An Act of Persuasion - By Stephanie Doyle Page 0,101
being delivered to each room, the carts moving back and forth along linoleum floors.
But in this room with only the two of them and the sound of the beeping monitor above her head, it seemed so incredibly quiet.
He pressed his eyes shut and squeezed her hand, hoping he might feel a tug from her. But there was nothing. It wasn’t possible for him to believe that someone who had brought so much energy into his world, who was the reason he’d survived his battle with death, could be so still.
So utterly...lifeless.
“Anna, I’ve been told by the doctors I should speak to you. They indicate it’s possible you’ll be able to identify my voice and this will compel you to wake up. I hope you understand how completely foolish this makes me look as you are not, at present, conscious.”
He could only imagine how humorous she would find this. Putting him in any situation where she knew he was uncomfortable was a bonus for her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your parents. It was selfish, I know. I didn’t like that there was this part of your life I didn’t know about. Back then you seemed to have no desire to learn about it, either. So I took it upon myself and I found them. Your father wanted to give you up for adoption. That’s why the names were faked. I suspect he was thinking he would take your mother to the hospital and then just leave. But he screwed up because your mother gave her name to the admitting nurse, so that was on the paperwork. Her name was Jennifer James and she wanted to keep you. If your father had won that battle, there might have been only one family for you. One life.”
Although maybe he wouldn’t have met her. Maybe her options would have been different and their paths would have never crossed. That was unthinkable.
“They were addicts. You were right about that. I suppose your mother thought she could stay clean after you were born. And maybe she did for periods of time. But by the time you were six, she was using hard again. That’s when your father thought to try to give you up for adoption again. He cared about you, Anna. At least enough to know that you shouldn’t be raised the way they were doing it. He called social services himself. Sadly, at that point your mother wasn’t stable. She attacked him with a kitchen knife and severed an artery in his neck.”
Ben knew she couldn’t hear him but, still, the telling of it was difficult. He figured this would be good practice for when she woke up and he had to do this again.
“Anna, your mother didn’t leave you. That room you remember being left behind in was a police station. Social services came to get you after they took your mother away. She pled guilty to second degree murder and served eighteen years in prison. Your father’s name was Frank Kelly.”
He stopped then and thought about what those first six years of her life must have been like. Tumultuous certainly. Yet she had such great capacity for giving and loving. It seemed as though she’d never let any of the darkness infect her soul.
Or maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Because as much as he knew she loved him, she still didn’t trust deep down that he wouldn’t leave her.
Now he knew why she so desperately tried to protect herself with that ridiculous fight. This separation hurt. It was pain like nothing he’d ever known.
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself for putting me through this. You made this happen. You made it happen every day we were together and I didn’t even know it was happening. Now I want this, Anna. I want our life together with our baby and you won’t wake up! Wake the hell up!”
He stood then, too agitated to sit.
“I love you! Is that what you want to hear? I love you. There, I said it. It’s the damn truth and I almost hate it because it’s making me feel like I want to explode from the inside out because you’re lying there on that bed and you won’t wake up! Wake up, damn it!”
He was breathing heavily and no doubt he’d soon have the staff down around his head for shouting at a coma patient. But he needed to get through to her. She needed to hear him.