Page 12 of Wait For It

And all the prayers in the world wouldn’t take away from the genuine possibility that this time, he’d gone too far.

He reached for my hand as he spoke, letting his beady eyes search my face. I’d seen this look more than once, an unspoken reminder to stick to the script. Suddenly afraid of what he might see reflected in my own eyes, I turned away from his probing gaze.

Knowing I hadn’t said a word was one thing. Convincing him of the fact was a completely different animal.

I glanced up when Tristan’s voice cracked in the middle of his impassioned monologue, surprised to find he wasn’t glaring at me in suspicion. Not even close. I watched in a sort of horrified fascination as moisture pooled in his blue eyes before spilling over onto his lashes.

Tristan James did not cry.

Ever.

On the morning Mama passed, his eyes had remained completely dry. He’d seemed almost relieved to be free of the invalid wife and her accusations.

The memories cropped up sporadically, but my thoughts were still very much jumbled together like skeins of yarn in a wicker basket. Tugging on the string of one fact didn’t lead to the next. It only seemed to further entangle the threads of the others. Mama had been gone for years, but the memory of her death was as fresh in my mind as if it had happened yesterday.

I fought against the sudden surge of panic and looked down to where my hand rested in Tristan’s, studying every line until I became convinced that I was, in fact, still an adult. For reasons I couldn’t explain, the past had taken a firm hold over my mind, distorting reality.

“And Father, we—we just need—” Tristan tried covering his mouth, but he was too late.

What happened?I knew my lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear the sound of my voice.

“Ariana.” He squeezed my fingers with a hiccuped breath. “You were driving the convertible and lost—you lost control, sweetheart.”

It didn’t make any sense. If I went anywhere, I would have taken the Audi. I shook my head, mouthing,No, I wouldn’t have—

It only hurts if you let it…

The heat in my chest moved up to my esophagus, yet I remained silent. I freed my hand from his and rubbed frantically at the base of my throat.

Tristan’s face crumpled again, and he dropped his eyes down to the sheet. “You… you didn’t have a seatbelt on and your head—” His words trailed off in a sob of fragmented sentences before Melanie intervened.

“Ariana, you hit your head. The doctors had to remove a piece of your skull to help with the swelling. If the pressure on your brain remains low, I expect they’ll look at scheduling a surgery soon to replace it.”

Why can’t I talk?I mouthed, resorting to hand gestures when she didn’t seem to understand the question.

“Well, you were on mechanical ventilation for a little over a week before the doctors were able to perform a tracheostomy. So, right here…”

Taking my hand, she gently guided my fingers up my throat. “You’ve got a little hole. Now, with that speech valve on, you can talk. It’ll just take some getting used to.”

I touched the circular valve again, waiting for some sudden burst of clarity. She’d handed me the missing puzzle pieces, yet I couldn’t seem to make them fit together.

As the rough sounds of Tristan’s sobbing filled the room, I was forced to confront an alternative truth. Maybe the reason he wasn’t telepathically urging me to stick to a narrative was that this time, there wasn’t one.

It only hurts if you let it…

Without a doubt, I knew my name and basic information. If I focused, I could even recall the live worship night we’d hosted at the church back in May, down to what I’d been wearing.

Simple black wrap dress. No shoes.

The filing cabinet of my mind had kept a diligent record of every significant event in my life, save one. As I glanced back at Tristan, I saw the truth of Melanie’s words in his wounded expression.

He wasn’t responsible for my accident.

That meant only one thing.

I’d done it.

I’d finally done it.

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