Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86857 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
There’s no use arguing with her, so I nod.
A month passes. I start to lose hope even with Izzy feeling optimistic.
“Her brain is healing,” she says.
She’s braindead, but I don’t say that.
Another month passes. It’s official. I’ve kept the vegetable. I’d say Josie will be pissed off at me, but she won’t. Not in this lifetime. I don’t blame Josie for wanting to try, to exhaust every last effort. I would do the same thing to stay in this life with Izzy. But time is up.
“No,” Izzy says when I come into the storage unit after work. She knows what I’m going to say.
“No one’s immortal, Izzy. You’ve blown me away with your generosity, your kindness to a complete stranger. But—”
“She squeezed my hand today.”
“Palmar grasp reflex. You know this.”
She takes Josie’s hand, running her finger along her lifeline.
“Izzy, I don’t want her to wake up.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You know why. She wouldn’t be able to physically function. She’d be, at the very best, I’m talking truly miraculous best, mentally impaired. It’s unlikely that she’d be able to speak.”
“That’s what therapy is for. Speech. Physical. Occupational. It will take time, but I believe she will recover.”
“Time? You mean years? What are we supposed to do? Take her and dump her off at Colten’s front doorstep? At her parents’ front doorstep? Are we going to rehabilitate her? Izzy, you have to be realistic. The humane thing to do for her and everyone is to let her go.”
“Would you let me go?”
“I would if that’s what you wanted.”
Izzy turns toward me, mouth slightly agape.
I shrug. “I think you forget about your years as a nurse. I think you forget what I see and do every day. And…” I smile “…I love that about you. I imagine us having kids and how lucky they will be to have you as their mother. I want that life, Izzy. I don’t want to go to prison. I don’t want anything to jeopardize our future. Maybe that’s selfish of me, but when it comes to my life with you, I feel protective and selfish.”
She holds out her arms while she makes her way to me. I embrace my world. And then … it’s as if the world stops for a breath. More like a blink.
Josie opens her eyes.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
I wake up alone. No Josie. For a few seconds, I rub my eyes. Was it real?
She’s alive.
She uses a walker.
She’s incredibly thin and frail.
She’s. Alive!
I climb out of bed, grab a T-shirt, and go downstairs. She’s nowhere in sight and neither is her walker. How did she get down the stairs … with her walker? Did Felix pick her up? How did I sleep through everything? I run back up the stairs, and just as I head into my bedroom, I hear her.
“I’m in here.”
I follow her voice to Reagan’s room. She’s perched on the end of Reagan’s bed, staring at the cat mural.
“Who painted this?” she asks.
“I did.” I bend down and kiss her head before sitting next to her.
“Did I know that?”
“Yes. You did.”
“Huh …” She continues to stare at it.
“Josie,” I whisper, taking her hand in mine. “It’s time. I need to know. Where have you been? What happened?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s what I know and what I’ve been told. I’ve been trying to piece everything together, but it’s been hard. I know I loved my job. I know you moved to Chicago, and it was the first time I had seen you in seventeen years. I know I was mad at you. I know you did a weird proposal over donuts. I know I said no. But I watched a video I made before I died, and I guess I was going to marry you, so I must have said yes at some point. The video version of me said that I had a near-death experience where I remembered a past life, and it was giving me horrible visions. I was suicidal. I was afraid of making you choose between your daughter and me. I must not have thought we could coincide in your life. Felix has filled in some more information as well. I have memories from before the first death, the shooting, but I think everything from after that until I woke up from the coma is gone.”
“Josie …” I stand, running my hands through my hair before turning toward her. “You were in a coma?”
She nods.
“Wh-how … for … Jesus … for how long? Why am I just now hearing about this? Why didn’t your name come up when you were admitted to the hospital? I’ve been looking for you for months!”
She winces.
I feel instant regret. I’m angry, but not really at her. I’m confused. My chest aches, and I feel so lost and helpless.
“I didn’t go to the hospital.”