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  “My parents are here to take me home,” he said, walking over to the bed. “I told them you were awake and looking good. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. Let me know if you need anything. I mean it.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Can I hug you?”

  “Of course.”

  Sean carefully leaned over the bed and I wrapped my arms around him, miraculously without getting the IV tube tangled in our embrace. “We’ll talk soon, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye, Ms. Winter. I’m sorry for—”

  “Don’t start,” Mom said, giving Sean a hug. “I’m just glad you’re both okay. Say hi to your parents for me.”

  “I will,” he said, then it was back to just Mom and me—Mom and me against the world.

  Dr. Lagos stopped in a short time later and reconfirmed I seemed to be doing well. Mom grabbed herself dinner from the cafeteria and brought me an extra chocolate pudding. She stayed with me during the MRI scan and didn’t leave until nearly 10 p.m., by which time I could barely keep my eyes open.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” she’d offered.

  “No, Mom,” I’d insisted. “Go home and get a good night’s sleep. I’m fine.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’ll be back at seven.”

  “See? I’ll hardly even know you’re gone.”

  “Love you, kiddo.” She lightly kissed my bandaged forehead, then reluctantly left, but not before giving a slight wave from the doorway.

  After another quick check, a new nurse turned off the lights, which didn’t darken the room as much as I’d have expected.

  The door opened a few minutes later, and I expected it to be the nurse again, perhaps having forgotten something, but it wasn’t. Instead, a man in a dark dress shirt and slacks entered.

  “Sorry; were you already asleep?” he said, his voice soft as he remained in the doorway, the hallway light silhouetting him.

  “No,” I said, trying to figure out if I’d seen him before. His voice didn’t sound familiar.

  “My name’s Matthew Mercer. I’m one of the on-staff counselors for trauma patients. I apologize for the hour. May I come in?”

  “Sure,” I said, my thumb hovering over the nurse call button on the bed remote. “I didn’t realize I needed a therapist.”

  “You probably don’t, but I heard about your accident and wanted to introduce myself and see if I could be of any assistance.” Matthew sauntered into the room and carried a chair over from the wall to sit closer to the bed—not close, but close enough.

  “You can turn the lights on,” I said, pulling the bed covers higher, to keep from feeling exposed in my thin hospital gown.

  “It’s fine. I don’t want to blind you,” Matthew said with a chuckle as he took a seat.

  Now that he was closer, he seemed younger then I’d expected when he was standing in the doorway—younger than a hospital counselor was supposed to look, given the dozen or so years of extra schooling required. But what did I know? Even though the room was dim, I could still make out he had boyish features. He was tall with a sturdy build, his dark hair combed to one side. The professional clothes he wore looked tailored to fit him perfectly and helped downplay the youthfulness and innocence of his face.

  “My files say your name’s Fiona Winter. I don’t want to assume anything.” Matthew produced a smile that lit up the room more than the full lights had done.

  My stomach fluttered just from being in his mere presence, something I hadn’t felt in quite some time. My hand left the vicinity of the call button, and I ran a hand through my hair to make sure it was framing my face. I licked my lips; they were chapped and sore.

  “That’s correct,” I said, finding it suddenly difficult to breathe. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “Whatever’s on your mind,” he said, not allowing that smile to dim. “I’m all ears.”

  I had so many things on my mind, but none that I particularly wanted to discuss with this beautiful stranger. He was here because of the accident, though—and I was here because of it too—so that seemed like a safe and logical place to start.

  “Well, it was my first car accident,” I said, not knowing exactly how to begin.

  “Your boyfriend Sean was driving, right?”

  “How did you—”

  “It’s in the report,” Matthew interjected.

  “Oh… right. Yes, I guess that’s accurate.”

  “You don’t sound so sure about that.” Matthew folded his arms across his chest. “Were you actually the one driving? Was he trying to protect you in some way?”

  “No; it’s not that,” I said. “He was driving. It’s just… well, we kinda broke up just before the crash.”

  “And this distracted him from his obligations to the road?” he asked.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know… This dog—coyote creature—came out of nowhere, right in the middle of the road.”

  “In the middle of the afternoon?”

  “Yeah; I know it’s weird, but that’s what it was,” I said. I hated that I didn’t remember it more clearly. I still saw a dog, but then again, I always saw dogs. “Then he swerved to get out of the way and hit a light pole.”

  “Did the car hit the coyote?” Matthew asked.

  “Sean said it did,” I answered, though still couldn’t picture it. “I can’t be sure. It’s all a blur.”

  “How are you feeling now?”

  “Fine, I guess. I’m told it could have been a lot worse, and I should count myself lucky.”

  “We should always count ourselves lucky after a brush with death,” Matthew said. “You obviously won the point. Would you like to talk about what led to the breakup?”

  “Not really,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “That’s fair, considering the late hour and how we only just met.” Matthew stood up and flattened out the front of his slacks. “I should let you get some rest. Thank you for talking with me. It was a pleasure to officially meet you, Fiona Winter.” He handed me a business card from his breast pocket. “In case you’d like to talk more.”

  “Thank you,” I said, glancing at the card.

