Damn.
My stomach rumbles, but nerves make it impossible to consider anything other than the water already in it, so I peek over my shoulder, out the window, and into a winter wonderland.If you’re into that sort of thing. Snow drifts from the sky, floating down to Earth with a soft, almost romantic spin and sway. The trees settle under a heavy coating of powder, but I’ve watched over the last week, every now and then, when the wind blows or a bird sits, a branch will shake its burden off and send the white blanket toppling to the ground instead.
With the promise of the old folks’ seat in the shower and the warm, constant drizzle of hot water on my back, I turn away from the window and take a single step forward. But then I skid to a stop and choke out a battle cry as bodies fill my doorway.
Two of them. Two women.
I skitter back and slam my hip against the solid bed frame, whimpering as pain radiates all the way along my leg and into my aching feet. I throw my hand up in the universal sign everyone knows—memory loss be damned. “Stop!”
“I’m sorry.” The smaller woman, shorter than her friend by just an inch, counters my single hand with two of her own. Except, shopping bags hang off hers, rustling and smacking into each other with the momentum of her swing. “Don’t scream. I’m not here to hurt you.”
“W-who are you?” I drag a blanket off my bed, almost like I could hide behind the flimsy fabric, but then I catch sight of the thick puffer jacket draped over my visitor chair, so I toss the first and dive for the second. If I must run, it’s best I have something with a zipper and insulation.Where are my boots? “We didn’t even do the interview yet, so you can’t be here to claim me. A-and you…” I look to the second woman. Instead of shopping bags, she carries a baby. One of the not-yet-walking-sized babies. “I don’t know you.”
“I’m Eliza.” The first one lowers her hands, the bottoms of her shopping bags brushing the sides of her knees. “Eliza Darling. And she’s Alana. We’re not here to claim you or anything. We just?—”
“Eliza Darling?” I swing my eyes back to hers, to a pair of bright blue Darling eyes, and suffocate on my shuddering, humiliating exhale. “Y-you’re Ollie’s sister?”
“I am.” She flashes a smile that matches his almost exactly, with straight teeth and curved lips, and a glimmer in her stare that Iswearcouldonly result from something their mother slipped into their milk when they were infants. It’s a kind of magic, I’m certain, ensuring a permanent good mood. “Ollie’s my older,allegedlysmarter, definitely kinder brother.” She inches forward slowly… carefully… and places her shopping bags on my visitor chair, then, releasing the handles, she straightens out and hooks a thumb over her shoulder. “She’s Alana. And the little one is Hazel, but you don’t have to worry about her. She mostly just sleeps and craps her pants.”
“Wh—” I swallow and study Alana’s long blonde hair, though it’s not as long, nor as blonde, as Eliza’s. Both women have blue eyes, but Alana’s are a regular blue. Lovely and friendly. But they’re not as bright as the Darlings’ blue. “Why are you here?”
“We heard about your TV interview.” Eliza slips her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and peeks toward the floor, almost as though attempting to hide the pink coloring her cheeks. “Ollie’s mentioned you a time or two. Nothing too personal,” she adds quickly. “Not, like… HIPAA violations or anything. But he mentioned this patient who was having a tough time, and how, in his effort to help you figure things out, you would do a TV interview today.”
“So he told you everything?”
She exhales a gusty, embarrassed laugh. “Pretty much, yeah. But please don’t be mad at him. Barbara has thebiggestmouth in town, and she’s basically yapped to anyone who’ll listen that you’re here to screw her over. Ollie’s spending all his time following behind and diffusing all the dumb shit she says. He told me how he wants to help you, which is how you’ve landed here, with a TV interview. And my coat.” She beams, devious and daring. “He stole that from me, just so you know.”
“Your—” Horrified, I study the maroon coat covering my hospital gown. “This is yours? Oh my gosh!” I grab the zipper and tear it down. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t?—”
“Keep it.” She charges forward and brushes my hands aside. “My gift to you.”
“No, I?—”
“I’m not asking.” She draws the zipper all the way up to the underside of my chin, then she turns and pokes through the bags on the chair. “I wasn’t sure what size you were, but Ollie never brought the coat back, and the boots seemed to work just fine, so I hedged my bets and did my best.”
