Page 32 of Sunflowers and Surrender
“Nice to meet you.”
“He was just letting us know that she appears to be doing well, and he suspects her remaining unconscious is likely related to the strong pain medication she’s been receiving.”
I let out an exhale. I hadn’t thought about that.
“If things go well, she’ll be moved to a step down unit in a few days where she doesn’t require the immense level of one-on-one care that she does now. She’ll likely be here a few weeks and then transfer to an inpatient rehab facility until she’s able to go home. Given the hardware she now has in her pelvis, her recovery is likely to take three months. She won’t be able to walk for six to ten weeks. She could have long-term effects that limit her function for at least a year.”
“But she’s here. And she’s a fighter. So we’ve got this,” I interject. I’m tired of the gloom and doom. While they’ve graciously covered my shifts until Tuesday is in the clear, I’m limited by my fire schedule. But I’ll gladly put the towing business on hold or rent out my truck to someone so I can be Tuesday’s cheerleader. I’ll be there when the rehab folks have left, reminding her just how strong she is.
Sybil reaches for my arm, and I look at her.
“She’s going to need all of us. Sunny T is going to be fine. I’m sure of it,” I say.
As the surgeon leaves, we take turns visiting Tuesday. I plan to stay the night, so I let her family spend the majority of the day with her. As night shift comes, I greet Gwendolyn, who smiles as she comes in and out of Tuesday’s room.
As I had the night before, I lay my head down and begin to drift off when I hear Gwendolyn behind me.
“Well, hello there.”
My head springs up from the mattress, curious who’s come to visit at this hour, when I notice there’s no one but Gwendolyn there. And she’s looking over my shoulder. I swivel my head toward Tuesday like a bobblehead and freeze when I see those beautiful big green eyes staring at me.
“Oh, baby. Thank God.” I lower my head and try not to weep. Suddenly, her sweet hand is in my hair, stroking the back of my head. My beautiful, brave girl is lying here, screwed back together like the Tin Man in theWizard of Oz, but she awakes to comfort me.
“Are you hurting, dear?” Gwendolyn asks.
“No.” Her voice comes out brittle. “I-” She immediately winces as she adjusts herself in the bed. “What happened?”
I explain the events of the last few days, surprised she doesn’t remember much. I worry when it does, she may have a hard time with it. But for now, that’s one less stressor. I explain what the future holds, and I can see it’s overwhelming her. “You’re not alone, Sunny. You’ve got your family, Grace, and me. We all love you. We’ll do anything we can to help you through this.”
It takes a minute before she stops fidgeting with her bedsheets and looks at me. “You love me?”
“God, yes. I’m so in love with you I can’t see straight.” I laugh. It feels good to finally tell her.
Her smile lights up the room, and I know we’re going to be okay.
Chapter 23
Three months later
Alex
The months that followed were grueling. Tuesday had to put her life on hold and focus solely on getting stronger. She was in a wheelchair for months. The endless physical and occupational therapy helped her to make strides but wore her out. It was more important than ever that she knew I was by her side and would do anything and everything to help her regain her life.
The Palmers have been great about letting me spend so much time at their home. I’ve practically moved in. With my rotating schedule at the fire department, it only made sense for Sunny to stay in her home, where she could receive therapy, and her mother or father could assist her if I was on duty.
Yet she’s come a long way, and the time has come to regain some privacy.
“Why are you so jumpy?” I ask as we sit in the waiting room of her orthopedic surgeon’s office.
“I don’t know. It feels like graduation day. That this visit could mark the start of so many new things after all of this time. Not needing constant supervision, getting my life back, returning to work at Cygnature Blooms-”
“Moving in with me,” I interrupt.
Tuesday beams at me.
“Tuesday,” the nurse calls from the doorway.
We stand and follow her down the hall to Dr. Knight’s office. She ushers us inside and reassures us he will be with us shortly. Looking about the room, there are no personal photos or mementos—just various certificates and degrees on display.
