Faye cradles her face in her hands as she starts crying. Naomi doesn’t know how to respond. Her brain is in overdrive, trying to process that this is really happening. That this isn’t a dream or a hallucination. Faye’s alive. Here with her. She was right. She tries to prop herself up, but the pain stops her.
“Ah,” she groans, realizing she must’ve broken a few ribs in the crash.
“Naomi?” A woman dressed in dark-blue scrubs and lime-green Crocs runs into the room. “Welcome back. Just hang tight for a second there and we’ll check you out.” The woman crouches by her bedside, fiddling with the IV cables, before examining the clipboard.
“My name is Janet. I’m your nurse. I’m just going to press this button to prop you up a bit, okay?”
Naomi tenses as the bed moves and her bones ache. She doesn’t want to look away from her sister, worried she’s a hologram that will dissipate if she does. She presses her eyelids shut and then opens them, looking at Faye, still there. She breathes a sigh of relief.
Janet leans over and places a stethoscope on Naomi’s chest. “Can you take a deep breath for me, please?”
Naomi abides, scanning her surroundings as she inhales and exhales, noting how the room looks like a cross between a hotel suite and a hospital. But the giant flatscreen and fancy gold and marble furnishings on the kitchenette throw her off.
“Where am I?” she asks, voice full of gravel.
Janet places the stethoscope down after making some notes and grabs a cup of water. “Here, drink this, you must be thirsty.” She holds the cup to Naomi’s cracked lips before answering. “You’re at St. John’s, a private hospital.”
“In Maine?” Naomi finishes the water.
“Yes. You were taken here just after your accident a few days ago.”
“A few days?” Naomi responds, shocked. Her heart hammers, wondering how she’s going to pay for this private treatment.
“Yes, but that’s nothing after an accident like yours. You were very lucky. Plus, your surgery went well and your leg should be fine in a few months.”
Surgery? Months!?She lifts her neck, finally seeing the huge cast encasing her entire right leg.
“Fuck,” she whispers, closing her eyes as she lets her head fall back into the pillow.
“Did I break anything else?”
Janet quickly consults the clipboard. “Two ribs and a fractured wrist.”
The beeping on Naomi’s heart monitor increases as her pulse quickens.
“It’s going to be a tough road to full recovery, but you’re in great hands and Harlow’s already let us know her plans for your outpatient care.”
Naomi glances at her sister, who Janet of course thinks is pop star Harlow Hayes. Because she is, apparently.
“Now, I’m just going to ask you a few questions, okay?” Janet grabs her clipboard again. “Some are just formalities, things I need to verify. First, can you tell me your name and date of birth?”
“Naomi Barnes. January 5, 1996.”
“Great. And on a scale of one to ten, what level of pain do you feel? Ten being like someone’s cut off your leg.”
“Um, a five, maybe,” Naomi says, impatient to be done with these questions and talk to her sister. Something she thought she’d never be able to do again.
“Good, the pain meds must be doing their job then. Now, can you move your fingers?”
Naomi does as she’s told and moves her fingers on both hands, even though they feel stiff.
“Now your toes.”
She wiggles them and Janet nods, taking notes. When she looks up from her clipboard, she smiles. “You’re going to be just fine. I’ll go let the doctor know you’re awake and she’ll come check in on you in a bit. For now, I’ll leave you two to catch up. Harlow, if your friend needs anything at all, just let us know, okay?”
Friend. The word is like salt in Naomi’s wounds. Things would never be the same, would they?
Once Janet closes the door, Faye turns to Naomi. She looks so different. So much more like Harlow. But also so beautiful. Radiant. Like a goddess. A true star. Everything about her looks new. Her lips, her nose, the shape of her face and body. Her hair is long and thick, brown with copper lowlights mixed into what she’s sure are expensive extensions. So different from the blonde shoulder-length cut she used to sport.