  Matthew Mercer, M.D., Executive Director of Operations, Sisters of Mercy Psychiatric Hospital.

  “Your search is over,” he said.

  When I looked up, about to ask him what he meant by that cryptic statement, he was already turning into the hallway, the door steadily swinging closed behind him.

  3

  Fiona

  I’d determined that hospital beds were not at all comfortable. It felt good to be home and Mom had taken the day off work to spend it with me. We passed most of it sprawled on the couch, binge watching old television shows on Netflix. There wasn’t much food in the apartment, so we scrounged for lunch and Mom had burgers delivered for dinner. That day reminded me of elementary school and junior high sick days, when Mom had to take off work to stay home with me. We didn’t have many of those days anymore. I obviously no longer required a babysitter and things were busier now; I was in my last semester of high school, currently waiting for my college acceptance letters, so I could finalize plans for the next year. Unless I got some pretty big scholarships, I’d be attending a local university. Mom worked several jobs, the combination of which led to some ungodly hours. I spent a good portion of my evenings working at an independent coffee shop down the street called Hot Coffee. I got tips, had flexible hours, and loved all the free drinks. Oh, and I got to work with my two best friends, Alexis and Candace.

  “Are you up for one more?” I asked, remote in hand, as the season two episode of Friends ended.

  “I can’t. Damn the labor gods,” Mom said, emphatically. She peeled the blanket off herself and adjusted the drawstring knot on her pajama pants. “I need to get up early tomorrow—I already switched shifts once.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You didn’t have to stay home with me all day if it was gonna be a probl
em.”

  “Nonsense,” she said with a smile and kicked down the couch footrest. “I needed some much overdue quality time with my little girl—who isn’t quite so little anymore.”

  “How dare you!” I exclaimed, feigning offense. “I haven’t touched a single Oreo all day.”

  “You know what I mean.” She kissed me on top of the head, retreated to her room, and closed the door.

  I didn’t want to watch another episode alone, so I retreated to my room as well, but not before retrieving the bag of Oreos. Sitting at the foot of the bed, I opened the bag and removed a cookie. I carefully twisted the two sides, having become somewhat of an expert over the years. They almost never broke anymore. I thought of Rebecca again; I always did when the Oreos came out. Rebecca and I had always loved Oreos; she loved the side without the filling and I liked the side with it. We’d complemented each other perfectly. Even after all these years, I still couldn’t eat an Oreo whole. And I couldn’t eat the side without the filling at all; it just didn’t seem right. I popped the filling side of the Oreo into my mouth, placed the naked side on the comforter beside the bag, and grabbed another one.

  This always got Rebecca’s attention—she was still around.

  “Where were you last night, Fee?” I heard her say.

  “In the hospital, Becks,” I said before popping the second Oreo into my mouth. They’d done their job, but I still craved a few more. I could sometimes consume half a bag in one sitting—even though in my defense, it was really only a quarter bag since I never ate a complete cookie. I knew it would all catch up with me one day, however.

  “Oh my gosh. What happened?”

  I’d never been able to see Becca, but I’d begun hearing the voice of my six-year-old twin sister shortly after she died. I was so young when it all started that I didn’t even know it was weird, or unnatural, or that I should have been terrified. To me, it was always comforting to hear my sister’s sweet tone. Due to the traumatic nature of her death, it seemed her spirit had got caught here, trapped somewhere between planes, not allowing her to fully cross over. At least that was the explanation in the movie Poltergeist. I didn’t know how accurate that was because this kind of thing wasn’t supposed to be possible, not in the real world.

  I knew she talked to Mom too since Rebecca told me about their conversations, but I never mentioned it to Mom. Somehow, it felt too personal to share. So, I had my six-year-old guardian angel within the walls of my apartment, just another reason why I didn’t want to go away to college. I couldn’t leave her; we’d shared a room when she was alive, and we still did.

  I closed the bag of Oreos and lay back on my bed, telling her all about my ordeal. I kept my voice low to keep from waking Mom, but she slept with a fan on for white noise, so I was never worried about a quiet conversation.

  “I want to see under your Band-Aid,” she said.

  “Fine,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t stop asking until she got her way. “I don’t know what it will look like.” I went over to the mirror and began unwrapping the dressing. I cringed as I peeled off the gauze pad underneath; the skin on my forehead was nearly purple, a large bump right in the center of the discoloration. I grabbed a tissue to dab at the skin, still greasy from residual ointment.

  “Does it hurt?” Rebecca asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, collecting all the first-aid items and tossing them in the trash. “But I’ve got medicine.”

  “In the morning, you’ll feel better still.”

  “I’m sure I will, though it probably won’t look much better.” I didn’t know how makeup was going to conceal this, but I’d worry about that the next day.

  I flipped open one of the cards she’d made for me, now taped to my mirror. This one was a Valentine’s Day card from when we were five. Then my attention moved to the walls covered in photographs taken by Sean. I especially loved a black and white one he’d taken of me at the beach, minutes before sunset; I was seated in the sand in a long sundress, my hair whipping across my face from the wind. My gaze traveled from one photo to another like connecting the dots to a larger picture.

