Pieces of Hope (3 page)

Through
the thick glass that made up the fourth wall of my room, I could hear and see
Brody Alexander. He was good-enough looking, tall and fit, with skin the color
of candy caramels. But, despite of the pretty wrapping, he would forever be the
annoyingly peculiar brother I never had, but wished I did.
  
 

He had
this dream of becoming a world-famous African-American surfer, but his phobia
of mega-sized bodies of water had prevented him from venturing anywhere near a
surfboard. Next on his dream list was my sister. Though Brody wasn’t Claire’s
type, I’d noticed the two of them getting cozier since Mom’s accident. It
wasn’t the coupling of the decade, but for some unfathomable reason, I liked
them together.

 
“The timing’s kind of freaky, but it’s good to
run into you, dude.” Brody’s voice, as usual, was animated and lively. Leave it
to him to remain upbeat even as I pounded on death’s door.

But it
wasn’t Brody’s voice that captured my attention—a second, deeper yet softer
voice, spoke only now and again. Much like a small earthquake, I thought it
might rattle pictures off the walls. It certainly rattled me.

“
Mmm
. . . I get that a lot around here. More than you might
imagine.” There was a pause, then the melodious voice spoke again. “Been doing
any climbing lately?”

“No, my
climbing partner’s been . . . well, you could say a lot’s happened to her.”
Brody exhaled heavily, his shoulder-length
dreds
bouncing as he glanced in my direction. At least he remembered I was still
here. Normally, he had the attention span of a flea on speed.

“Two
weeks ago, her mom died in a fall.” Brody shook his head in disbelief. “The
cops aren’t entirely sure it was an accident. Seems some idiot dialed 911 from
inside the house. Can you imagine? The dude might as well have left his
driver’s license. It’s only a matter of time before they catch him. And then
yesterday, Hope landed in here when she tried to outrun a car. As you can
see”—Brody managed a sad smile—“the car won.”

Brody
couldn’t have heard it, but I detected the faintest sigh coming from the boy
with the beautiful voice. It was the sort of sound that hinted at a history
with someone, one that a close friend or family member might make, rather than
a perfect stranger.
  

           
“But you’d have to know Hope,” Brody continued with a
slight pride. “She’s like a little pit bull. I’m sure she’s going to get
better.” He paused, sneaking a glance over his shoulder to look at me. “Well,
as soon as she wakes up from that coma.”

           
Boy, that explained a lot. I was living in my own
personal soap opera. Stay tuned for Hope Valenti starring in
The Young and the Reckless
.

           
A pair of gorgeous green eyes glanced my way, then
Brody’s friend said, “You’re right about that. Strong-willed people have a way
of pulling through, especially when you least expect it.”
 

           
My insides performed a back flip. I could feel something
coming at me, a tingling of sorts. Though I could easily see and hear him, I
felt an almost magnetic pull, some sort of need to get closer. Gathering my
courage, I strode straight through the glass. It was somewhat strange to pass through
a solid object, but following a strong tug, there was nothing to it. Walking
through a person was drastically different—objects, I realized, had no
emotions. Once I stood in the hallway, I maintained a safe distance, propping
one foot against the wall, and folding my arms across my chest as I gaped
openly at him.

His eyes
were the first thing I noticed—all green and golden—some hue that was hard to
define. But everything about him read complicated. At once, he seemed laid-back
and intense, restrained and impulsive, expressive and distant. He needed to
come with his own warning label: high-voltage, maybe. Inches taller than Brody,
he had wide shoulders and an athletic frame. His hair barely brushed the collar
of his scrubs, all dark and messy. Not like he did it on purpose. More like he
had better things to do. Light shimmered off a small plastic badge clipped near
his collar. His name was nearly as beautiful as he was.
  

Though
no one could hear me, I whispered, “Ethan Reid . . .”

But when
he turned in my direction and stared into my open eyes, I wondered if a miracle
was occurring. Could he hear me or sense my presence? He looked directly at me
for a single heartbeat, but then he turned away and my hopes plummeted. The
strength of my reaction startled me. My emotions were so theatrical since the
accident. It was like I had twelve teenagers and a tsunami inside me.

