Love's Awakening (24 page)

Celia wanted all these people to go away. Except Oliver. No second chance for David. No
Spring.

I’m
so
sorry,
David.

Oliver smiled slightly. “I want to be cryogenically frozen.”

“What’s that?” Janet asked.

“Your body is frozen. When the technology’s there, you’re revived. Say cancer killed you. When you’re revived in the future, cancer is no problem. Easy peasy.”

Janet gaped. “Are you serious?”

Oliver shrugged. “Why not? If it doesn’t work, I won’t know. I want to be around to see the world five hundred years from now. A thousand.”

Janet snorted. “You’re kidding, right? That won’t work.”

Oliver glared at her. “Like I said, if it doesn’t work, I won’t know.”

Shirley, Lynn and the neighbors came back with the food, but Celia brushed her offering off.

“Cryonics,” Richard mused. “That’s the Ted Williams thing. Didn’t something happen with his head?”

“Maybe some cracks in it,” Oliver said.

Celia tuned out the conversation. Part of her, deep down inside, had thought David would get a second chance. She heard a few snatches here and there:
John
Henry
Williams,
leukemia,
will,
cremated,
Alcor,
tuna
can…

Absurd.

Being frozen would not be too bad. She would set Janet straight. Tell Janet to show Oliver respect. Celia and Oliver could experience the future together. Five hundred years from now, no one would know their history, that Celia used to be Oliver’s stepmother. No gossip, whispered glances behind their backs.
Oh
my
gosh,
her
husband
was
barely
in
the
hospital
before
she
hopped
in
bed
with
her
stepson.
No people wondering if they’d been carrying on an affair before David’s wreck.

Frozen. Clean start.

Celia’s shoulders ached. Her chest ached. Her arms ached. The rain in Paris for her honeymoon had been wet, gleeful. David had been like a child, laughing and stepping in puddles. Why the hell not? They were drenched already and hopelessly lost. Might as well enjoy it.

At Snowshoe, in West Virginia, Celia could not get the hang of skiing. She fell every time she dismounted the lifts. David was patient and helped Celia up every time, explained what she needed to do.

Wasn’t the same David in the wheelchair. Dead, pathetic, lonely David.

Celia excused herself, saying she had to go to the bathroom. Instead, she headed to her bedroom. She got a blue envelope and slipped the rings inside. Then she wrote a letter.

Dear David,

I’ve been thinking. That night I was in the bathtub and you visited wasn’t a dream, was it? It was your way of communicating with me in that hazy land between consciousness and unconsciousness, between sleep and wakefulness. I still feel the touch of you, of your face, from that night. Your skin was smooth, just a teeny bit oily. You were there. Period.

Like Dr. Aronson says, consciousness is tricky.

I’m glad we got that last time together. Thank you. I hope you’re with Therese now and that you two are happy.

I love you.

-Celia

The evening dragged on and on. Neighbors and a few of David’s co-workers went in and out. Celia stayed away from Oliver. Oliver stayed away from her. What else could they do?

At last, though, the clock struck eleven p.m., and only Janet and Oliver remained.

“You look tired,” Janet said to Celia.

“I am.”

“I’ll stay tonight and take care of Caleb.”

“Go home. I’m fine. You’ve done more than enough. You rest.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“Haven’t been hungry.”

Oliver got up from the couch. He stretched, his body long and limber like a cat’s. The picture of casualness. Celia did not want Oliver to be this good at acting. Did not want herself to be this good, either.

“See y’all tomorrow,” Oliver said.

Celia’s thoughts scampered. No way about it. “Will you stay tonight, Oliver?”

His lips tugged up, and he nodded.

Janet frowned. “I said I’ll stay.”

Oliver patted Janet’s shoulder. “Thank you, but I got this.”

Janet shrugged off the touch. “You don’t even like your stepmother.”

“I said I got this,” Oliver repeated, an edge in his voice. “Celia wants me to stay, so I’m staying. I’ll heat up food. We’ll eat. It’s all right, I promise. I will take care of her.”

