CHAPTER ONE
KAMIYAH
The infectious melody from the song ‘Santa Baby’ plays in the background of Haven Crest’s lobby. It should be a solemn place, filled with anguish and defeat, but this season, the lobby has the opposite effect. Floral and gift shops opened their doors, and vibrant colors along with the scents of pentas, orchids, and bougainvilleas fill the space. Baskets filled with sweets and giant teddy bears propped on gift boxes beg for a gentle squeeze. My throat tightens as I slow my stride, lifting my hand just enough to let the soft fur from a brown teddy bear glide between my fingers. I would purchase every single one of them if the ache tightening my chest would stop.
But the pain never dims.
Not for me.
The elevator doors seem miles away, hidden behind the unshed tears stinging my eyes. The pulse drumming against my skull gets louder as blood rushes behind my ears. I managed to remain upright.
Moving.
Because if I don’t, there are no warm arms to catch me.
Thank goodness for the click of my heels against the tile floors keeping me focussed. Present. And far away from the thoughts threatening to drag me into my past.
Everywhere I glance, red and gold Christmas decorations brighten the room. In the corner, the lounge area is shifted to accommodate a swaying electric Santa that shouts ho ho ho beside a twelve-foot pine tree. Like a fish drawn to a worm on a hook, seeing the Christmas tree ignites the scent of pine in my nose and with it, the overwhelming memories of a happier time.
I swallow, fighting back those thoughts. It isn’t easy to shake my memories as I stare at homemade cards filled with well wishes— prayers, and plans for a future that might never come to pass—dangling from the branches. But it isn’t the decorations that catch my breath in my throat; it is the large lit star nestled above the tree. A symbol of hope.
I bite my cheek. The quick flash of pain keeps every single emotion at bay, and I run the remaining steps to the elevator.
Before long I’m on the third floor and my chest tightens with a different pain. Sorrow. Failure. Emotions I can’t lock away. But I’d always trade the memories of a past I can’t change for one more day with my sister.
“Hello, Dr. Keye?” I say, stepping into the modest suite representing my sister’s room. A monitor beeps beside the bed, a dismal sound I haven’t heard in this room in ages.
“It’s good to see you, Miss Remington.” Doctor Keye smiles.
“How is she?”
“She’s stable now,” he says, adding notes to his tablet.
Now, guilt chills my blood. The single word is a reminder that I wasn’t here when Anna experienced her seizure. When she needed me the most. Instead, I was across the continent doing my aunt’s bidding—interviewing for another magazine that promised to praise the Remington name.
I glance at my sister’s still body lying beneath the quilt. Her short curls frame her ears. Without the spark in her maple brown eyes and the deep dimples when she smiles, her fragile frame almost looks boyish. Despite my somber mood, my lips twitch. At six years old, Anna would take any comparison to boyishness as a compliment if it meant she didn’t have to wear a dress. I blink back tears. She isn’t six anymore; she’s twelve, and I long to know the girl she’d be today.
“I don’t understand what happened, Dr. Keye. Anna hasn’t had a seizure in….” I frown. “In almost five years.” I glance at my sister again, then back to the doctor. “Is this a sign that she might wake up?”
Dr. Keye squeezes my shoulder. His hands are large. His grip is firm, reassuring. And I lean into his strength because it’s the closest I’ll come to receiving affection, and I need it more than I care to admit. “That’s hard to tell, Miss Remington.”
I nod. Dr. Keye wouldn’t lie to save my feelings, and I’ve always appreciated his honesty.
He exhales. “You know there are only a few possibilities with long-term coma patients,” he says softly. “Anna can eventually wake up, enter a persistent vegetative state, or…”
I swallow, bracing myself for the impact, but he doesn’t say the words that will buckle my knees.
“Your sister suffered severe brain damage at a tender age, but… He looks into my eyes. “She’s young and, believe it or not, she’s shown tremendous improvements. We’ll keep her monitored on the machines and increase neurological checks.” He gives my shoulder one last pat before letting go.
“Doctor Keye?”
He pauses at the door, casting a long shadow into the dimly lit room. The faint beeping of the machines surrounding Anna creates a rhythmic backdrop to our conversation. I clench thebed rail at the foot of the bed, feeling the cold metal beneath my grip.
“You mentioned on the phone that her reflexes are limited to her response to pain. Will Anna be able to grip my hand again?” I ask, my voice a whisper of desperation. “I’d like to think that’s our way of communicating. Her way of letting me know she’s here with me.”
Dr. Keye lets out a soft sigh. “I honestly don’t know, Miss Remington. But as long as your sister continues to fight, we owe it to her to have hope. I’m just happy your aunt and uncle were here to alert us.”
I frown. “My aunt and uncle never visit my sister,” I say, uneasy creeping up my spine. The room suddenly feels colder.
