Every fading scar on her knuckles is a punch thrown. Every callus the memory of a weapon gripped. I’m busy ruminating on her hands when a tiny voice emerges, like a breeze through low brush.
“Hello again.”
Blinking over to her, my eyes go wide as her amber ones come into focus. They’re swimming, glossing over, but they’re there. She’s there. Awake, alive. She settles on me.
“Hello yourself,” I call back with what I hope looks like a smile. It hurts. “You came back.”
Taylor gives me a halfhearted eye roll. “I said I would see you in Lansing.” Her voice is dust, like someone has taken her larynx and crushed it. “Mason? Is he alive?”
“Yes, but I don’t know any more than that.” I’m ashamed I didn’t ask. I make a mental note to inquire with Delilah.
Taylor nods in understanding, closes her eyes, and presses her head back into her pillow. She squeezes my hand, tremors running through her fingers. “Don’t leave, okay?”
As if there were any choice. Her eyes peek open when I don’t respond quickly enough, mostly because I’m trying to figure out a way to speak around the lump in my throat. I can’t, so I nod. Taylor exhales a long, tired breath and relaxes. Other than her hand where her fingers still clench mine.
“You went through an awful lot of trouble to get out of giving me that hug.”
If Taylor could laugh, she probably would have. “On the contrary,” she whispers with a gentle smile. “I went through a lot of trouble to give it to you.”
And, how? How, through the relief and grief and jungle of emotions, how is she able to slice through directly to where my heart beats and bleeds for her?
“I’ll remind you when you’re not nursing three bullet wounds.”
It isn’t long before the exhaustion and drugs lull her into a much-needed sleep. Once her hand releases mine, I get up and stretch my aching limbs to inspect the room. Delilah got her a room alone, which is quite a feat considering how many people need a hospital room. A suite, actually, as I scrutinize the room more thoroughly. This may have been a labor recovery room in another time, when bringing life into the world was still worth celebrating. The walls are painted a comforting beige and maroon instead of glaring white. A television protrudes from the ceiling in the corner, guarded by two bulbous chairs on the floor. An awful watercolor painting of a rainbow hangs above the bed.
What catches my attention is the red plush sofa near the window. I close the lights, and give her a final glance to ensure she’s asleep. I tiptoe over to the couch and perch my knees on thecushions, staring out the window. Heavy, thick gray clouds hang in the sky, ready to expel their payloads.
After watching the arrival of ambulance after ambulance, I lie down and kick off my shoes over the edge of the couch. It isn’t comfortable, but it’ll do. I’m not sure there’s a damn thing that could drag me from this room, including the offer of a real bed.
I’m almost asleep when the door creaks open and closed. In the darkness I easily make out the familiar form. Delilah. I snap my eyes closed and feign sleep like I did as a child when my mother came to check on me.
She sits down in the chair I brought bedside, stroking Taylor’s bedraggled hair as the soldier drowsily comes to. Peeking through one eye, I silently observe the tender moment between them.
“You gave me quite the scare, darling girl,” Delilah croons at her, sultry voice tight with emotion.
“Sorry.”
“Not the first time you’ve tested the fortitude of my heart. Remember when I caught you and Hunter on the roof of the hotel, daring each other to step on the edge? I nearly had a coronary.”
“She always got me in trouble,” Taylor whispers.
Delilah chuckles. “She did try. I never could stay mad at you.”
“I will get her back.” Her vow is solemn and firm despite her lack of voice.
“I know you will do all you can.”
Taylor coughs hard, wheezing, her lungs longing to expel the debris trapped inside. “I miss her.”
As a reminder that it’s still there, my heart squeezes and hurts inside my chest.
“I miss her too.”
“Do you think she’s alive?” Taylor asks, like a child would ask their parent to check for monsters under the bed.
Delilah sighs. “I do.”
“Do you think they hurt her?”
