The Year of Chasing Dreams (30 page)

“ ’Bout noon,” the guy said. “That’s your tray on the table. Where you from?”

She wasn’t interested in food or talking to the stranger. She pushed the button for the nurse on her bedside remote.

“They’re real slow at showing up,” the man offered. “The place is on overload.”

As her head cleared, pain returned to remind her she had been hurt. An IV line was set in her hand, and the bag hung on a metal pole jutting from her bed. The hospital gown that opened in the back and modesty kept her from bolting out of the bed. She felt like a butterfly pinned under glass. She wanted to find Jon. She turned to the man. “You have a working cell phone? Mine got lost in the shuffle of getting here.”

“Mine’s dead and no way to charge it here.”

She tried to think of a next move. “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m just sore.”

The man said, “Doctors are coming through and checking people out of here like you and me who aren’t so hurt. Red Cross and area churches and synagogues are setting up temporary food and shelter for us until we can reconnect with our families.”

The news alarmed Ciana. How would she find Jon if she was shoved out the door? “I need my clothes.” She looked around as if they might suddenly materialize.

“Bags of our stuff are stored under our beds,” the man said, pointing downward.

She leaned far over the side of her bed, saw a shelf mounted to the bed’s bottom, and a paper sack jammed on it. She snatched it up, tore it open, and found a heap of filthy-looking rags that she vaguely recognized as her jeans and shirt. She shuddered just to think about putting them on again, but at the moment, she didn’t have a choice.

“Maybe you should wait for a doc,” the man said. “Risky for you to pull out your IV.”

Her eyes followed the line, knew the man was right. She growled in frustration, punched the button for a nurse hard and often.

Just then she heard a ruckus from the doorway of the oversized room. A woman’s voice came loud and sharp, “You can’t go in there!”

Another, and familiar female voice, shot back, “Watch me!”

Ciana looked up to see a dark-haired girl walking briskly around the sea of beds. She yelled and began waving. “I’m over here! Eden McLauren! I’m here!”

After a brief and teary reunion, mostly of the let’s-talk-details-later variety, Eden left to buy Ciana new jeans and a couple of shirts. While she was gone, Ciana was examined for release and given prescriptions for an antibiotic and pain medication. She was signing paperwork when Eden returned. After dressing and wiping off her muddy boots, she met Eden and Garret in a waiting area.

“We have a room here in Nashville,” Eden told her. “You can stay with us.”

He grinned and hugged her. “Ready to go?”

“Not until I find Jon,” Ciana said, hitting the bank of elevators, her nerves tight as barbed wire and just as prickly. As the three of them rode upward, she briefly told of her and Jon’s harrowing experience. “The paramedic said he’d be sent to the ICU.”

Just as the elevator dinged their arrival to the ICU floor, Ciana asked, “Have you heard anything about my mom?”

Garret shook his head. “Town’s still under lockdown. Your National Guard’s on patrol too. Not much in the way of communications coming out yet, but I’ll drive over tomorrow and see what I can find out.”

“The animals …” Ciana poured all her worries into the two words. “They need food. Care.”

“Tomorrow,” he promised, squeezing her shoulders. “Even if they try and shoot me.”

They stepped onto the floor for the ICU. Doors into the unit were locked, so Ciana stopped at the nurses’ station and asked about Jon. One of the nurses looked up his name. “Yes, he’s here.”

“How is he?” Ciana’s heart was in her throat.

“Guarded condition.”

Ciana’s heart fell. “Can I see him? We were brought in together, but I’ve been discharged. He saved my life.”

“Usually only next of kin is allowed.”

“I’m his fiancé. Please.” Tears swam in Ciana’s eyes.

The nurse glanced at Eden and Garret. “Just you, then. And for only a few minutes.”

Ciana was buzzed into the unit, a large dimly lit room off a short hallway with beds set in a semicircle. Every bed held a patient, and state-of-the-art equipment kept diligent vigil beside each one. She found Jon, moved to his bedside, stopped cold. He was on a ventilator, the tube protruding from his mouth and taped in place. His broken leg had been set in a cast and was being held aloft by a pulley system. Her insides turned to jelly.

A nurse materialized beside her, holding a clipboard.

“What’s wrong? How bad is he hurt?”

“I’m writing down his doctors’ names for you. The
neurologist is Dr. Patel, and he’ll be in tomorrow morning to check on Mr. Mercer,” the nurse said kindly. “He’ll answer your questions.”

“Please! Is he going to be all right?”

“Only his doctor can talk to you about his condition. Just know that his vitals are strong and he’s resting comfortably.”

Ciana nodded numbly. It wasn’t nearly enough information, but at the moment, it was all she was going to get.

