Page 39 of Sparking Sara

“Oliver Compton,” he says. “You’ve been trying to reach me?”

“It’s about fucking time,” I say. “She’s been here for over a week.”

He ignores my comment. “She doesn’t remember anything?” he asks. “As innothing? Are you sure?”

“As far as we can tell, she’s lost several years of memories.”

“Wow. That must be … wow. How is she other than that?”

“Improving, thank God. It was touch-and-go for a while. But she’s still got a long road ahead. Why the hell did it take you so long to call me?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he says with that slight British accent I heard on his voicemail. “It couldn’t be helped. I was on holiday with some mates. A cruise that just returned yesterday. No mobile service.”

“For ten days?” I ask. “You were on a cruise all that time?”

“The cruise was just a week.”

“Then how about before that? Didn’t it worry you when you couldn’t reach Sara?”

“Sara is an artist,” he says. “It wasn’t unusual for her not to ring me for days, or weeks even, if she was working on a painting. I wasn’t in the states on the day you said she had her accident. I travel a lot, and I went to England for my mate’s bachelor party trip straight away after I left Morocco.”

I try to wrap my head around the unbelievable timing of it all. The guy takes a cruise where he can’t be reached the same week Sara has her accident? Something just doesn’t add up.

“She really doesn’t remember me?” he asks.

“I’m afraid not. I was hoping you could bring pictures or something to try and help spark her memory.”

“But the way you said it in your message, the doctor doesn’t think her memory will ever come back.”

“That’s right, he doesn’t. But he also said each case is different. And I’m not giving up hope. Miracles do happen.”

“Miracles?” he asks. “They think it would take a miracle for her memory to return?”

“Maybe.”

“Who exactly are you, mate?” he asks, his tone turning defensive. “You said you’re a firefighter?”

“I’m one of the firefighters who responded to her car crash.”

“Do firefighters always take it upon themselves to track down loved ones? Isn’t that the job of the police?”

“The police found her cousin, Joelle. Joelle told me about you. And I tracked down your phone number. Listen, are you able to come to the hospital? You’ve already missed so much. She’s in a very vulnerable state.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

“Oliver?”

“I, uh … I just got off the plane,” he says. “I have to go through customs. I’ll come straight after.”

“Good. Sara will be happy to hear it.”

“I thought you said she didn’t remember me.”

“She doesn’t. But when I walked in the hospital room last night, she thought I was you. I guess Joelle told her about you, and then when I showed up, she just assumed. But she looked sad when Joelle told her I wasn’t.”

“Just how much time have you spent there, mate?”

I get that he doesn’t want to think about another man sitting with his girlfriend for the past ten days. But I’m not about to feel guilty about it. He should have turned on his goddamn phone and paid the fees or whatever to call from the middle of the ocean.

---