“No, it’s not that,” he’s quick to clarify. “He apparently can’t remember the accident at all and…other stuff.”
I feel the relief pool within me. “Thank goodness he’s fine.”
A heavy load has been lifted. I feel like I’ve been pulled out from the rubble, and can finally breathe again.
“Bridget says this kind of thing is common with head trauma.”
“Is it permanent?”
“She’s says it’s usually temporary. They call it post-traumatic amnesia. She expects him to be back to normal within a few days.”
I peel off the heavy Snow White dress. “But other than that, is he fine?”
“Yeah, it looks like he’s good to go.”
I don’t think I’ve ever been so relieved. “Is he out of the hospital?”
He shakes his head. “Oh no,” he says. “I think he’ll be there for a while. Tests and recuperation and stuff.”
I picture him, lying on his white hospital bed, bouquets and cards sit on a desk nearby, Bridget and his children by his side. The vision brings a smile to my face.
“Does he remember Bridget? His kids?”
Gabe is already digging into the girls’ stashes. “Yeah, it’s the accident he doesn’t remember or the events leading up to it…”
“Daddy!” Claire is not impressed he’s eating her prized full-sized Kit Kat bar.
“Gabe,” I scold. “You are evil.”
“Just one bite,” he tells Claire. She glares at him. Chloe, being the clever girl she is, has brought her loot to her room.
I think about Bridget. About the way she looked at me the last time we saw each other, with pure contempt in her eyes. I wonder if she’ll let me see him.
“Do you think we could go visit him?” I venture carefully. I’m still not sure how Gabe feels about all this. I’ve said my goodbyes. It was all settled, until…
He sighs. “I think we should wait a day or two,” he suggests. “I’ll talk to Bridget about it.” He seems a bit upset and I wonder what he must be feeling. Knowing that Weston is all better and back in my life can’t be easy for him.
“Sure.” I say. “It can wait.” I sit cross-legged next to Claire and help her organize her candy. She methodically places the treats in categories: chocolate treats, lollipops, candies and gum, potato chip bags, and ‘extras’.
“Where does the licorice go?”
She presses her little finger against her lip, in deep thought. “Candy,” she finally decides.
She hasn’t asked about Weston, hasn’t even paid any attention to our conversation. She’s simply too engrossed in the colorful stash of candy sitting before her eyes.
I grab a lollipop and plop it in my mouth.
To be a kid again.
I turn to look at him. His eyes are on the road. He looks uncharacteristically serious. He hasn’t said much at all.
“Thanks for doing this,” I say, my voice soft.
He doesn’t turn to look at me. “No problem.”
I shift in my seat. The leather feels uncomfortable for some reason. I fiddle with the hem of my tweed skirt. “I know this is hard for you, but I promise, I’ll just visit him once to see how he is, and that will be that.”
He smiles. “I hope.”
“I am keeping my promise. That goodbye still stands.”
He finally peels his eyes from the road to look at me. “Glad to hear it.”
When we get to the hospital, we sit in the reception area and wait for Bridget. I sit up straight on one of the hard chairs, a bouquet of white tulips in hand. Last time, I got him purple ones. The fact that he’s had a bad go of it in recent months doesn’t escape me. And it’s all my fault. I wonder if he remembers the purple tulips. Does his memory loss go that far back?
Bridget rounds the corner, dressed in an impeccable grey two-piece suit and matching heels, her hair up in a bun. She is flawless, as always. I am in awe of this woman. If it were me in her shoes (or rather in my ballet flats), I would definitely look like hell and there would most likely be a sweatshirt and a scrunchie involved. Yes, most definitely.
Her husband almost dies, is in a comma for days and she looks like she’s just returned from a vacation in the Bahamas. And there’s something else I notice as she closes in on us, she seems genuinely happy. There’s a glow in her eyes, a glow I have never seen before.