“So, Miss Daisy, tell me what’s going on.”
So she did. She told him all that had happened—her family insisting her son was dead, the hole inside her, the way she’d been treated, how much she hurt, and not just the physical part. He nodded and patted her hand. She felt so comfortable she even told him she’d been drinking too much, before the accident, but that was only because she was so very, very lonely.
The doctor—his name tag read T. Lowe—asked, “Have you ever talked to anyone about this before, Daisy?”
“No. I mean, yes, of course, but no one really listened.”
“I think I’d like to have a friend of mine come by and talk to you. Her name is Ann Frazier. She’s a great listener.”
“Is she a shrink?”
“Well, in a way. But she’s a specialist. She deals only with neurological injuries. With your severe head trauma, you are probably having some very strong emotive responses to things. That might be why you’re feeling like something is so very wrong. It might help to have someone who’s very trained in this exact situation in to have a chat. I promise, if you don’t like her, you don’t have to talk to her. Deal?”
He smiled, perfect teeth glistening, and she didn’t feel like she could do anything but agree. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t a good sport.
“All right. If you think it’s best. But I don’t know that talking is going to fix what’s happening inside me. I swear something is wrong. I can feel it.”
“Your mind can be making that feeling strong, Daisy.”
“This is in my chest. I swear, Doctor. Something’s wrong in there.”
He stood and patted her on the hand again. “Okay, Daisy. You’ve convinced me. I’ll set you up for an echocardiogram first thing in the morning. But I’ll also schedule you some time with Dr. Frazier. You’ll like her. I went to medical school with her at Vandy, I’ve known her for years. She’s a good egg.”
“Did you know my son?” The words popped out of Daisy’s mouth before she could stop them. She didn’t want him to leave. He was kind and understanding, and she hadn’t felt that level of kindness for a very long time.
“I’m not sure. Was he a doctor here? I don’t get out much, as you can imagine.”
“He was in his fourth year of medical school when he . . . His name is Josh Hamilton.”
Saying his name aloud was like a dose of icy water. She tensed up as she said it, and Dr. Lowe did as well.
“Oh, my. Miss Daisy. I didn’t realize. Yes, I knew your son. He and I did a surgical rotation together. He was a fine man, a fine doctor. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“He’s not gone, Dr. Lowe. He’s not dead. I just saw him. He’s alive.”
She started to cry, and Lowe comforted her the best way he knew how. He grabbed the nearest nurse and had her give Daisy something that made her feel like she was floating fifty feet up in the air. She liked the way that felt.
It seemed to take hours to come down to the bed again. She must have slept, because the sky was lightening outside and her mouth was incredibly dry.
Tom came, and the shrink. She was a nice woman, and talked to them both. She had some idea of what Daisy was feeling—she’d been in a bad car accident herself when she was a child, had a head injury. They didn’t think she would make it.
It’s why she wanted to be a doctor.
Frazier kicked Tom out of the room then, and she and Daisy had a long, soul-searching talk. A full fifteen minutes. That’s how long it took for Daisy to realize they all just thought she was crazy. They were humoring her. The bastards.
Daisy shut down and refused to speak anymore. Frazier promised to come back, and Daisy told her not to bother. When the shrink had left and Tom came back, Daisy explained that she was never to come again.
Tom tried to argue with her, but she was adamant.
The nurse came and gave her another shot, and Tom went away. Daisy slept. When she woke, it was to an unaccustomed level of silence. She looked around, trying to understand why things were so still. Her eyes swept to the right, and she saw a man standing in the doorway to her room. He was partially in shadow. Was it that nice young doctor?
He moved, and Daisy felt her heartbeat skip. It made her breath come short, and she gasped. It wasn’t Dr. Lowe. It was someone else. He frightened her.
“Who’s there?”
The man came closer. Once his face was out of the shadows, she drank him in. Dirty blond hair, deep brown eyes, high cheekbones.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. Her chest hurt. The pain was immense, enormous. She didn’t know if she could handle it. Her shoulders felt like someone was holding them down. She needed to ring the buzzer for the nurse. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong.
The man came closer to her bed and looked down on her. She couldn’t get any air. She was starting to see spots.