If anyone in Scarlet could be more stubborn than Megs, it was Joe.
“Is there enough?”
“Why, yes. There’s more than a hundred fifty-thousand in that account right now. So, why don’t you tell me what you need, and I’ll move it over for you.”
A hundred fifty-thousand?
That was enough to cover the hospital, several months of rehab, and some alterations to their home.
Megs’ throat grew tight. She waited a moment, then gave Karl the information he needed. “Thanks, Karl. This really helps. I’m deeply grateful.”
“It’s my pleasure. And please tell Mitch we’re all pulling for him.”
“I will.” Megs ended the call.
To think that she’d once been reluctant to move to Scarlet…
She walked back to Lora’s office, a great weight lifted off her shoulders.
Thank you, Joe and Rain. Thank you, Scarlet Springs.
By the timeMegs left Lora’s office, it was mid-afternoon. As she rode in the elevator, she wondered whether she should discuss Mitch’s long-term care with him. He was already coping with so much. Was it fair to ask him to participate in these decisions? Was he cognitively able to discuss such things? Would it cause him unnecessary stress?
He’d awakened to find himself and his life almost unrecognizable. She wasn’t even sure he had fully understood what she’d told him. With his short-term memory issues, he might not remember anything they’d discussed.
On the other hand, she didn’t want to leave him out of decisions that directly impacted his life and well-being. That would infantilize him, depriving him of agency when making decisions might help him feel in control again.
When she reached his room, she found him awake and looking stressed. He lay with the head of his bed raised, getting oxygen through a cannula, anxiety etched into his face. Or was that pain?
When he saw her, he held out his hand. “Mmmek.”
She knew him well enough to read the look in his eyes.
Where have you been?
“I’m sorry. The hospital wanted to talk money.” She would bring up rehab facilities some other time. She moved the chair close to his bed and threaded her fingers through his. “I hope they haven’t worn you out. Are you in pain?”
“Nnnoo.”
“Good.” She caressed his hand.
She’d spent the past eight days in a monologue with someone who was in a coma, hoping the sound of her voice would help him. Now that he was awake, she wasn’t sure what to say, especially since he might not remember any of it. She decided to keep the conversation light, to focus on daily life. If he was anxious, it might ease his mind to hear of normal, everyday things.
She thought back to the day of the accident and tried to remember all the news she’d shared with him when he’d been in a coma. She told him about all of the good wishes, Rose’s gossip, and the fundraising. “The Timberline Mudbugs even put out a special mixtape of your favorite tunes. Isn’t that cool?”
She navigated to the Mudbugs’ website, found the mixtape, and read off the songs they had included, then played his favorite, holding his hand as she sang along.
Mitch seemed to relax, one of his feet keeping time.
When the song was over, Megs stood. “Where did they put your journal? I’ve been reading it to you. Do you remember what I read to you last night?”
He looked completely baffled.
“I read your entry from my eighteenth birthday. Do you remember what happened the night I finally turned eighteen?”
His lips curved in a slight smile.
“Youdoremember. Good. I’ll never forget.” She kissed him before sitting, journal in her lap. “We spent the next couple of days at François’ cabin, drinking his wine, soaking in his hot tub, making good use of that bed with its mirrors. Do you remember the mirrors?”
