Pieces of Hope (59 page)

Who were
they?

At the
end of my bed stood a perky-looking redhead, waving so frantically I feared her
arm might fall off—and a subdued-looking Asian girl, looking far less happy. I
took an extra-long minute to look at them because they were so stunning. The
Asian girl seemed to have black silk on her head. It flowed to her elbows in
straight lines, and she had black eyes that sparkled like jewels. Both of their
eyes scintillated. Only the redhead had blue eyes, slightly darker than
Claire’s.

Suddenly,
I knew who they were. They were the two who had talked to me in my head, the
two had walked me through my tragedy, the two who were . . .

Oh, no .
. . !

She can see us!
The copper-haired girl flashed
a mega-watt smile at the Asian girl.

“Honey,”
Dad moved closer, covering my hand in his. I looked slowly his way, wincing as
I did so. My neck was unbelievably stiff. “Honey, you’ve been in a coma for
thirteen days. Thank God, you’re with us.”

He
paused to wipe the tears from his face, and out of my side vision, I saw
several others do the same. Why was Brody kissing Claire? That was odd.

The
breathtaking stranger stared at me, his golden-green eyes on my face. He was so
intense. Claire would say he smoldered. Yes, she would definitely say that. I couldn’t
help myself. I stared back. Brody ran into the hallway, cell phone in hand.

Now Gigi
was saying something, but I couldn’t look away from the boy at my bedside. She
had missed me; I heard that much, and then she began to cry. It was unusual for
my grandmother to cry. She thought it made her look vulnerable. Dad draped an
arm around her and together they cried some more, but he never let go of my
hand.

The boy
at my bedside shifted, and I looked back at him.

Can you hear me, Hope?

Though
his mouth hadn’t moved, I nodded a little.

Do you trust me?

Without
hesitation, I felt my head nod again.

Your mother came to me,
he said, and I
didn’t blink. Why didn’t this sound odd to me?
Your mother told me to do something, Hope.
He groaned in my head.
God, I hope she’s right.

I just
kept looking up at him, ignoring the steady yammering of my family.

Close your eyes
, he said.

I
couldn’t believe this undeniably gorgeous guy was talking to me—in my head!
These were some really great drugs they had me on.

As if he
heard me, he laughed in my thoughts.
I
don’t know how long this will last, Hope. Please, just close your eyes.

I did as
he asked, and everything else went away—the sounds and feels and smells of the
hospital room, the lumpy bed beneath me, the ache in my leg.

Behind
my eyelids, there wasn’t darkness. The wind whipped my hair and it was a warm,
sunny day with nothing but blue skies. And he was there. He had his back to me
as he stood on a precipice that looked out over a bluff. The shape reminded me
of a pirate’s plank. I wasn’t in a hospital gown, but instead, I had on jeans,
a red shirt, and my favorite matching sneakers. He turned in my direction. It
must have been the lighting—he glowed pale violet. Somehow, he seemed more
beautiful than he had the instant before.

He walked
closer, slowly . . . as if he could hear the heavy beating of my heart.

“Don’t
be afraid,” he whispered. When he was close, he put his arms around me. They felt
strangely comforting. Then he leaned in for a kiss. My mind questioned what I
was seeing and the expectation of what was about to happen. Was this really
happening?

I opened
my eyes. He held onto the bedrail with a fierce grip. We were back in my
hospital room. I struggled to make it all make sense.

Trust me,
he repeated more urgently, his
mouth never moving.

When I
closed them again, he was right where I had left him, inches away. Slowly
again, he pushed a strand of hair behind my ear and kissed me there. He looked
at me once with a sort of quiet desperation before he moved his lips to mine.
His mouth tasted of sweet dreams—the ones you never want to wake from. I let it
lead me elsewhere . . . beyond the boundaries of my mind . . . to places I’d
only imagined.

“Hope,”
he whispered, his breath near my mouth. “Try to remember.”

For a fleeting
instant, I wished for a breath mint (or two) but every ounce of
self-consciousness faded when I remembered that this was happening solely in my
mind. Wasn’t it? But why did it feel so real? He kissed me in such a way that
it left me in a state of total
unthinkingness
. I
drifted this way and that, following my thoughts wherever they chose to go and,
soon, something began to happen.

Images—mostly
fuzzy and dark—buzzed past me. I only had the sensation that they were there; I
couldn’t actually see them. But the feelings stuck—joyful, loving—and they
seemed to revolve around one person in particular, one person I thought very
much of . . .

A name
was surfacing, reaching for me out of the darkness. And I thought I could hear
my mother whispering encouragement . . .
Listen
to your heart
. . . It was a beautiful name, I suspected. It was there. It
was right there in front of me . . .

I opened
my eyes and drew in a breath. He was leaning in a little from where he stood,
but not so much that anyone else would have noticed. Even so, I was vaguely
aware that my father was watching us with curiosity, and I could sense everyone
else’s eyes upon us, too.

“Ethan?”
I questioned.

I knew you’d remember
. His voice was
deep and silky in my head.
I just knew
you would.
There was a broad smile on his exquisite face that reached up to
his eyes. And he looked happy. Deliriously so. I could tell he thought I had
more to say, something that would keep that smile stuck there forever.

I
grimaced. How could I destroy his happiness and tell him?

His name
. . . Ethan Reid. His name was all I remembered.