After extracting a promise from the nurse at the ICU to call the motel room if there was any change in Jon, Ciana returned with Eden and Garret. There she took a long, hot shower, willing the soreness out of her muscles and joints, and re-dressed. It was easy to wash away the dirt of her ordeal from her hair and body, but nothing could rinse the pain and trauma of it from her mind. When she emerged from the steamy bathroom, she saw bags of food from several fast food places. “Didn’t know what you might want to eat,” Garret said. “So I bought some of everything. Soda and beer too.”

Eden patted a place for Ciana beside her on the bed. “Come and eat something. It’ll help.”

The aromas of burgers and fries, Chinese take-out, barbecue, and even fish and chips made her stomach rumble. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She was suddenly ravenous. And very grateful for Garret and Eden.

While the three of them ate, Ciana went into detail about the tornado. Even to her own ears, the story was spellbinding, and more than once caused herself and Eden to weep. “The house is gone,” Ciana said finally. “And so is everything in it.”

“Not the most important stuff,” Eden said. “You and Jon are here.”

“You two had all your belongings in the house, and nothing’s left.”

“Just stuff,” Garret said. “We’ll go through the remains. Might find a few things that escaped. Plus we have the clothes we took with us to Florida.”

Eden’s loss flooded back to Ciana. “I—I’m sorry.… I forgot.…”

Eden shushed her. “We’ll talk about that later.”

Ciana sniffed. “I’m worried about Mom.”

“Your phone’s recharging.” Garret nodded toward the desk where the charger was positioned. “We’ll keep trying her cell. News channels say communications won’t stay down much longer.”

“I—I just hope she’s …”

“How about Jon’s mother?” Eden asked, interrupting the direction of Ciana’s thoughts.

Ciana shook her head. “It’s crazy, but I know so little about Jon. Tried to think about getting hold of her last night, but couldn’t. Jon’s cell is missing. I’ve met his father, Wade, but not her. All I know is that Jon loves her and that she allowed him to give me the family heirloom ring.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “And now that’s gone too.”

Garret slept out in the camper, giving Ciana and Eden the bed. Somewhere in the night, a beeping sound woke Ciana. She raised up, saw that her phone was glowing. A text had come in, meaning circuits had been restored. She grabbed her cell and shook Eden awake. “It’s from Mom!”

Groggily Eden leaned over Ciana’s shoulder. “Read it to me.”

“
R U SAFE? ME OK. CALL ME. PLZ. LUV
.” She texted Alice Faye her whereabouts, sent it, not knowing either when or
if
her mother would get it in the dead of night. Relief, gratitude, and fear all melted into one overwhelming emotion. She dropped the phone, put her hands over her face, and sobbed.

Ciana and Eden returned to the hospital and the ICU floor as soon as it was light the next morning. “You don’t have to come,” Ciana told Eden. “Nothing for you and Garret to do. I just don’t want to miss talking with his doctor.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Eden insisted. “Garret and I’ll be busy figuring out your next move. We’ll be in the waiting area surfing the Web.”

Her next move. No idea what that might be. She hugged Eden, who was sitting on a settee in a waiting area lined with chairs and sofas and a row of vending machines around the corner. The wait time between visits into the unit was excruciating. “I haven’t asked you about your trip,” she said at some point. “Your mother—”

Eden covered Ciana’s hands knotted together in her lap. “My mother’s ashes are coming with us to Bellmeade when we can get there. We’re going to scatter them over the garden together.”

“Garden’s pretty wrecked too.”

“So was my mother,” Eden said with a wry smile. “No disrespect. Just the truth.”

Eden recounted everything about the journey, about Tampa, Crossroads House, their side trip to Destin, the news reports on the long drive back, of the tornado damage seen on the drive, of being turned away from Windemere when they’d been mere miles away. She finished with, “I was a basket case. If it weren’t for Garret, I’d still be wandering the back roads.”

“Aussie Gold,” Ciana said, also very grateful for Garret.

A man in a white coat came into the waiting area. He was short and swarthy, with soot-black eyes. “Miss Beauchamp?” He stopped in front of the settee. “I’m Dr. Patel. I understand you desire information about Mr. Mercer.” His words held the lilt of someone from India. He sat beside her. “I was told you and Jon are engaged.”

“Yes. How is he? Please tell me the truth.”

His voice held compassion when he answered. “Be assured I will be absolutely truthful with you, Miss Beauchamp. I will not try to spare your feelings. That is not my way, nor what a patient’s loved ones wish to hear. Is this acceptable?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked over the word. How much honesty could her heart stand?

“Jon is in a coma. His brain has been battered. He is on the vent to make it easier for him to breathe, for his lungs have been traumatized also. His leg is in a cast and his orthopedist, Dr. Cruz, believes it will heal nicely.” He patted her hand. She gripped his. He offered an encouraging smile. “The first twenty-four hours after a brain injury are the most telling. Jon’s Glasgow Scale—which is how we rate comas—is the best indicator we have to judge him by during this critical period. A normal person, awake and aware, is a fifteen, so the closer to that number, the better the chance of full recovery.”