“Hi,” Ella said, her voice raspy but strong.
Lucy’s mother burst into tears.
They stayed the morning at Spaulding. From the strained attempts at conversation, it became clear quickly that Ella’sspeech was still very limited; she spoke only a few words, most in isolation. Certain sounds were easier than others. But Lucy’s parents were overjoyed. When Danny took Ella for PT, Karen, the speech pathologist, came to speak to them about the new development.
“The brain is a miraculous organ,” she told them happily.
“It’s what we’ve been waiting for,” Lucy’s mother said. “What changed?”
Karen shrugged. “Speech can return in weeks or months, sometimes longer. We don’t always know why. In Ella’s case, as you know she’s been dealing with dysarthria. That involves muscle control weakness from damage to the nerves or brain, which is why she’s had difficulty articulating.”
“Does this mean she’s over it now?”
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way,” Karen said sympathetically. “It’s a motor speech disorder, and that requires time and continued therapy. The good news is her gains are strong.”
Lucy’s father cleared his throat. “Ella is supposed to be at Tufts in September.” Hadn’t her father just seen what she had seen? It was both heartbreaking and infuriating. He was asking Karen for assurances she couldn’t give.
“Mr. Hart, Ella has suffered a traumatic injury. She’s young, and the neuroplasticity of her brain is in our favor. What lies ahead looks promising, but every individual responds differently. It’s something the team will discuss with you and Dr. Forrester at our weekly.”
Lucy knew those weekly meetings too well, and she’d opted out. She blamed it on work, but the truth was she purposelyscheduled shifts at the Sandy Page on those days. Sitting around a table with the team under the glare of the fluorescent lights was too painful. There were endless reports: OT, PT, speech, physiatrists. No one ever had answers. And yet her father just kept asking for miracles.
“But she’s walking again!” her father reminded Karen. “You saw her leave with Danny. And her speech is coming back. So it’s still possible she could attend school, right?”
The hope on his face was too much. Lucy excused herself.
“Where are you going?” her mother asked.
“Coffee.” Lucy didn’t drink coffee. The last thing she heard Karen say was, “Let’s try and take things one day at a time.”
It was exhausting, the grip her parents had on hope. Maybe it was better than the opposite, Lucy reasoned. At least they weren’t drowning in depression, taking to their beds. But still. They refused to come to terms with what Lucy felt all along in her bones. There would be no packing of the car that August. Lucy and her family would not drive up the Mass Pike or decorate a dorm room or say a tearful goodbye in the campus parking lot. Maybe that would happen next year. Maybe it would never happen at all. For now, they were stuck here; the only drive for certain was the daily commute to and from Spaulding Rehab.
Only when Lucy knew Ella’s PT was over did she return to her room. Lunch was brought in, and Lucy’s mom produced sandwiches she must have made and packed before Lucy even woke up that morning. Ella was able to feed herself independently. At least Lucy’s mom no longer cut up her food the way she used to,even when the OT had insisted they not. Lucy watched Ella take a few bites of macaroni and cheese and a sip of her apple juice before turning her attention to her own turkey sandwich. She would try to be more like her parents; she would try to believe life would return to normal.
They were eating in silence when Ella began talking. It wasn’t the kind of talking Lucy had expected. It was garbled, maybe because of her still developing articulation, or maybe because she was crying, Lucy realized with a start.
“Darling? What is it?” Her mother hopped up, leaning over the bed.
Ella looked at her mother through a stream of tears. Her lunch tray tipped precariously on her lap. Lucy grabbed it just in time.
Ella repeated herself a second time, then a third. By then Lucy understood.
“I’m sorry,” Ella cried, looking between her parents.
“Honey, no! There’s nothing to be sorry for,” their mother said.
“It’s alright,” their father said. “Everything is going to be okay.”
But Ella would not stop. Her words were slurred but her meaning distinct. “I’m sorry,” she cried. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
No one noticed Lucy slip out into the hall for the second time that afternoon. She had to. The clues were tumbling at her, too fast to hang on to.
Jep Parson’s words:She was the one driving.Ella’s goldbracelet, found on the driver’s side of the car. The note:Please don’t tell.The broken look on her sister’s face each time Lucy cheered her on. Clues, all of them.
Clues that Lucy had unwittingly collected all summer, like sea glass washed ashore. As Ella’s slurred apology warbled out to the hall, no one was sorrier than Lucy Hart.
