After experiencing a life-altering tragedy, Emersyn feels as if her world has collapsed. Attempting to accept her new reality, Emersyn wonders how she can possibly keep going when it feels like her life ended months ago. Until she meets Haven, and s...
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I am like a zombie as I sit in the waiting room between my mother and Haven's.
I feel like I am not supposed to be in the room as the women speak, even though I know the conversation is meant for me to hear. However, I can hardly find it in myself to be responsive as I listen, my mind too occupied with thoughts of Haven.
"It was a brain contusion," Mrs. Hartley explains, her voice frail and flimsy. "The doctors say it was probably caused by the skull fracture that resulted from the . . . the fall. She was exhibiting similar symptoms then, but they were written off as a mere concussion. The doctors said that can . . . that sometimes contusions can be paired with concussions. Essentially, the contusion has grown in size with time . . . they say she's lucky to even be alive." Mrs. Hartley snorts bitterly, and I am certain she has grown sick of hearing this. "The second her results came back they called to bring her in for surgery to remove the contusion that is creating pressure on her brain."
My mother leans over me to rest a hand atop Mrs. Hartley's knee as she begins to sob. Witnessing Haven's mother break has me witnessing visions of my own mother falling apart in hospital waiting rooms. I clutch my head as I lean back in my seat.
"The doctors said this surgery has a high survival rate," Mrs. Hartley wails. "So we're just . . . we're just hoping. Our girl pulled through once. I'm sure she can . . ." Mrs. Hartley trails off, succumbing to her grief.
I don't say what I'm sure we're all thinking. Haven got lucky once. What are the chances she is granted a third chance at life?
My temples throb as I lean back in my seat, trying and failing to maintain a steady stream of air. When I blink, I am in a different hospital waiting room, having just visited a different patient. Opening my eyes, my concern and fear for Haven swarms my chest invasively.
I tune out the sound of our mothers speaking beside me and try to focus on the one thing that brings me solace: Haven. I close my eyes and replay our last conversation, refusing to think about how out of it she had been and instead giving attention to the words she had been able to express. She had remembered our promise, a realization that warms my heart for the briefest of seconds. Then she had mentioned something about her bag . . .
My thoughts wander as I scrutinize the importance of Haven's bag. What had she meant by this, if she had meant anything at all? Was she trying to convey something of significance to me, or was her mind merely affected by the anesthesia?
I turn to Haven's mother before I can think better of doing so, interrupting her conversation with my mother.
"Mrs. Hartley, do you have Haven's bag?"
Haven's mother eyes me wordlessly for a moment, the grief painted across her features fading briefly as she blinks in confusion. Her eyebrows furrow as she nods slowly, murmuring, "Um . . . I'm sure it's around here somewhere. I think Tyler grabbed it before she was taken in for surgery."