“Hey,
Claire,” Brody called in a gooey voice. But though my sister slumped in a chair
at the end of my bed, she appeared not to have heard him. A long second later,
as if the sound had reached her at last, Claire turned slowly, almost
hypnotically, and drifted toward Brody. Had it not been for him covering the
few steps between them and securely wrapping an arm around her, I think she
would have collapsed to the floor.

Dressed
in a black sweater and leggings that hugged her slender curves, porcelain skin
and pale-blond hair in stark contrast, she looked both cool and fragile, as if
she were encased in a thin sheet of ice that could shatter at any moment.

“Reid,
I’d like you meet my girl, Hope’s older sister,” Brody rambled on cheerily.
There was a worried look in his eyes, but he did his best to hide it. “Ethan,
this is Claire Valenti. Claire, meet Ethan Reid.”

Claire
stared off teary-eyed, her icy blue eyes haunting. They were the same color as
Dad’s, but when she cried, they looked scarily otherworldly. As I looked on,
Ethan extended his hand, then dropped it when she seemed not to notice. After a
long moment she responded, something unintelligible even to my keen hearing.

“I met
Reid during a killer climb at Mount Rainier,”
Brody crowed, still doing his best to cheer her up. “You should see him in
action, babe. He’s like Spiderman!” Brody sounded impressed. “Come to think of
it, he might even be able to out-climb Hope.”

           
I eyeballed Ethan, studying the strength in his arms, his
long fingers, the width of his shoulders. Okay, it was possible . . . maybe.
Still, the way Brody was bragging made me think Ethan was his latest crush.
Just one notch below Claire.
 

           
“Oh, and he’s as smart as Hope, too! Reid’s only twenty,
and he just graduated
summa cum latte
from some hotshot college out east.”

           
“Summa cum laude,
”
I giggled at Brody. “He’s not a smart cup of coffee!”
        
With a jolt, I watched Ethan’s eyes flit toward the sound
of my voice. Maybe I wasn’t imagining it. Maybe he really did sense something.

 
          
“It’s
not as impressive as you make it sound,” Ethan admitted, seeming to dislike the
attention. “I’m either all-in or all-out. I don’t spend much time in the
middle.” When he turned his attention to Claire, his eyes momentarily reflected
her pain. As if he could hear her thoughts, he said, “It’s life-changing to
watch someone wake up in here. No one dwells on what might have happened
before. They’re just so happy to be alive.”
  

His
words soothed her immensely. The pain in her eyes lessened and she heaved an
exhausted exhale, as if she’d finally been given permission to stop holding her
breath. Then his voice dipped lower, softer, like a whisper on my skin. Those
green eyes flicked again in my direction. “But it isn’t easy, is it? Waiting on
someone we love. Sometimes it can feel like a lifetime.”

Claire
didn’t seem to notice, but I got the idea that he was hinting at something, or
maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. Either way, I needed to get closer.
Instantly, I floated beside him. It was amazing how effortlessly, how fluidly,
I travelled. Thought and result. Just like that. Putting on my best third-grade
moves, I brushed my fingertips along the top of his hand, then gaped in
childlike amazement when he rubbed the spot where I touched him, almost as if
it had tickled.

Lost in
my beautiful distraction, I missed the moment they had changed topics. “And how
is it you know Dr. Allen?” Claire asked, now slightly more coherent. Then,
seeming to see Ethan for the first time, she gave a violent shake of her head.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t slept all night and I’m really not thinking straight. Are
you . . . Hope’s nurse?”

           
“So what if he is?” Brody declared in a loud voice. “He’s
still a total dude! The ICU isn’t like regular”—he almost choked on the word—“
nursing
. It’s a tough job—a manly job.
People die in here every day!” Claire’s face drained of its little color. Brody
knew he’d screwed up. He tried to pull her closer, stammering, “Not—not
Hope!—She’s tougher than most guys I know!” As Claire pushed him away, Brody’s
face fell. In a low whisper he said, “I didn’t mean it like that, babe. Hope’s
going to be just fine.”

Ethan’s
gaze drifted to my still form. Unnerving in his directness, he stared at me
slightly longer than what was politely acceptable. The hair on my arms stood
up.

