“Good job,” I tell Addison, offering a high-five. She smacks my hand, and this time I’m not surprised by the warmth. I’m expecting it, and it’s there just like I knew it would be. We settle back on the blanket, mesmerized by the colors in the flames, until Addison begins unwrapping the sandwiches she packed for dinner.
“Thank you,” I tell her when she hands one to me. I didn’t realize how hungry I was, but considering that it only takes me a minute to eat it, I guess I was hungrier than I thought.
“Next time I’ll make you two sandwiches.” Addison looks meaningfully at the empty wrapper in front of me. She hands me a bottle of wine and a bottle opener. “Will you do the honors?”
As she watches I uncork the bottle and pour wine into the two cups she has set out.
Our reusable plastic cups make a dull sound as we tap them against each other. I lie back, supporting myself with a forearm, and gaze out.
The sky is a darkening blue overhead, but as it dips toward the sun the shades change, paling until they meet the oranges and yellows at the horizon.
“Stunning, right?” Addison says, keeping her gaze trained on the beginning of the sunset.
I nod my head in agreement. “And so different than what I’m used to back home.”
“I’m assuming you’re not referring to Chicago.”
I glance at her, then back to the sky. “You haven’t seen a sunset until you’ve seen one in Arizona.”
Addison settles back on the blanket in the same way I’m lying. What’s left of the sun settles over her, making her blonde hair glow in a subtle way. “Tell me more.”
I look out at the sky before me, but instead of seeing water, I see desert. “You can see for as far as you want, kind of like now.” My hand extends, motioning from one end of the horizon to the other. “But the colors are vivid. Hot pinks, purples, intense orange. Sometimes the orange is more of a salmon color. And as the sun sinks lower, the sky gets darker, until the purple is navy blue, and the pink is maroon.” I stare out, and the desert scene becomes water once more. “It’s bright and feels full of potential, but it inevitably darkens.”
“Doesn’t everything?” Addison’s voice has a tinge of bitterness to it.
“It seems to.” My own voice sounds like hers. I turn to face her, moving my forearm so that my hand is propping up my head. “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?”
Again, Addison mimics my body position. She sips from her wine, and looks down at her hand, curling and uncurling her fingers around her cup.
“I was engaged.” She glances up at me, probably to see how I react to these first three words. My face remains in a careful mask of non-surprise. “But then…” She pauses, takes a deep breath, and continues. “It was almost a year ago. We were walking downtown, after work one night. We’d just eaten dinner.” Addison’s face softens, and her lips tug into a sad smile. “I wanted Mediterranean, but he was craving spicy table-side guacamole. He let me win, and I knew he would, because that was what he always did. We were on our way back to our apartment. A guy was flying toward us on his bike, not paying attention.” Addison’s eyes fill with tears, and I want to reach out to her, but I keep my hands to myself.
Her tears subside, and she continues. “I’m still not sure if I jumped out of the way or if Warren pushed me. The guy on the bike hit Warren, and they both went down. At first, Warren seemed fine. A cut on his arm, but that was it. The other guy apologized over and over, even though his face was busted up. When we got home we laughed, saying that he’d learned his lesson the hard way and would probably need a plastic surgeon.”
“Before bed that night, Warren seemed off. He complained of a headache, and he dropped a glass of water on the ground beside his nightstand. He played it off, but I had been standing nearby, and I saw him reach out as if the nightstand was there, and let the glass go. I was worried, but Warren brushed me off.” The tears that receded once are back, slipping from her eyes, running across the bridge of her nose and dripping sideways down her cheek. “I was keyed up, so I went to watch TV on the couch and eventually fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later and went to our bedroom. I checked on Warren, but he… he…” Addison gulps, her breath coming in shaky gasps. “He wasn’t breathing. I called 911, and after that everything was so confusing. I stood against our bedroom wall and watched them work on Warren, and then they took him away.” Addison sits up, reaching into her purse for a packet of tissues. She removes one and blows her nose. “He’d slipped into a coma while I slept in the other room.”
“Addison,” I say, reaching for her hand, but she pulls it away. She doesn’t want to be consoled.
“Is he still in a coma?” I don’t want to ask outright if he passed away, although I’m assuming that’s how her story will end.
She shakes her head and a short stream of air comes from her nose. “They don’t call it a coma anymore. It’s been so long, now it’s called a persistent vegetative state.”
Shit.Her situation is nothing like I’d been imagining.
“I’m… sorry.” It’s so little to say to a problem so substantial.
Addison’s head bobs up and down slowly. “Me too.”
I don’t want to pry, but I’m curious to know more. “Can I ask you a question?” I sit up, criss-crossing my legs.
She looks up at me, and I can see in her eyes she’s considering telling me no. After a beat, she nods.
“What have you been doing this past year? After the dust settled, and Warren’s” —I pause, searching for the best word to use— “statebecame persistent. You stayed in Chicago, right?”
“At first, I was by his side all day and all night. I left only to shower. But I had a bakery to run, and when it became clear Warren wasn’t expected to wake up, I threw myself into my store. Quiet, early mornings in the kitchen in the back were my refuge. Ashton, my main employee, would arrive at seven with coffee, and until we closed for the day she’d be the only person I talked to.” Addison’s eyes shut and she tips her chin to the sky. “Before the accident I was always behind the register, chatting and discussing the news with customers. But not after. The everyday happenings seemed trivial, and I couldn’t pretend like they mattered.” A few more tears slip from her eyes.
Addison surprises me then, sitting up and scooting forward on the blanket, settling beside me. Her head drops onto my shoulder and my own head tips until it rests gently on top of hers. From her body language I can tell she is done talking about what happened.
The final swaths of color dip below the horizon, leaving behind a sky the shade of a fresh bruise.
