“Shut up!” someone shouts.
I fight for breath and use the scratchy wool blanket to wipe at my snotty nose.
Sienna, please don’t die. Please live so that I can prove that I love you more than anything. I’ve learned my lesson. I swear it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sienna
I wake at 6:30 a.m. when a nurse comes to take my blood pressure. She tells me she’s finishing her shift and that the day nurse will see me out of the ICU.
“Congratulations,” she says while she squeezes the inflation bulb. “You’re doing well.” I remain quiet while she listens with her stethoscope and reads the gauge. She peels at the Velcro and removes the cuff from my arm.
“Have you been following social media?” I ask curiously while missing my phone at the bottom of the ocean.
“Yes. It’s a shame what happened to you. No one deserves that.”
I take a moment to digest this. “I suppose everyone thinks my husband is guilty.”
“That’s what it sounds like,” she replies, “but it’s not for me to say. That’s what the courts are for.”
She finishes up and leaves the room.
Tired all of a sudden, I close my eyes and use my imagination to recall what happened before I drowned. All the events of the day. Iremember, quite clearly, writingbroccolion the magnetic grocery list on the refrigerator when Nate walked in the door.
From there, I lie quietly and replay each moment. I see the landscape on the old Lighthouse Route. Most of all, I remember my certainty that Nate would never change.
The move from the ICU to the neurosurgery floor exhausts me. Not long after they situate me in a private room, a young man delivers breakfast on a tray. It’s been days since I’ve chewed and swallowed anything, which feels daunting after having a tube stuck down my throat. But I’m tired of all these needles and tubes sticking out of me, so I pick up my spoon.
Just as I’m about to give the warm broth a try, Amanda and Connor walk in. Amanda takes a look at my breakfast tray.
“You’re eating,” she says. “This is huge.”
“Don’t get too excited,” I reply as each of them greets me with a kiss on the cheek. “I haven’t swallowed anything yet. I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Are you feeling okay?” Amanda asks.
“I feel great,” I reply, because I don’t want her to worry anymore. I’m sure she’s done enough of that.
They drag two chairs to either side of my bed.
“Any news about Dad?” I ask. He’s been on my mind all night. Everyone seems to believe he tried to hurt me, but I don’t know what’s real anymore. I went to heaven, for pity’s sake. Or at least I think I did. I don’t know.
“Nothing this morning,” Amanda replies. “Just more people expressing their opinions on social media.”
“I haven’t seen any of that yet. Can I look at your phone?”
“I’m not sure you want to see that stuff, Mom,” Connor warns me. “It might upset you.”
“I appreciate you being protective,” I reply, “but I really need to know what’s going on. I’d like to know what evidence the police have because I still have no recollection.”
“I think that’s the problem,” Amanda says. “You have no recollection, one way or the other.”
“But it’s impossible to remember something that didn’t happen,” I argue.
“True,” she replies, “but do you remember getting hit by the wave?”
I stop and think about it, carefully, but I still can’t recall that exact moment.