           
“Did you hear who else was in the accident?” Brody’s
surprising question caught Ethan off-guard. “It’s . . . it’s freakish!” He
scowled as he searched for another adjective. Not finding one, Brody muttered,
“Let’s just say Hope would die if she knew.”

Claire
shot him a dirty look. “Could you please stop saying that?”

           
“I didn’t mean it literally, babe.” Brody kissed her cheek.
“But really, you have to admit it’s, well, movies don’t get better than this.
Makes a person think twice about being a good
Somalian
.”

           
“Somalia’s
a country in east Africa,” Claire snapped,
taking over my usual role. “You mean Samaritan . . . a good Samaritan.”

           
“Yeah.” Brody shrugged, shaking his dreads. “That’s what
I just said, Claire.”
  

           
For the first time in my life, I couldn’t wait for Brody
to say something. Who else was in the accident? That boy, the one I couldn’t
place . . . and the woman?

Before
he could answer, the sounds of hurrying footsteps disrupted the stillness of
the ICU. Brody’s parents and two younger brothers had arrived. I heaved a
frustrated sigh as all heads turned in their direction.

           
“We got here as fast as we could. How’s she doing?”
Clarence Alexander looked frazzled, almost paler than Claire. But he sounded
like himself. Brody often joked that his father’s voice could put insomniac
crickets to sleep. And in my present state, it did sound eerily soothing.

“Nothing’s
changed since last night,” Brody said. “Hope’s still out.”
 

Linda
Alexander was a few steps behind, Tyler and Derek, seven and nine, in tow. All
three boys looked just like Linda—caramel skin, wide-set eyes. How Clarence had
landed such a beautiful wife was anyone’s guess. She hurriedly released her
sons’ hands and embraced Claire. “Where are David and Gigi?” she asked, casting
a look around for my father and grandmother.

           
 
“Cafeteria,” Brody
said. “We were heading that way. I was going to make Claire eat something.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, hey . . . Mom, Dad, this is my friend, Ethan. He,
uh . . . he works here.”

           
“Ethan’s an ICU nurse,” Claire said. Over her shoulder, I
watched Brody grimace.

           
Several handshakes later, they made their way to the
cafeteria. When they finally crowded into the elevator and little Tyler had
pressed the button, I whispered into Ethan’s ear. As he shook his head, a
delighted giggle escaped me. I trotted ahead, Ethan not far behind.

           
He strode purposefully to my room and did several things
that seemed normal, but I sensed he had other intentions. He checked the fluids
that dripped from a bag above my head, confirmed my blood pressure, adjusted
the bed’s elevation, then scooted up a green chair, sat down, and gazed into my
face. From the opposite side, I gripped the bedrail for support. He was so extraordinary;
it almost hurt to look at him.
 

And then
I looked down at me in that hospital bed—and cringed. Poor Ethan. His view
wasn’t anything like mine. Then again, I reasoned, he was probably used to
seeing people all beaten up. Even so, it seemed ridiculously unfair. Me—Stephen
King’s recent creation. And Ethan—part melancholy, part mystery, a dark-haired
fairytale come to life.
         

He
covered his face in his hands, and when he dropped them, the emotion that I
witnessed there was so raw, so unexpected, that I couldn’t speak for several
seconds.

He
laughed, the sound of it more painful than pleasant. Then, drawing in a ragged
breath, he leaned in closer to my body. He smelled like heat on skin—a woodsy,
balmy, earthy mix that left me slightly out of breath. His green eyes were
staring at me like he’d seen a ghost. He lifted one of my hands to his lips,
turned it over, and tenderly kissed my palm. Raising my left hand, I marveled
at the tingling inside it. When he’d touched me, I’d felt it!
  

“Hope, I
need you to listen carefully,” Ethan began, his voice soft and deep. I felt a
happy shiver knowing I had consumed his attention. “If you were awake, I
probably wouldn’t have the courage to tell you this . . . I’m only telling you
now because I believe that somehow, some way, you can hear me.” He held onto my
limp hand, his eyes locked on my face. “Can you Hope? Can you hear me?”