Gravity Rises (S3)

PP: Part Three

A raspy voice came from across the room. "Water."

Melody looked up from her book. "Water," Fiddleford rasped again. His left eye was open, staring at Melody. His right eye was squeezed shut.

He was awake.

Melody jumped into action. She stood, dropped her book on her chair, and crossed the room to where she had a pitcher of water on the dresser. Then she poured a cup of water and took it to the left side of the bed. "Do you think you can sit up?" she asked Fiddleford.

He blinked his left eye and said nothing.

"Okay, let's try together." Melody set the cup on the bedside table and reached for Fiddleford. "I'm going to help sit you up, okay, Fiddleford?"

"Water," he whispered.

Melody put her arm under his right shoulder, the one farther from her. "Can you roll over towards me?" she asked. He moved to roll onto his left shoulder, and she supported him by pushing up on his right side. "Okay, now your legs," she said. She put her right arm under his left shoulder and around his back, then used her left hand to push the blankets back until his legs were uncovered. With her left arm hooked under Fiddleford's knees, Melody bent them towards his chest. The fabric of the hospital clothes — which Melody had changed Fiddleford into yesterday — felt soft on her fingers.

"We're going to sit up now, okay? I'll help you up and move your legs off the bed. On the count of three. Ready? One, two, three."

Melody pushed up on his left shoulder while moving his legs so that his lower legs hung off the bed. She kept her arm around his back once he was upright, and he leaned against her. "Water," he said again.

"I have some right here." She reached across with her left hand to get the cup, and thankfully the awkward maneuvering didn't spill the water. "Drink slowly, okay? If you're having trouble swallowing, stop drinking."

She held the cup to his lips and tipped it back gently. Fiddleford reached up, wrapped his hands around hers, and drank noisily — desperately — from the cup. Soon he had drained the whole thing without choking or spitting out any of it.

"More," he said. His voice was slightly stronger.

"Okay. I'm going to lay you back down."

"I can sit up," Fiddleford said slowly.

"Are you sure? Here, I'm going to let go for a second, and I'll catch you if you can't stay up." She pushed him up gently, then moved her arm back a bit. She fully expected him to fall onto her arm — he probably thought he had more strength than he actually did.

Fiddleford didn't fall.

"More water," he pleaded.

With wide eyes, Melody took the cup and refilled it, bringing the pitcher back with her in case she needed it again. Fiddleford stayed upright. She set the pitcher on the bedside table, put her arm around Fiddleford's shoulder again, and brought the cup of water to his lips. He tried to take it from her hands, but she didn't let go. She tipped the cup slowly until Fiddleford had once again drained it.

He swallowed, then let out a sharp burst of air. "Thank you."

"Do you want more?"

"Not. . . not now." Fiddleford leaned back onto Melody's arm; he was already losing strength.

"Okay, let's lay you back down," Melody said. She put the cup back on the bedside table, then hooked her arm around Fiddleford's knees. She helped Fiddleford lift his legs back on the bed, helped him onto his left shoulder, and helped him roll onto his back. "Do you want the covers?" Melody asked.