Celia could not help but smile
.
I
will
take
care
of
her.
Celia hoped Oliver would let her take care of him, too. Oliver had seemed lost all day. Lost and wooden and detached. They had both put on brave faces. Maybe now they could be themselves.

A dismayed, understanding look crossed Janet’s features, and she met Celia’s gaze. “Him?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Janet snorted. She got her purse and left without saying goodbye.

*****

“I’m cold,” Oliver said, and he was glad when Celia put her arms around him.

“Want soup?” Celia asked.

“No.”

“My first night home after having Caleb, I took a bath. Bubble bath. I kept waiting for the hospital to call that your father was dead.”

“Want to take a bath together?”

“I would love to. Hey, are you holding up okay?”

“No,” Oliver said. “Not really. My father is dead.”

“Part of me thought—hoped—he’d wake up and get his second chance. Especially after what your grandfather did.”

“I guess part of me did, too. Maybe the wreck wasn’t a cry for help. Maybe he actually meant to kill himself.”

Celia sighed, lines of weariness spreading across her face. “Maybe he did.”

Oliver got into the bathtub first, and Celia rested her head against Oliver’s chest. Celia’s heat and the water were exactly what Oliver needed, and most of his worries drifted away. “I have a Christmas present for Caleb in my car,” he whispered.

“What is it?”

“Little bowling shoes. I didn’t know what else to get him. He can’t use the shoes for a few years, but...”

Celia groaned. “You’re gonna teach him to kick my ass.”

“Yep. And better sooner rather than later.”

“Of course,” Celia drawled.

“I also got you—I wasn’t going to give them to you because of—well, it doesn’t matter. I got you bowling shoes, too. Handsome shoes. They’re white. They look more like tennis shoes than bowling shoes.”

“Thank you, Oliver,” Celia murmured. “The three of us going bowling. That would be nice.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry about Janet,” Celia said.

“She doesn’t like me. Shit happens.”

“She doesn’t like how you used to cancel on me all the time. She’ll come around. I’ll talk to her. We didn’t break the news in the best way.”

“Turn around, will you? I wanna see your pretty eyes.”

Celia maneuvered to face Oliver.
Splosh
splosh
splosh.

Oliver inhaled a deep breath. “I don’t want to make the same mistake Dad did.”

Celia’s blue eyes turned wary. “Okay.”

“Dad couldn’t be honest with you, the woman he loved, because he feared losing you. I want to be honest with you.”

“I want to be honest with you, too.”

Oliver’s heart fluttered, and he took one last look at Celia. One last look before everything would change, whether for the better or the worse. Oliver kissed Celia, first on her left cheek, then her right, then on her mouth. The kiss was much like their first kiss, passionate and intense and sad and eager and playful and solemn all at the same time, and electrifying every part of Oliver, especially his heart.

This time, Oliver, not Celia, ended the kiss. “You’re different,” Oliver said. “I can’t explain how, but you are. A relationship is what the people in it make it to be. You can spread your wings. I don’t want to clip your wings, not at all. Date people and live your life. When you’re ready, if you want me, you—we can—something like that. And screw Grandma. She’ll come around eventually. She already is. She let you have some of her M&Ms.”

Celia laughed, and Oliver kept going. “If I did not feel what I feel for you and for Caleb, I would not be involved with you like I am. I had two babies, I let them go, and I have to watch from a distance as they grow and live their lives. I’m not their father in the way that counts, and that probably
is
for the best because they have wonderful parents. But I don’t want to watch Caleb grow up from a distance. If I thought for one second I was not right for you or him, that I could not help you or make you happy, I would let go so you could find someone else. On paper, we don’t look like we fit. But in real life, we do. That’s what I think. We have to try. I love you, Celia. I’ve loved you a long time.”

Celia wrapped her arms around Oliver, and he held onto her slick, soapy body. “I love you, Oliver. I love you very much. We will be fine. I don’t care about dating other people. You’re the one.”

