Page 126 of Catch the Sun

Dr. Garcia offers a reassuring smile, leaning over and pressing his hand to my bicep. “Your skull has been fully repaired now and you responded well to the surgery. You’ve also had multiple CT scans to monitor your brain’s condition. As for your other injuries,” he continues, “you suffered a fractured pelvis and a dislocated hip. You also broke a couple of ribs. You’re very lucky you didn’t puncture a lung.” He takes a deep breath, his brown eyes warm as they skim my face. “The coma was induced initially due to the swelling in your brain. Your body then took over, keeping you in a natural coma for the remainder of the time, allowing it to heal. The good news is your other injuries have been recovering nicely. In a few more weeks, we’ll transfer you to a rehabilitation facility.”

I inhale a frayed breath. “I’m not…paralyzed?” I choke. It’s clear that I’m not by the way my legs wriggle underneath the covers, but the notion still fills me with panic and dread.

“No, not at all,” he says. “Your spine was remarkably unimpaired, save for bumps and bruises that have since healed. You can thank some tree branches and a patch of heavily weeded undergrowth for cushioning your fall.”

He pauses, blinking down at me. “In terms of prognosis, every brain injury is unique. While we are hopeful given your current progress, there might be challenges ahead. You’ll require physical therapy for your hip and pelvis, and possibly some occupational and speech therapy. As for cognitive or emotional changes, they can vary. Memory issues, mood fluctuations, and trouble withconcentration are not uncommon. How are you feeling right now?”

Physically, it feels like I took a frying pan to the back of my head and I’m chewing on a wad of cotton balls. And mentally…

“Confused,” I murmur. “Scared. Tired.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” he says. “You’ve been through a lot. I’d like to ask you a few questions to understand your cognitive state. Would that be all right?”

Anxiety seeps inside me, but I swallow through a slow nod.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“Ella Rose Sunbury.”

“And your mother’s name?”

“Candice. Candice Sunbury.”

“Good. What’s the last date you remember?”

Fireworks and sparklers flicker through my mind.

A pink party dress. Music, laughter, noise.

“December thirty-first. New Year’s Eve.”

He jots down some notes. “It’s currently February first. Do you recall any of the events leading up to your fall?”

I hesitate, drinking in a shaky breath. “I remember…going for a walk. I wanted a better view of the fireworks and…the party was loud. Crowded. I don’t like parties, but I wanted to spend the night with my friend. She was going through a hard time.” I swallow down more grit. “I wandered up to the bluffs a little before midnight. And…I tripped. That’s the last thing I remember.”

“Your blood results showed no alcohol in your system. No drugs. You were clean.”

I nod. “I don’t drink or do drugs.”

“Was there anybody with you?”

My eyes slam shut as I pretend to recall the moment.

But I don’t need to pretend.

The final pieces rushed back to me as I drifted awake an hour ago, my chest on fire, my stomach in knots, and my heart in pulpy fragments.

“Christ, hold still! Stop running!”

“Stop it, stop it! Help me!”

“No. I was alone,” I lie.

“That’s okay. Don’t push yourself too hard,” he assures me. “We can circle back when your mind is clearer.”

“We don’t have to. That’s all I remember. I was alone when I fell.”

Dr. Garcia studies me, folding one arm across his white scrubs while the clipboard dangles in his opposite hand. “There was a bruise on your cheek that wasn’t consistent with the fall. It looked like a fresh impact, possibly from a hand or an object. Do you remember how you got that?”

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