Page 69 of Sparking Sara

“Joelle told me that, too. She told me a lot of things. Like how you saved me.”

“I’d say it was a collaborative effort from my whole company.”

“I don’t remember it,” she says. “I don’t remember anything about the accident. My first memory is waking up here at the rehab center. Joelle told me I was awake before then. She even told me I said a few words. But I don’t remember.”

“It’s probably for the best that you don’t remember the accident,” I say.

She puts down her burger and places her hand on mine. “But then how do I rememberyou?”

I shrug. “Your subconscious, maybe? I talked to you a lot when you were sleeping.”

“Joelle told me that, too. She told me you sat with me every day, all day. Why? We didn’t know each other before, right? Why did you sit with me? And why are you here with me now?”

“It’s a long story, Sara.”

She finally removes her hand from on top of mine when she takes another bite of food. I think about how long I would have kept my hand under hers. I wouldn’t have moved. I would have kept it there forever. I try to ignore what it felt like to have her touch me. Because these feelings I’m having, they’re wrong.

She nods to her wheelchair and then our surroundings. “I’ve got time, Denver. I may not have much else, but I have time.”

I spend the next twenty minutes telling her about my parents. Their accident. My aversion to car crashes. It’s all the things I told her while she was sleeping. The things I haven’t told anyone else. Not even Reverend Feldworth.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” she says.

“I’m sorry about yours.”

“We’re a lot alike, you and me. Except that you seem to have a lot of people in your life. Your sister. Your friends. Your coworkers. Why don’t I have any people, Denver? I guess I can understand why Lydia doesn’t visit me, but what about my other friends?”

I look down at the table, not sure what to say.

“Oh, my God. Do I not have any friends?”

“You were different before, Sara.”

“How was I different?”

“I can only tell you what I’ve been told. Joelle and Lydia, they said that after your parents died, you had a tough time of it.”

“Of course I did.”

“They said you pushed everyone away. They said you poured yourself into your paintings. And eventually, when you started to paint for other people and become successful, you became … uh, you became …”

I don’t have the courage to tell her.

“I became a bitch,” she says.

“I’m sorry.”

She puts her face in her hands and shakes her head. “Why has nobody else bothered to tell me this? Joelle dances around the subject every time I ask. And Oliver, well, he doesn’t talk about our past that much. He shows me pictures and tells me about some of the places we’ve been, but he doesn’t get personal. I think he’s afraid he might scare me if he gets too personal.”

She studies the remains of her cheeseburger. Then her eyes meet mine. “Do you like him?” she asks. “Do you trust him?”

“I don’t know him any better than you do at this point,” I say. “I know it’s hard for you. It’s hard for both of you. But I think you need to give it a chance. I like Donovan’s suggestion that you see your apartment. I think it will help.”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Denver?”

“Girlfriend? No. I date sometimes. I took out a nurse from the hospital the other night.”

She nods her head. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad you have people.”

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