Oliver blinked back tears. He was going to cry. Now. He did not want to, of course not, not in front of Celia, but she had been right. It was the limbo, why Oliver had not been able to cry. However, Oliver could do nothing, could not even move, because all of a sudden he was crying. Hard. Too hard. Crying like he never had. He cried because he was at peace, he had confessed he loved Celia. Oliver cried because of Paul Joseph, who did not like him, and for Erin Elizabeth, who let Oliver be her sort of stepfather, and for Sherelle’s forgiveness, and for Richard and his drawings, and for Shirley, who ached for her son, and whose leaving at the wrong time meant David died alone, and crying in gratefulness that Shirley shared her M&Ms with Celia because that meant Shirley would try to accept them together. Oliver also cried for Celia and for Caleb, Caleb who would be his baby too. Oliver cried for all the families waiting, all the families still in limbo, and for his own lost, misguided mannequin of a father who had grabbed fairy dust and was a person again in wherever place he—she—was now.

*****

Afterward, Celia led Oliver to bed. They burrowed under the sheets, their arms and legs entangled, two as one. For the first time, they kissed without limitation, without hurry, without fear. “I love you,” Celia said, and Oliver replied: “I love you, too.”

“It’s ironic, you know,” Celia said. “We’re going to be like your father.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we’re cryogenically frozen. We’ll be in limbo.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way. You’re right.”

Celia drifted off to sleep, and Oliver imagined their future together. Five hundred years from now, maybe they would have another awakening. They would wake up in a different time and a different place, but they would be together. Always.

*****

About a month after David’s death, Richard moved to Virginia. He and Shirley were reconciling. He invited Celia, Oliver and Caleb over for the unveiling of his latest drawing. “It’s titled
Where
the
Wind
Goes
,” Richard said, and unveiled it.

David was on the boat. Richard had finally gotten the scene right. Celia could taste the salt water and feel the wind whipping David’s hair. She could reach out, touch David’s chapped cheeks and hear David’s brilliant, gusty laughter.

“That’s him,” Shirley said. “Her, I mean. Her. Karen Alice is happy.”

*****

A few evenings later, Oliver and Erin stopped by the townhouse for a visit. Erin was spending the night with Oliver again and brought an Agatha Christie book to read to Caleb. Celia and Oliver worked on a brain teaser game together while Erin read.

“The watcher’s post was empty,” Erin narrated. “Jimmy Thesiger was not there. Bundle stared in complete amazement. What had happened? Why had Jimmy left his post? What did it mean?”

Caleb laughed.

“What do you think happened?” Erin asked the baby.

“La mo!”

Erin had met Caleb a few times and was in love with the child. She’d always wanted a little brother or sister. Now she had one, sort of. Celia could not help but remember one of her thoughts soon after Caleb’s birth:
The
baby
will
need
his
big
brother.
Caleb had a big sibling after all, just not Oliver.

“I think Jimmy was there,” Celia said. “But he had turned into a bug. He was so tiny Bundle could not see him.”

Erin giggled. “What kind of bug?”

“Ladybug?”

“Oooh. I love ladybugs. They’re pretty. Hey, Celia. Are you and Oliver gonna get married someday?”

Celia smiled. She directed her gaze to Oliver and cocked an eyebrow.

“I...I...” Oliver’s cheeks turned pink. “Yes, I think so.” He closed his hand over Celia’s. “Yes, we will. Definitely.”

THE END

Notable patients who are or were
in persistent vegetative or minimally conscious states

Comas have many causes, including brain trauma and hemorrhage. In cases of traumatic brain injury, doctors will sometimes order a reversible drug-induced coma to give the brain time to heal. Most people remain in comas for a few days to a few weeks, although in exceptional cases, a coma may last years. The prognosis for coma patients runs the gamut from recovery to death. Two of the outcomes for coma patients are emergence into a minimally conscious state or a persistent vegetative state. Patients in minimally conscious states exhibit erratic and rare periods of true responsiveness. As many as forty percent of people in persistent vegetative states may be misdiagnosed and actually are minimally conscious. Vegetative state patients have no awareness whatsoever. What follows is a list of notable people who emerged from a coma into one these two states.