A new knock at the door and we both tense. It’s time. “Yeah?” I ask.
An orderly comes in with a standard-sized wheelchair. “I’m here to take you to surgery,” she says, sucking her lip when she sees me. “Oh…I don’t think…Hold on, let me get another chair.”
I hop down and get into my old one. Super deluxe and supersized. “No problem, use mine,” I say. The orderly pushes me and I wave goodbye to my mom. “See you in a couple hours when I’m back in the big, wide world.”
TEN
Waking up from this surgery isn’t as much fun as the last time. No pain pump with a super-cool button to push. No doubt Mom put the kibosh on that. Ah well.
She sits in the far corner of my dark hospital room, reading a book. On the cover a woman in a torn red dress with crazy hair and bare shoulders is getting mauled in the neck by some pirate dude. The spine’s cracked. Must be one of her favorites. Another of the hundred and ninety thigh-slapper novels that she hides under her bed and I accidentally find when I’m looking for ski poles, I bet. “What time is it?” I cough out.
“You’re awake,” she says, ramming the book into her bag. By my side in no time, she scoots a stool close and sits down near my head. “How do you feel?”
“Fine. Groggy.” I rub my eyes and flatten a palm against my head, the hair starting to stubbornly grow back. Feels like I’m rubbing a hedgehog.
“That’s normal,” she says. “Dr. Jensen said it went well and you can go home tomorrow. New cast, want to see?”
I roll over and check. All the names are gone. No more Fern Chapman. I smile. Good. She’s not allowed to sign this one. “Cool.”
“You had a visitor.”
“I did?”
A sneaky little smile takes over. She points. I follow the line and on my bedside table, there’s two daisies in an old iced-tea bottle by my bedside. “Where did these come from?”
“A girl dropped them off. I’m guessing she’s the same girl from that day when I caught you at Pioneer Courthouse Square,” she says. “Jamie? Is that her name?”
I almost explode off the bed. “Jamie was here?”
How did she know I had surgery? And she came into my room? With daisies? Do I smell them for clues or something? I pick up the bottle. The two daisies droop against the side of the open mouth. These aren’t store-bought daisies. Their petals are all gamey and chomped on by bugs. The two ragged stems swim in cloudy tap water.
“So what happened?” I ask, as nonchalantly as I can. “She came in?”
“It was the strangest thing. I’m sitting here, reading my book, when she barges in, all bags and boots and then I could see the girl underneath it all. She’s pretty.”
She says that like it’s a surprise—maybe it is because she was here for me. “Did she say anything?”
“Not at first, no. I was like, can I help you? And she almost ran for the door, but I talked her into staying.”
I bet. Patron Saint of Small Talk right here. “What did you say?”
“What do you mean?”
“What embarrassing story did you tell her?”
“Give me some credit.” She sniffs. “I found out you two met in group. Jamie was here for a doctor’s appointment of her own, and I learned her favorite food is crab cakes. So there.”
Crab cakes. I will remember that.
Mom sidles over. “So that’s the girl from the square.”
“Mystery solved.”
“I wish she hadn’t run away that day; she’s a sweetheart. And poor thing too. She’s got such a hard road ahead.” Her head tilts to the side, heavy with sympathy.
Now I’m confused. It’s not like diabetes is an instant death sentence. The discovery of insulin put an end to that. “She didn’t choose to be that way; it’s how she was born. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with her.”
Mom nods. “You know what? Good for you, Dylan. That’s the right attitude. As long as you know.”
Mom the drama queen. I turn my attention to the flowers. “But she brought these?”
“Yeah, about that,” Mom says in a way that makes me go uh-oh. “Jamie told me to tell you in big bold letters that those are daisies, and daisies are for friends.”
“Seriously? She seriously said that? You’re not making that up?”
“She seriously did.”
“Hokey.”
“Hey, you got flowers from a girl, didn’t you?” she retorts. Touché. “I have to say I agree with her. I think you two will make great friends. It’s good to have friends.”
“I agree.”
“So that’s where your relationship stands?”
“Mom, there is no relationship.” Yet. I’m hoping. Although these daisies are sending that hope straight up into the sky like a balloon.
“For the best,” Mom says, and smiles. “Jamie did take some pictures before she left.”
I grab on to the metal triangle dangling above and yank myself upright. “She took pictures of what?”
Mom bites her lip. “You.”
“What!”
“I asked her to.”
“How could you do that to me?”
“Dylan…”
“I was unconscious!”
She sits and pins her hands in her lap.
“I want to go home,” I say.
“No way! You need rest.”