Page 129 of Sparking Sara

“Are you Mrs. Andrews?”

“I’m Denver’s girlfriend. He doesn’t have any family here. His sister is on the way.”

“Normally we only give information to immediate family,” the doctor says.

“Wearehis family, doc,” Bass says, motioning to the firefighters lining the walls.

The doctor looks at everyone in the room and nods. “He’s still unconscious but breathing on his own. He doesn’t seem to have any swelling of the brain, although we’ll have to monitor that since it usually gets worse in the first twenty-four hours. The MRI shows a moderate concussion. At this point, we just need to give him time. Brain injuries can be tricky.”

Ivy runs a hand up and down my back as the doctor explains everything. I imagine similar things were told to Denver when he came to the hospital aftermyaccident. But this is different. He was checking on a victim, not the woman he loved. He wasn’t wondering if he was going to find out if his whole world just got turned upside down.

“Is he going to be okay?” someone behind me asks.

“Son, I just can’t say,” the doctor tells him. “We’re hopeful. I’ve seen people with far worse injuries make a full recovery, and I’ve also seen people with a seemingly minor bump on the head succumb to a brain bleed. Every person is different. Every brain injury is unique.”

“Can we see him?” I ask, not wanting to be the possessive girlfriend who insists on seeing him before his best friends.

“Only one person at a time,” the doctor says.

Bass touches my shoulder. “You go. He’d want you with him.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to be quick, I know you want to see him.”

“No, take all the time you need. We’ll be right out here.”

The doctor leads me down a hallway past several glass-walled rooms, and I wonder if this is what it looked like at the hospital I was in. He stops at the entrance to the room in the corner. “Here we are. Don’t be afraid to touch him. Fortunately, only his forearms were burned and they’ve been treated and covered with bandages.”

“Okay, thank you.”

I walk into the room, hearing some beeps come from a monitor next to his bed. I’m relieved that he’s breathing on his own. I reach up and touch the scar on my neck, a reminder that I couldn’t breathe after my accident.

Other than some bandages on his arms, he looks almost normal. At peace, even. He’s been cleaned up, but I can see traces of soot around one of his ears. I watch his chest rise and fall. I even place my hand on it.

“Denver, I’m here,” I say, a stream of tears dripping off my chin. “I’m not going to leave you.” I pick up his hand and hold it in mine. “I’m never going to leave you.” I wonder if Denver did the same when I was lying in the ICU. He didn’t know me at the time, but still, I imagine him holding my hand.

“It’s my turn to sit here and hold your hand. It’s my turn to take care of you like you did me. But you have to do your part, too. You have to wake up. You have to remember me. Please remember me, Denver. I can’t imagine loving anyone but you. And if you forget that you love me …” Sobs break up my words and I have to stop talking for a minute. “Please don’t forget. Please wake up.”

I remember the stupid videos we took that first night we were together. The declarations of our love. The promises of our future. I’m sure neither of us imagined one of us would need to be reminded—least of all him.

I carefully sit next to him on the bed, wanting to be as close to him as possible. I lean over and place my head on his heart. “Don’t make me bring in all my Beach Boys CDs. I’ll do it if I have to. You know I will.”

“Unnnngh,” I hear, causing me to sit up quickly.

“Denver?”

I see his eyes flutter open. He tries to gain focus. Then he reaches up and grabs his head. “Head hurts.”

“Denver …” I look into his eyes, trying to gauge if he remembers me. “Denver, do you know who I am?”

A nurse comes into the room. “Welcome back, Mr. Andrews,” she says.

I hop off the bed and let her tend to him. It’s like time stands still. He hasn’t answered my question and I can’t breathe until he does.

He looks around the room. Then he looks at me, terrified. “The boy,” he says.

“He’s okay,” I tell him. “You saved him.”

I’ve never seen a person look more relieved than he does right now. Except maybe me. Because if he remembers the boy, he remembers me. He remembers us.

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