Jude stands up straight. “Ace. Right now?”
Marvin nods. “Yeah, dude. I gotta get started on it right away. You guys are really starting to annoy the piss outta me with your last minute shit. Always on Fridays.”
“Did you tell Gary that?” I tease.
He shoots me a dirty look. “No. But I can say it to you two.”
“Whaddya say?” Jude asks me. “Can we postpone sofa shopping for a few minutes whilst I have a chin wag with Marv, here?”
Marvin stares disgustedly at us. “Sofa shopping? Again? What is that, like, a euphemism, a cute little inside joke for you two?”
“I wish,” Jude mumbles.
“Go,” I say, pushing his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you here. The couches can wait until tomorrow.”
In an effort to get out of bed more often, I’ve started manufacturing errands for us to run. The latest is the quest for a perfect couch—for real this time (sort of). I’ve dragged Jude to half a dozen furniture stores; we’ve sat, bounced, lounged, and cuddled on more than fifty sofas; but I haven’t found the right one yet. Probably because it’s a bogus mission designed to curb my carnal urges. I guess I’ll either have to pick one or come clean sooner or later. But for now, it’s a decent distraction.
As they’re walking away, I hear Jude say to Marvin, “I owe you one again, mate. This sofa business is getting on my wick.”
I feel guilty, but it’s either couch-hunting or I’ll be on his wick.
It’s so cold. The snow is melting under my cheek, which is quickly going numb. But I can’t move. Well, I can, but when I do, everything hurts.
Where are Mom and Dad? I can’t move enough to look for them, but I know, deep down, where they are without seeing them. I can sense them seeping into the soil.
Maybe this time is different…
“You’re going to be okay. Here comes the ambulance. Over here! She’s still breathing!”
The red, white, and blue lights lend an almost celebratory mood to the scene. Like patriotic strobe lights at a Fourth of July party. They’re also mesmerizing, and I find myself unable to keep my eyes open.
“Stay awake, now! What’s you’re name, honey?”
“’Lizbeth.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s gravelly, raspy, and wet.
“Elizabeth?”
“Uh-huh.”
“That’s a beautiful name, Elizabeth. Now, you just stay awake for me.”
“Sleepy…”
“I know, I know. But it’s important that you stay awake. Does a pretty girl like you have a boyfriend, Elizabeth?”
“Jude.”
“Very good.”
“Where’s Jude?”
“Was he with you? There may be another one somewhere!”
“Dunno.” I’m so confused…
“Stay awake. Dammit, I need a board over here! What’s taking so goddamn long?! Elizabeth, wake up! Libby, wake up…”
Jude’s nudging me in the small of my back with his foot. “Libby… wake up,” he groans more than says. “You’re dreaming again.”
I’m curled up in my usual ball on the extreme side of my bed. It doesn’t matter how snuggled up we are when we fall asleep; by the morning, I’ve edged as far away from him as possible. More than once I’ve woken up as I’m falling onto the floor. I can’t explain it. When I’m awake, I can’t seem to get close enough to him. But something about sleeping brings out the mostly dormant hermit in me.
Now his gentle foot-bump is making me totter dangerously on the edge of the mattress. I slide the extra inch it’ll take me to not be in the bed anymore and set my feet on the floor. “Sorry,” I say, twisting a little to look at him behind me, but he’s already asleep again, his mouth half-open and his hands tucked angelically under his head on the pillow.
The cold sweat is drying on my skin, making me shiver in my t-shirt. I groggily shuffle to the bathroom, where I turn on the shower, mixing as little cold water in as I can without scalding myself. I can’t stop shivering. It’s always like this, though. I’m used to the dream and its after-effects—how I feel worse than I did even on that first day I woke up in the hospital—because at least then I was on a cocktail of narcotics and couldn’t really process the truth.
What I’m not used to, however, is the presence of Jude in the dream. Or at least the notion of him. That’s new. And terrifying. A blending of my past and present into one horrifying psychological stew. My hands shake as I squeeze shampoo onto my upturned palm. Nausea claws at my stomach until I fear I’ll throw up in the shower. Chills run up and down my arms and the backs of my thighs. The feeling only abates after several minutes of steady, deliberate breathing.
It’s going to be fine, I tell myself over and over as I scrub my hair and body. The two things aren’t related. They’re completely separate. One has nothing to do with the other. It’s just my brain getting a little confused, piling all the important things in my life into one “bin,” if you will. That’s all. It’s time to ’fess up to Dr. Marsh so he can help me work through some of this.
After my shower, I feel much better, but as I’m toweling off, I freeze, hearing voices on the other side of the door. Two men, one of whom is obviously Jude. The other I also recognize immediately: Hank.
“Shit!” I whisper. Quickly, I wrap the towel around me. Not expecting company, I hadn’t brought my clothes into the bathroom with me. And this isn’t the biggest towel in the world, but I make do, ensuring everything important is covered before I rush from the bathroom.
Both of them look at me accusingly as I stand in the doorway, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the fact that I’m still dripping from some places.
“Hey,” I greet them, smiling sheepishly.
Hank says, “I had no idea you had a boyfriend, Libby.”
“I had no idea you had a brother,” Jude states.
“Uh… now you
