Page 32 of Fox
Please live.
I have to blink my eyes to push the tears away because the fear of losing her is so immense that I can barely control the anguish that wants to rip through me and out.
And that’s when she opens her eyes.
They’re unfocused at first, moving across the ceiling, slow, searching as if she can’t quite bring its whiteness into resolution.
The relief that goes through me is humbling.
Dr. Reyes leans into her field of vision. “Hey, there you are.”
Lucy’s eyes find her face and hold it. “Hi,” she croaks in the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard, then closes her eyes and swallows.
I exhale for what feels like the first time in four days.
Dr. Reyes holds a straw in front of her. “Drink a little. Slowly.”
Lucy takes a tiny little sip and then looks around the room. The equipment first, like she’s taking inventory and then…me.
I sit forward.
She looks at me as if she’s trying to place me.
There’s no alarm or fear, but a search she’s running through an internal index with a slight, focused furrow between her brows that I know. This is her thinking face. This is when she’s working something out and refuses to be rushed.
“Hey, sweetheart.” I put a hand on her forehead and brush some of her hair back. “Hey, Luce. You’re awake. You’re going to be alright.” And then, because I can’t hold the words in any longer, I blurt out, “I love you. I love you so fucking much.”
The furrow between her eyes deepens.
She looks at Dr. Reyes. Then back at me.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is rough from the tube, from days of disuse. “Who are you?”
11
SHE’S COMING HOME WITH ME
FOX
The next few hours are the worst of my life, which is a significant statement given the competition over the last few days.
The doctors do their assessments—questions, responses, memory tests administered with the careful neutrality of people trained not to telegraph their findings.
Lucy answers most of them.
She knows her name.
She knows Dina—asks for her, actually, in the first ten minutes, with a certainty that makes my heart contract.
She knows her parents, her brother Milo, and the name of the street she grew up on in Antioch.
She knows Nashville.
She knows the diner.
She does not know me and she does not know the last two years.
Dr. Reyes pulls me into the corridor while a nurse stays with Lucy and explains to me in the careful, measured language of someone delivering information they know will land badly.
