Page 37 of Sparking Sara

“But it wouldn’t hurt to try?” I ask.

“No. It wouldn’t hurt to try. I’m sure she’ll have a lot of questions about her life. To Sara, yesterday was three years ago. She’ll want to try and piece together everything she missed. Any photos or letters or videos you have may help her not feel so disconnected from her life.”

“Can I see her?” I ask. “Did you say anything about me?”

“I told her the firefighter who rescued her had come by to check on her.”

I motion to the door. “Would you mind?”

“Go right ahead. I’ll come with you in case she gets scared.”

“I’m not that ugly, am I?” I joke.

She laughs. “No. You’re definitely not that ugly.”

I approach Sara’s bed with caution. They have the head of the bed elevated, but they have bumpers on either side of her to keep her in place. It makes me wonder if she’s regained any muscle control at all since my brief visit yesterday morning. Her eyes are closed, but I see they’ve taken the soft restraints off her wrists.

“She’s been sleeping most of the time,” Joelle says as we make our way to the bed. “Her PT sessions are very tiring, as is the increased time off the vent.”

Joelle catches me noticing that the ventilator is not breathing for Sara at the moment. “Over four hours,” she says. “She’s going for the record.”

That a girl, I think as I look down at Sara.

Then her eyes flutter open. They are glassy at first, but as she looks from Joelle to me, her eyes seem to gain focus. I see the numbers on the heart monitor over her head go up as her heart rate accelerates and she fully wakes.

Her eyes look into mine and, suddenly, I’m taken back to the aftermath of her accident when we were staring at each other in the small mirror on the visor. Only this time, she gazes into my eyes like someone who is happy to see me. I think I even see the hint of a smile. But she doesn’t even know me. Still, the look she’s giving me …

She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. She closes her mouth and licks her lips. Then she tries again. I lean closer because it looks like she has something to say.

“Oliver,” she says, in not even a whisper. It was more like she mouthed the word, but the force of her exhale that came with it seemed to produce the slightest sound.

I look from Joelle back to Sara.

“No, Sara,” Joelle says. “This isn’t Oliver. This is Denver. Denver is one of the firefighters who rescued you. He’s the one who’s been sitting with you all this time.”

Sara closes her eyes briefly. She looks sad.

“I’m sorry I’m not him,” I say. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

I don’t tell her that I suspected he might be at the bottom of the river. I don’t tell her that I called my buddy at NYPD and he said that was unlikely. I don’t tell her that as soon as I leave here, I’m going to leave a rather strongly worded message for her so-called boyfriend.

She continues to stare at me. She doesn’t look at Joelle or even at the nurse who is in here changing her IV bag. She only looks at me.

I walk closer to the bed. “Are you scared?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

“Do you know where you are and what happened to you?”

She nods.

“Good, I’m glad they told you.”

She shakes her head.

“They didn’t tell you?” I ask.

She shakes her head and then she points to me. She can barely lift her hand off the bed, but her intention is clear.

---