Brown were observing and conversing near the far corner.
“What happened?” Meredith finally asked, choking back the emotion which bubbled in her chest.
“When the staff arrived to Ms. Nichols’ room to help her shower, she was already showered and dressed; then she told them she didn’t want eggs for breakfast—she wanted fruit.” As Valerie recounted the scene that sent every member of Claire’s care team into overdrive, Valerie couldn’t contain her smile.
Meredith, however, was having difficulty holding back her tears. “Do they think this is real? I mean, will it last?”
“Oh, Dr. Fairfield is beside himself. Mrs. Russel, he’s invited you to join them. Your care has helped in getting Ms. Nichols to this point.”
Meredith knew that was true, but she also knew Claire’s public declaration was done for one reason—to save her. If she entered that room, then she’d defeat Claire’s efforts. Unable to keep the emotion from her voice, Meredith replied, “I want to, but seeing her with her sister and brother-in-law...I don’t want to interrupt this family moment. Besides, I don’t want her to see me crying. I don’t want to upset her.”
Valerie placed her hand comfortingly on Meredith’s shoulder. “I understand. This has been very emotional for everyone.”
“May I see her later this afternoon? I’m not scheduled to work, but I’d like to bring her dinner to her, if I may?”
“I don’t see why not. Does Ms. Bali have your number?”
“Yes, she does.”
“If there are any concerns, we’ll call you; otherwise, please come back.” Valerie patted her shoulder. “Ms. Nichols mentioned you by name. She does appreciate all that you’ve been doing for her.”
Meredith couldn’t answer; the soft tears now flowed too freely. She took one last look at the scene through the window, nodded to Valerie, and left the observation room. After retrieving a tissue from her purse, Meredith walked to the kitchen offices. Ms. Bali would want to know what happened and transformed their meeting.
As soon as Meredith reached her car, she called her husband. In retrospect, she understood how he misconstrued her tears. Of course, he thought she’d been arrested. When she explained what Claire did, he promised a celebratory dinner. Meredith agreed, with one stipulation—it needed to be a late one. First, she wanted to come back and see Claire—after the Vandersols left.
Six steps—that’s the length of Claire’s trek near her bed. Her mind swirled with the onslaught of new information—it was all she could do to slow thoughts. The repetitive counting, as she methodically paced back and forth, helped to calm her—One, two, three, four, five, six—turn—one, two...
She told herself this technique was normal—not crazy.
No matter how much she tried to focus on other issues, Meredith kept coming to Claire’s thoughts. What if she stayed away or didn’t know what Claire had done? What if she didn’t come back?
Unfortunately, Claire knew the answer to her own questions—that knowledge propelled her steps—if Meredith didn’t return—there’d be no one to help Claire remember the man she loved—no one to help her remember the man who would never return. Meredith was the only person willing to break the rules—four, five, six—turn—one—Oh, Claire knew rules—but this rule couldn’t be maintained—as much as she wanted to show everyone that she could behave, obeying this rule wasn’t an option.
Claire knew her memories weren’t right. There were gaps the size of craters! When Claire tried to remember Tony—real memories mixed with illusions. Meredith’s stories helped her remember—they helped to bring color back to the dimming scenes from her past. As Claire tried to recall specific times from her past, panic bubbled up from her chest—three, four, five, six—turn—one, two—Sometimes she’d be able to picture a place, but not the faces. Other times she’d imagine the faces, but the scents were gone. Her pacing quickened as she feared her sacrifice—telling everyone she was getting better—was all for not.
Concentrating on his face, the color of his eyes, and the scent of his cologne, the sound of the opening door or moving cart didn’t register. Perhaps ignoring the worker was a conscious decision. Claire was tired of talking—turn—one, two, three—The day had been so full! There’d been so many different people asking so many questions. She wanted time to process—time to sort things out—time to spend alone with Tony. Yes, she knew that wouldn’t truly happen; nevertheless, memories were better than nothing.