  “I know you liked Sean, but he probably won’t be coming around anymore,” I said.

  “Why, Fee?”

  “We broke up yesterday. It’s complicated.”

  “I miss him already,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Why don’t you say sorry?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t really work like that,” I said, pulling one of the pictures off the wall, then letting it float to the floor.

  “I like that one,” she said.

  “Me too. But that way, I can’t look at it anymore.” I tore another picture off the wall, this one of our reflections in a pool.

  “I like that one too.”

  “Sorry, Becks. I just can’t.” I felt tears prickling at the edges of my eyes as everything I’d been through in the last twenty-four hours came at me like a flood. The next thing I knew, I was stripping the walls bare, with both hands, until much of the floor was carpeted with fallen pictures.

  “Are you gonna throw away the letters too?”

  I opened the top drawer of my dresser and removed a stack of Return to Sender letters from under my socks. Each of these addresses had already been crossed off my ever-growing list. I dropped onto my bed, wiped my eyes, and flipped through the stack.

  “I should,” I said.

  “Please don’t,” Rebecca pleaded. “I want them.”

  “Okay,” I said, turning off the light, then crawling under the covers. I hugged the stack of letters like a security blanket and gazed up at my ceiling fan, its whirling blades hypnotic. “Night night, Becks.”

  “Night night, Fee. Sweet dreams. See you in the morning, in the morning.”

  “Morning, in the morning,” I said and closed my eyes, not expecting the morning to bring much comfort.

  4

  Fiona

  I got most of my night shifts covered for the week but returned to work the Friday after school. I usually made it about a half-hour early, giving me time to get my habitual white mocha and sit with Alexis or Candace before our shifts. On quite a few nights, we all got to work together.

  “My, how I’ve missed you,” I said, taking a sip of my three-pump, extra hot, extra whipped cream, white mocha.

  “I’d be flattered if I thought you were actually talking to me,” Alexis said, sarcastically. She strictly drank sweetened black iced teas.

  We were sitting at an outside table with the caffeinated drinks we needed to get through the night shift. Candace was already working since she got off school at lunchtime.

  “Have you talked to Sean?” Alexis asked, leaning her metal chair back against the storefront glass.

  Behind the glass was the coffee roaster, now on display like an antique—merely for show. Hot Coffee was the last coffee shop in the county to roast its own beans, but even we couldn’t sustain the practice, what with all the competition. Now, we were just like every other Starbucks on the block and I missed the smell of roasting coffee on Sunday mornings. It had brought in people from all over the shopping center, by its aroma alone.

  “Do you count texts?” I asked, taking another sip from my porcelain mug, then licking whipped cream off my upper lip. Sean didn’t go to our high school, so I usually didn’t have a problem with chance meetings.

  “Uh, yeah,” she said emphatically.

  “Then yes, but not much. Just checking up to see how I was doing.”

  “No mention of the break-up?”

  I shook my head, unsure if I was relieved or sad he hadn’t brought it up. I surely wasn’t going to.

  “You need to get out. You’ve been cooped up at home all week,” Alexis said, then slurped the last of her iced tea. She then removed the lid and began chomping on the ice.

  “Yeah; my mom wants me to get extra rest. And my back’s been killing me, worse than my head.”

  “It already looks way better than earlier in the week.” />
  My phone buzzed in my pocket, so I fished it out and glanced at the screen. It was Candace. I looked up and saw her staring at us from behind the bar. “We’ve got two minutes!” I shouted.

  Alexis turned around to look in through the glass. “What does she want?”

  “To take her lunch. She’s starving,” I said, making a big display of fake crying, wanting to make sure Candace could see me.

  I was mostly finished with my drink too, so Alexis and I collected our trash and pulled the straps of our black aprons over our heads. The orange words Caution: Hot Coffee were emblazoned across the fronts of the aprons. Mine was a little wrinkled from being stuffed in my backpack while Alexis’s was crisp and clean, taken from the back seat of her car.

  As soon as we clocked in, Candace went on her break, walking over to one of the many eateries surrounding the shop. More often than not, she went with Mexican food, bringing it back here and eating at the bar, so we could still talk in between customers.

  Eli was the closing supervisor, with whom I worked with most nights. He was a few years older than the rest of us, working his way through college and trying to get his band discovered. Now that Alexis and I had clocked in, he disappeared into the office to do admin work or call his sorority girlfriend or something. We didn’t care because he mostly left us alone.

  Alexis took the register and I worked the bar. Alexis loved talking to everyone and I liked to strictly chat with select people. Making the drinks allowed me to be discerning with my conversations. Then there was always Candace to talk to while she ate and waited for her break to be over. Our night rush would start after all the restaurants finished with their dinner rushes.

  It felt good to be back at work; it got me out of my head for a while. I was so sick of thinking about Sean, my father, and the accident. I’d been taking ibuprofen all week, which did a good job of numbing the pain throughout my body, but nothing at all in terms of quieting my thoughts.

  However, a few hours into my shift, I placed a cappuccino on the bar and called out the name, only to find Sean standing a few feet away.