I calmed some, but the thundering of my heart made me feel as if I might spiral out of control. “You aren’t?”
“No.” The woman, who was also dressed in white, spoke. “You’re at a hospital. You were in an accident.”
“W-what?” I stammered, collapsing back against the bed, no longer straining against the binds.
“You’re at a hospital.”
“You’re trying to hold me down!” I accused.
“We don’t want you to hurt yourself.” the woman explained. The hands, even the man’s, remained.
“I don’t like it,” I admitted, recoiling.
The man straightened, stepping back. The nurse was slower to withdraw, but she did so after a few seconds.
“My legs,” I rasped. Suddenly, my throat hurt.
“It’s just the blankets.”
A quick glance down proved I was covered with blankets. Between suspicious glances at the people crowding my room (there were four), I gazed around, concluding I was in fact in a hospital.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted, all my weight pressing into the bed.
“It’s okay,” the man replied. He was a doctor, with a name badge and a stethoscope. “It’s completely normal and expected to be confused after the ordeal you’ve been through.”
“What ordeal?” I asked instantly, anxiety pressing in on my ribcage.
“We were hoping you could tell us,” the doctor said.
“What?” My brows furrowed.
The nurse leaned close, over the side of the bed. I noticed the railings were pulled up on each side. It made me feel as if I were in jail. Instantly, I hated it and began shoving at the bars, trying to push them down.
“Okay, hang on,” the nurse said and put the rails down. Once it was done, she pinned me with an insistent stare. “You have to stay still. You can’t thrash around. You’ll rip out your IV and reinjure yourself.”
“What happened to me?” I asked for what felt like the fifteenth time. I looked around at the four people in the room, hoping one of them would just spit it out.
The doctor motioned to two of the nurses and then quietly left the room.
I glanced back at the nurse. “Can you tell us your name?” she asked.
“My name?” I nodded once, then opened my mouth… only nothing came out.
Anxiety spiked in me again; I started to become agitated. “I… don’t know.”
“Calm down.” The nurse reminded me.
How dare she tell me to calm down? I couldn’t even remember my name.
Oh my God, I didn’t know my own name!
“I don’t remember!” I gasped, jerking up into a sitting position. “Why can’t I remember?”
Before I could fling the covers off and jump out of bed, the doctor was there, pinning me back down. “If you don’t calm down, we’ll have to sedate you. I don’t want to do that. You’ve been out long enough.”
I stilled. “How long?”
“A while.” The nurse hedged.
I ignored her. She was terrible with questions. “How long?” I demanded.
“A little over two months,” the doctor replied.
I gasped. “What’s my name?” I yelled.
I’d been here for two months and they were asking for my name? Shouldn’t they know it?
The doctor wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at the nurse, giving her a curt nod. She rushed out of the room.
“No!” I shouted. “No drugs! Please! Tell me my name. I just want to know my name.”
“You need to calm down. You’ve had a great deal of trauma, miss.”
I dropped back against the pillow, boneless. He called me miss. “You don’t know my name, do you?” I asked, meek.
Sensing all my energy was drained away, he moved back. A frown pulled at his lips. “You were brought in with no identification.” He began.
Fear unlike anything I’d ever felt wrapped around my heart and squeezed. I searched every corner of my mind for something. Anything.
There was nothing.
“I don’t remember…” I whispered.
The doctor seemed to soften. “I know this must be very scary, to wake up and be so disoriented.”
I laughed, but it wasn’t a humorous sound. I wished I were disoriented right then.
“You’ve been through a lot. Give it a few days. Now that you’re awake, your mind will catch up and you will remember.”
“I will?” I asked.
“There’s a good chance.”
Disappointment speared me. “If I don’t?”
“Let’s take it one day at a time.” He placated me.
“Easy for you to say. You know your name.”
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “Time.” He reminded me.
The nurse came through the door, holding a syringe, and I cringed away.
“I don’t think we’re going to need that,” the doctor told her.
I let out an audible sigh.
He glanced around again. “Now that you’re awake, I’ll get you down for testing.”
“What kind of testing?” I asked.
“Routine stuff for someone who’s been in a coma.”
Nothing about this was routine. I was in coma… for two months. And I didn’t even know my name.
When both the nurse and doctor were gone and I was alone, my eyes overflowed with tears and a formidable feeling of dread crowded inside me. The doctor said there was “a good chance” I would remember my name very soon.
The problem was it wasn’t just my name I needed to remember…
It was everything.
Lake living was slow paced, especially small-town lake living. I didn’t mind it much. In fact, I liked it. It was one of the reasons I never left as I’d planned to all those years ago.
Lately, things hadn’t been just slow; they’d pretty much halted. The days were endless, the nights even worse. Inside, I paced all the time, even when my body stood still. It was amazing how exhausting waiting could be.
The store was in top shape, though. Without anything left to do, I put my agitation into organizing and updating the place.
The familiar scent of a brown paper bag wafted up toward my nostrils when I lifted it off the stack and shook it out. The sound it made was also very familiar. After packing the contents from the counter into the bag, I ripped off the receipt and slipped it inside with the purchases.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Grady,” I told the woman as she picked up her stuff.
“Thank you, Eddie. See you next week.”
The second the bell sounded and the door closed behind her, I leaned back against the long counter and rubbed the back of my neck. Just a couple more hours ‘til closing time. By experience, I knew there would likely be a last-minute “rush” of people who were hurrying to get what they needed before I closed for the night and maybe a few travelers getting supplies before heading back to wherever they came from.
After I locked up, I would hit the gym and then swing by the hospital, even though it probably would be the same as the day before.
Against my upper thigh, my cell began to vibrate. Reaching beneath my apron, I fished out the phone, recognizing the number of the hospital. My pulse and breath quickened.
“Yeah?” I said into the phone, sounding as if I’d just left the gym, not just been standing here behind a register.
“It’s Mary Beth,” the woman on the other end said. Her voice was hushed and her words quick.