Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Have you ever lost five years of your life?”
I swallow, thinking about all the time wasted with Travis, but I know he doesn’t mean it that way.
I shake my head.
“Your voice is familiar. Are you my doctor?”
I shake my head again. “I’m a nurse’s aide. Your boss hired me to sit with you in the evenings. My voice is probably familiar because I’ve spoken to you for hours every day for the last two weeks. Your doctor has been called, but he has rounds this afternoon. He’ll be here shortly though.”
His eyes search my face, and I have no idea what he’s looking for. When his eyes grow heavy, I still don’t think he’s found it.
“I’ll let you rest,” I tell him, attempting to stand but he reaches for my hand, pulling it to his chest.
“I just need a minute.”
I nod, sitting back down. Providing comfort is just as much a part of my job as being responsible for his daily care.
“Talk to me,” he says, his eyes barely open.
“What should I say?”
He shakes his head. “Anything. I remember your voice in my dreams.”
I squeeze his hand a little tighter.
“I tried to stop by the coffee shop on Main this morning, but the traffic was horrible. I have this thing about crossing traffic to turn left, so I always go down and drive around the block to get to the place I need to be.”
His fingers flex in my hand, but I keep talking.
“I turned down the road I always turn down, but there was a giant cement mixing truck in the way. I was stuck. In an effort to avoid turning into traffic, I found myself having to choose between just sitting there all day or trying to back out into traffic. I was shaking. When I tried to move my foot off the brake, my whole leg was shaking.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips, but he doesn’t open his eyes.
“What happened next?”
“You’ll laugh,” I grumble.
His eyes open halfway. “I could use a laugh right now.”
“I started to cry.”
“That’s not funny,” he chides, his voice filled with a little less gravel than it was earlier.
“I had to lay on my horn when the reverse lights came on from the cement truck. I swear he was going to run over me. He was livid when he got out of his truck to come see what all the fuss was about. I thought he was going to yell at me, but he saw my tears and froze.”
“Women crying freak a lot of men out,” he whispers, his eyes staying closed.
“Not you?”
His head shakes a little. “I’ve seen a lot of women cry. It doesn’t scare me, but it doesn’t exactly make me comfortable either. What happened next?”
“He walked out into the street and stopped traffic, so I could safely back out.”
“A gentleman,” he says, his voice growing sleepier.
“He was,” I confirm. “I thought the washer breaking this morning would’ve been all the bad luck I’d have, but—”
“Did you get your coffee?”
I scoff. “After that chaos, I was lucky to make it to work without the tires falling off my car.”
“Washing machines are pretty simple. I could—”
His voice drops away as if he just remembered where he’s at.
“Seems you’re a gentleman too. I’ve already called the warranty place. Thankfully, it’s still within that timeframe, so they’ll fix it for free.”
His eyes don’t open again and his jaw is loose, telling me he’s gone back to sleep.
Since I’ve already clocked out for the day, and it’s Travis’s day to meet the caseworker and Ryder, I have a little extra time this afternoon. It’s a miracle the man woke up, but I can’t help but be concerned about the time he’s lost.
He thinks he’s married, and if I’m not mistaken with what I heard when I came back into the room, he believes he has a son who doesn’t exist.
I can’t even begin to imagine what getting that news could do to a person.
Chapter 8
Bishop
I swallow for the hundredth time, but even with the N-G tube removed, it still feels like it’s there.
I blink rapidly when the doctor steps back, the shining light gone from my eyes.
“Grip,” he says, holding two fingers out with each hand.
I squeeze his fingers.
“Press.” He holds his hand palm up.
I run through each request, as he tests motor skills and muscles.
“There seems to be no cognitive impairments which I’ll confess seems nothing short of a miracle. You’re a little weak, but that’s expected with lying in bed for so long. I can say that you’re better off in that regard and the staff here has done an excellent job with the stretching we requested when you were discharged from the hospital.” Dr. Millstone makes a few notes in the folder he brought with him. “I’d say you’re on your way to recovery, but keep in mind that it’s not unheard of for a comatose patient to slip back asleep.”