Page 64 of Sparking Sara

Before Sara is moved back to bed, a female nurse comes in to help her get to the bathroom.

By the time her head hits the pillow, she’s almost fast asleep. I study her as she dozes off. She’s far too thin. Joelle said they’re even using the feeding tube in her stomach to give her extra calories. I pick up my phone and text in an order to one of my favorite lunch places.

An hour later, when Sara starts to wake up, she inhales a big breath through her nose. “That smell,” she says.

Without seeing her eyes, I can’t tell if she’s offended like she was from the smell of the cappuccino.

“It’s my favorite food,” I tell her. “Pizza.”

She smiles as her eyes flutter open. “Please say pepperoni.”

I laugh, thinking how she’s supposedly vegan.

“No self-respecting pizza lover would order one without pepperoni,” I say.

“Mmmmm,” she mumbles.

I wait until she’s fully awake to open the box and serve us our lunch. While we’re eating, a nurse comes in and congratulates Sara on going an entire day without the vent.

“Seriously?” I say. “That’s fantastic.” I turn to Sara and pump my fist. “Rock star!”

“In fact, we may not have to use it at all anymore,” the nurse says.

“She can get the trach out?” I ask hopefully.

“We’ll monitor her O2 count over the next twenty-four hours, and if it remains stable, the ENT doctor will remove the trach.”

“Does that mean surgery?” I ask.

“Nope. They pretty much just pull it out and slap a bandage on her neck. No stiches. No tape. Just a bandage.Icould do it if they’d let me. But they don’t let me—that’s above my pay grade,” she jokes. “The wound will heal in five to seven days, leaving a small scar.”

“Battle wounds are sexy,” I say to Sara.

She smirks and rolls her eyes.

Shit. I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds. I didn’t mean anything by it. But from the look on her face, Sara didn’t mind that I said it.

Donovan comes in as the nurse is leaving. “Twenty-four hours off the vent?” he says. “You rock, girl.”

“See,” I say to her. “I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“What is that heavenly smell?” Donovan asks.

I nod to the box. “Pizza. We have plenty if you want some.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says, pulling up an extra chair next to Sara’s bed. “We’ve got a few minutes before your afternoon session. Let’s gossip.”

I observe him closely as he tells us the dirt on the other PTs and nurses. I guess I never noticed before, but now that I’m paying attention, I think we should introduce him to Davis Martinez. I almost say something to Sara about it, but then I realize she won’t know who I’m talking about.

And for the hundredth time, I try to imagine what it must be like not to remember parts of your life.

“Enough chit-chat,” Donovan says. “Time to put your dancing shoes on.”

He gets Sara’s shoes out of the closet, and we each put one on her. Then Donovan brings in a wheelchair and wheels her out into the hallway where a few others are waiting in the same formation as they were the other day when she took her first steps.

“You,” he says to me, pointing to the end of the hallway. “There.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, thinking he’s rather optimistic having me stand so far away.

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