“I imagine you want to know why you can’t move very much,” the nurse interpreted with a gentle smile. “Well, it’s because you’ve been in surgery, and you’re still being sedated, and we have your arms restrained. You have a mess of tubes and needles going in and out of you that are helping you get better, and we want to make sure you don’t inadvertently pull any of them out. The reason you can’t open your mouth very far is because you sustained some pretty bad cuts to your face that had to be sutured. And in case you’re wondering, the reason your throat is feeling so sore is because we had you on a ventilator until just a little while ago.”
“Day?” she breathed.
“Today is Tuesday,” the nurse told her. “Five minutes past one o’clock Tuesday afternoon to be exact.”
Tuesday? It was Tuesday? She tried to think, but Tuesday didn’t mean a thing to her. What day should it be? Where should she be on Tuesday? What should she be doing on Tuesday? What was Tuesday?
The blur that was the nurse was still there. “Now that you’re awake,” she said, “can you tell me your name?”
Her name? Now Lily was even more confused. Why was this woman asking her name? Didn’t they know her name? She was in their hospital, they were supposed to be treating her for something, and they didn’t even know who she was? She opened her mouth as wide as she could, preparing to reply, but only air came out.
“That’s all right,” the nurse said soothingly. “Don’t worry about talking just now. You let that sore throat rest a bit. The doctor will be along after a while, and he’ll tell you everything you need to know. Meanwhile, just relax.”
Relax? She was in a hospital -- she didn’t know why. She had been in some kind of an accident -- she didn’t know what. She was so groggy and everything was so fuzzy, she couldn’t move. And she couldn’t even say her name. How was she supposed to relax?
. . .
The next time Lily opened her eyes, a man in a white coat was standing by her bedside, and although her head still ached and her vision was still blurry, she was relieved that she could at least see something of him.
“Hello, Lily,” Dr. Jeffrey Nordlund said. “I’m glad to see you’re awake. I don’t mind telling you, you gave us quite a scare.”
Lily blinked. Who was he? A doctor, she assumed, but he had called her by name. Did he know her? Did she know him? He looked familiar, but she just couldn’t remember.
“Know-you?” she breathed.
“You used to,” he said with a smile. “Back in high school.”
High school? She had known him in high school? Why couldn’t she remember?
“Name?” she mumbled.
“My name?” he replied. “I’m Jeff Nordlund.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “As a matter of fact, I was your date for the senior prom.”
“Date?” They had dated in high school, and she couldn’t remember who he was?
“Yes,” he said. “I know you don’t remember that right now. You probably don’t remember a lot of things. But don’t worry, that’s pretty normal for what you’ve been through. You were in an accident and you have an injury to your head that’s kind of jumbled things up in your brain a bit. It’s just going to take some time for you to sort it all out again. So, what do you say we get going on that, okay? We’ll start with the basics -- can you tell me your name?”
It took a moment, a frantic moment, when she had it and then lost it and then had it again, and was finally able to get it out.
“Li-ly.”
“Nice to meet you again, Lily,” he said.
“Day?” she murmured.
“Today?” he replied. “Let’s see, it’s Wednesday morning, about nine o’clock. You’ve been here since Sunday afternoon.”
Sunday afternoon? She had been in the hospital since Sunday afternoon? She was completely bewildered. “What -- happed?”
“Well, we’re not exactly sure,” Nordlund told her. “We’re hoping that you’ll be able to tell us in a few days, when you’re feeling better. All we know right now is there was some kind of an explosion, and you and Amanda got caught in it.”
“Who?”
“You and Amanda.”
Lily tried to think. An explosion? She and Amanda were caught in some kind of an explosion? But nothing registered.
“Man-da?” she repeated.
“She was with you at the time,” Nordlund said. “You were at her cottage. And yes, she was hurt, too, but not as badly as you were.”
Lily closed her eyes, but there was nothing, nothing she could see, nothing she could remember, nothing she could put together that made any sense to her. Her head was throbbing, her throat was sore, and she ached all over. “Pain,” she breathed.
“Well, that’s something we can take care of,” was the last thing she heard Nordlund say.
. . .
Carson wasn’t really prepared for what he saw when Diana wheeled him into Lily’s corner of the ICU and planted him beside the bed. His daughter was lying there, bruised and bandaged from head to foot, tubes and needles running in and out of her, and her right arm buried inside a cast.
It was just past four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, and he had been at the hospital since Sunday, refusing to go home, even when the doctors told him it could be days before Lily was fully awake. He and Janet had been allowed to see her through the doors to the ICU on Monday, when she was under very heavy sedation, and again early on Tuesday, when she was still sedated, before they had taken her back into surgery to remove the rest of the shrapnel and to check her brain and her lung and her lacerated liver.
Even after Amanda had been discharged, and a reluctant Janet went back to Portland, and he had sent Joe home, and