Finding what she’s looking for, she tugs a packet from the bag and presents it between us.
“You—” Too dizzy. Too confused. Jesus, I blink once, twice, three times, and still, I look down at the packet of underwear in her outstretched hand. “What?”
“They’re not Victoria’s Secret or anything. In fact, they even have thedays of the week on the waistband.” She presses the packaging to my stomach, forcing me to take them, then she goes back and rummages for more. “I know you have a cute as hell jacket now, and boots, and sweatpants, but underwear is a necessity, I think. And I know you don’t have cash or credit cards to buy your own. Bras.” She presents plain cotton sets. “I’m all for freeing the titty after a long day at work, but to free the titty, you must first cage the titty. And I know, personally, not having a cage for them can get a little overwhelming sometimes.” She presses those to my belly, too, and goes back to her bags. “I went a size larger than I thought we’d need, since no one wants to hang around a hospital in form-fitting clothes anyway. Lots of boyfriend-style shirts, since those are my style and I thought they’d look cute on you. I got you a pair of jeans—only one pair.” She tosses the denim onto my precarious pile. “Jeans are for going out, and you’re not going anywhere for the next little while, but I knew you’d be on the television today, and you don’t want to look like a hobo while you’re doing it. Oh!” She goes to another bag and takes out a bottle of shampoo. Conditioner. A packet of hair elastics. A hair band. Clips. A comb. “You’re basically starting over. You’ll figure out who you are eventually, and when you do, you can go back to that person and enjoy the shampoo you already like, but in the meantime, you need something for now. This one,” she presents a white bottle with a creamy yellow, almost orange label, and a dripping honey design on the side. “This has been really good for my hair. It moisturizes,doesn’tscrew up the ends,doesn’tgive me dandruff, anddoesn’tleave me oily. It smells fantastic, and it’s got none of the nasty chemicals all those other crappy brands do. I usually buy lavender, since I like the smell, but they were all out at the store, so I got you the honey one instead. I got you a stick of deodorant. And razors. Body soap, since you need that, too. And, oh! I got you a few different brushes, since everyone likes what they like. Alana,” she hooks a thumb over her shoulder again, “prefers the soft bristle. I prefer hard. Fox likes the barrel kind. She’s working right now, so she couldn’t come with us today. But she took part in our shopping expedition and voiced her opinions on the subject.”
“You…” I fumble the jeans, so they land on the floor with a splat. “I have a headache.”
“I bet you do.” Eliza dumps the bathroom supplies back in the bag and tosses the bag onto my bed. Then she ducks low and rescues the jeans, before scooping everything out of my arms and putting it all beside the bag. “I’ve been hit in the head a time or two, so I know that shit hurts. I couldn’t imagine being hit so hard that it wiped my memories.” She takes my hand in hers and searches my eyes. “Are you doing okay?”
“Uh—”
“Like, obviously not. You’re homeless—kinda—and scared. You have no clue who the hell you are, and because of that, you have no clue where the hell you’re supposed to go, or who you should trust, or who you used to know. Your only friend is my brother, and damn,” she snickers, “that’s kinda sad, since he’s such a pain in everyone’s ass.”
My eyes narrow to unhappy slits, and my instincts scream to defend my only friend.
“We wanted to get you set up with some stuff,” Eliza continues. Calmer now. Gentler. “Everyone needs the basics, like Chapstick and adult toothpaste. Boots are cool and all, but sneakers are more sensible. We got you a few pairs of pyjamas, and shorts, and some more sweatpants, since everyone needs plenty of those. You already have a nice jacket, but hoodies never go out of fashion. And if I didn’t have hair ties or a brush, I wouldn’t be able to explain the rage I would feel. Or the sensory psychosis I would go into because of it. You have such pretty hair, by the way.”
“I…” I reach up and pat my bird’s nest. “Huh?”
“The color is amazing. There’s no way this came from a bottle.” She pinches a lock between her fingers and turns it over between us. “It looks black from afar, but up close, there are a thousand different subtle shades in here. Kinda like your eyes.”
Overwhelmed, I press the pads of my fingers to the swollen circle beneath my right eye. “What?”
