Page 35 of Through the Water

Tsega was the weekend aide and, according to Tiffani, a devout Buddhist. She’d felt it was of the utmost importance I know every detail, lest I‘likeconvert’ before she returned on Monday.

Given the sheer number of whispered warnings I’d received for the past two Fridays, it was evident Tiffani hadn’t spent her free time studying other religions. If she had, she would have known that Buddhists typically respected different religious views and weren’t exactly known for proselytizing.

She was confusing them with Tristan.

Tsega went over to the large marker board and filled in the daily details, along with who was on-duty. Once that was complete, she helped me out of my mesh prison and into the bathroom for a shower.

Weekends at True North were quiet. There were no classes to attend or schedules to keep. Most patients spent their time watching movies or doing crafts down in the common areas with their families.

In an ironic twist of fate, I found the sudden abundance of freedom unsettling. It was a bit like watching sand drain into the bottom of an hourglass—a reminder my time here was running out. I didn’t want to sit and paint a teacup or roam the halls in my wheelchair before being carted back behind the walls of a cage I was all too familiar with.

It was a frustrating thing, knowing that what you needed and what you were destined for were miles apart.

Like a well-trained zebra finch, I’d spent my life mimicking the rhythm of my father’s song while poking my head through the bars for even the smallest taste of freedom.

“Today’s a special day,” Tsega explained as she braided my damp hair. “You have a visitor.”

I wasn’t ready.

I managed a small nod and rubbed my sweaty palms against the skirt of my dress while staring longingly at the bright red exit sign above the door.

If only it were that easy.

Tsega paused her gentle movements and, keeping one hand on my braid, crouched in front of my chair. She studied my trembling fingers, clenched tightly together, before lifting her eyes to my face.

My pulse thundered as she surveyed me, forcing my heart up into my throat with each furious beat. Tiffani might have been nice, but Tsega was perceptive, picking up on the little things that had gone unnoticed my entire life.

Just last Sunday morning, an overzealous nurse had come in. After turning my television to the live broadcast from Eagle Lake Church, she’d found it necessary to tell me how Pastor James had saved her marriage. When the first few bars of the opening song had begun to play, she’d placed a hand on her chest with a sigh and asked, “Doesn’t hearing this just fill you with hope?”

I’d stared blankly at her, sure she was messing with me.

I was the one singing.

Our worship band had released four albums—the latest of which had been nominated for Pop/Contemporary Album of the Year at last year’s Dove Awards—not that I’d been allowed to attend the award ceremony in Nashville.

Brad had once boasted that they’d use my songs until the earth turned to dust because there was something eerie in my voice—something that made people sink to their knees in repentance.

As I’d listened, I couldn’t help but agree. The sound was hauntingly beautiful, causing my flesh to break out in goosebumps by the time I reached the chorus. My every word was clear and resolute, leaving me to wonder where the strength went when I wasn’t singing.

Tsega had watched me intently during the song, and in the minutes following the nurse’s departure when my father came on-stage. Then, without saying a word, she’d gotten up and turned it off.

She was doing it again now, studying me like I was a code in need of cracking. I gathered a deep breath, slightly curious to know what she saw when she looked at me—a meek creature who startled at the slightest sound? A fragile woman with no voice?

Perhaps Tsega’s view was just as misguided as Killian’s. That somehow felt worse than being seen as weak. I turned away as emotion clogged my throat, threatening to spill over in the form of tears.

It only hurts if you let it…

She inhaled sharply before placing her free hand over both of mine. “It’s not your father, okay? It’s not him. It’s a woman—Morgan. If you don’t want to see her—”

Morgan? Yes.

To drive my point home, I began bobbing my head up and down in an exaggerated manner, loosening my braid with each eager nod.

Tsega nodded, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Okay. But first, we have to fix your hair again.”

With the feelings of relief came a sudden influx of memories and a sharp flare of guilt—I hadn’t thought of Morgan once since my accident.

How had I forgotten my only confidante? Her family had begun attending Eagle Lake when she was fourteen, but it had taken me a lot longer just to work up the courage to say hello.

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