Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82955 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
His brows pinch together with the absence of a grin as he stares at me. He reaches up and touches the top of his head.
Reaching out, I say, “Not your head. It’s perfectly normal.”
He tilts his chin down, and murmurs, “Thanks?”
“I should let you rest.” And shut my mouth, but I’ll keep that to myself, which seems to be something I’m not currently capable of doing. “Let me know if you need anything. The call button is on the remote tucked at your side.” With his eyes locked on me like I’m about to make a prison break, I open the door. “Oh . . .” Forgetting I’m here to do a job, I turn back. “I almost forgot to ask. How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better,” he replies with a faint grin.
“I can imagine. I’ll check on you in a little while.” I start out the door when I hear, “Nurse?”
When I look over my shoulder, my expression lifts as if it naturally brightens when I see this man. “Yes?”
“Thanks for checking on me.”
My lips tighten, pursed to the side before I nod twice. “It’s my job.” I walk out of the room, confused more than anything else. I’m used to being called nurse. Nurse is perfectly acceptable, except when you’ve known the man your whole life. What the hell? My feet stop beneath me, a screech from the rubber meeting the linoleum flooring piercing my ears. Does he not rem . . .? No way. That’s not possible.
I may not have seen him a lot or given him much time of day, but we’ve been around each other, even in smaller groups at my house more recently. There’s no way he doesn’t know who I am. That would be literally impossible.
So why do I get the feeling he doesn’t remember my name, or me, at all?
I rush to the nurses’ station and drop into my seat, pulling myself to the desk on the wheels of the chair. He said it so politely. I scoff. Like I’m a total stranger. “Nurse?” I mimic, gritting my teeth. Are you kidding me? We’ve known each other too long to ever forget, but then the word from the chart shines like a sign at night in my brain. Concussion.
Wow . . .
Could he . . .?
“No,” I reply to myself. Is it possible?
Not a chance.
But . . .
It’s not as impossible as I’d like to believe. Does he have amnesia?
I scan his chart, then scroll through all the notes. They would note something that traumatic. Unless they didn’t know. If he’s been sleeping most of the time, the doctors and nurses might not have noticed any symptoms or clues that would have led them in that direction.
I click onto his file again, searching for anything that might confirm my suspicion because he sure as heck used to know who I was. Not to sound arrogant, but geez, am I that easy to forget?
How could he forget unless by an act of nature, or God? I dip my hand into my pocket and turn the metal token over a few times, not wanting to think that God has it out for me. I had my parents ripped from my life on a rainy night. Maybe Mother Nature should bear the brunt of the blame.
Or I could be jumping to conclusions. Maybe he called me Nurse out of respect.
Does it matter? No. Don’t look for problems where there aren’t any, Autumn.
The answers won’t be found while entering files into the computer system, and that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. I open the first file and get started.
Three hours don’t fly by unnoticed. I can’t stop my gaze from transferring across the hall or my thoughts from straying to Brandon. Even the phone is eerily quiet tonight, leaving me with no great distraction from the fireman.
Although I did get sucked into the late-night infomercials on the TV in the waiting room, I left after a few minutes, sparing me from spending frivolously on a new vacuum. It would be great for a future place of my own. Which I will have one day, and the “most powerful suction on the market” will be mine. Until then, I’ll straighten the old magazines left for visitors to flip through while their loved ones get care.
I glance up at the clock on the wall. 3:41 a.m. Just five more hours to go. I’m about to return to the desk where only a few files remain to be entered when I hear someone say, “Autumn Leaf Season,” from behind me. I already know who it is.
The voice? Dolly.
The tone and full name said in reprimand? Am I in trouble?
Darting my eyes toward the hospital doors, I’m greeted by my grandmother, who is on a mission, judging by that march and pace.