Page 12 of Dear Adam
“Are we sure Pretzel is really a dog?” she whispers.
Chapter five
Aly
AfterIpinkysworeto Emma that Pretzel and I were okay, she headed back to her apartment, but not before calling in one last pizza delivery and leaving a fresh kettle of tea on the stove. Pretzel and I make a fort on the living room floor and watch more romantic comedies solely for the background noise, my mind still too foggy to think straight.
I went to bed with my phone under my pillow so I wouldn’t miss the phone call from Mom and Dad about Adam’s arrival back in Charleston. I called them earlier and begged them to let me know the second he landed safe and sound. Sure enough, right around five this morning, the buzzing under my pillow was my mom confirming his arrival. Her call was short and to the point with her barking out orders to the hospital staff in between her words to me.
I was awake when the call came in, staring at my ceiling fan going around and around, Pretzel snoring softly beside me. I’d finished painting the kitchen cabinets and organizing all my mismatched china, unable to sleep with worry over my brother being flown across the country in a coma. She tells me I can come see him whenever, and I’m out of bed before she finishes the thought. I give Pretzel a goodbye pat on the head, and throw on some clothes.
Once I’m dressed, I call Emma, my fingers wobbly as I press her name on my phone. She answers groggily on the next to last ring. “He’s home,” I breathe, my shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit.
I head out the door of my cottage and hop into my Bronco, putting Emma on speaker and dropping the phone onto the seat next to me. I shift into gear and peel out of the driveway.
“He is? That’s great, Al!” she says, more alert now. I can hear the smallest bit of tension leave her voice.
“I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t realize how early it was,” I say. “Go back to sleep.”
“I’m glad you called me. I need to get up and run to the flower market this morning for some more orders that came through yesterday. You know how greedy those people at Fourth Street Flowers can be, so I want to get there early,” she grumbles.
I’m going over the Ravenel Bridge, and the sunrise is breathtaking, painting the sky in those special shades of orange and pink that you’re only privy to in the low country. Any other day, I’d probably enjoy it a little more.
“Thank you for taking care of Bloomie’s for a few days, Em. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all sappy on me. Just give me a raise around Christmas and we’ll call it good. Call me later, okay?”
Emma deserves a raise and then some at this point. When I say I don’t know what I’d do without Emma, I truly mean it. “Will do. Thanks again.”
I’m pulling into the hospital as I hang up, and I find a parking spot near the entrance and rush inside. When the elevator doors don’t magically open in half a second after the four thousandth time I’ve jabbed the button with my finger, I anxiously climb the stairs two at a time. I’m out of breath when I make it to Adam’s door and try to compose myself with a couple deep breaths before entering.
My white knuckles rap gently against the door, and I push it open. My heart drops when I see Adam laying in the bed, his eyes closed and what seems like a million monitors beeping around him. His right leg is in a cast and stitches crisscross over a deep gash above his left eyebrow. Deep purple bruises paint the skin that’s visible outside his papery hospital gown, and an oxygen tube rests in his nose. His eyes are swollen shut, leaving him barely recognizable as the twin that left me for California only days ago.
In the corner, Mom is dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex and Dad is pacing, mumbling under his breath into his phone, no doubt trying to figure out who he can sue for this happening. It occurs to me then that I’ve never seen my mom cry, and I want to reach out and comfort her with a hug, but I don’t think we’ve ever done that before. Not that I can remember anyway. Hugs or any form of affection were few and far between in the Bloomington house when Adam and I were growing up.
“Hi Mom. Hi Dad,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I gingerly sit on the edge of Adam’s bed and brush his sandy brown hair off his forehead. “Hi Adam,” I say even quieter.
This whole time, I’ve embarrassingly thought all it would take is for me, his twin sister, to speak to him and comfort him and he would immediately open his eyes and start talking. I’m holding my breath now, the harsh realization that this won’t be the case dawning. The monitors continue to beep steadily, but nothing else changes. My heart sinks.
I look over at Mom, who is still biting her lower lip and dabbing furiously at the corners of her eyes. Dad’s ignoring her and still pacing. Suddenly, I realize this isn’t what Adam needs at all. Instead of sadness and fear and worry, he needs positivity and happiness.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, bending down to give my brother a quick kiss on the cheek then slipping quietly out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I return with a giant teddy bear, some rainbow wall stickers, and every balloon available for purchase down in the gift shop.
I’m busy placing them all around the room when Dad clears his throat, his phone safely tucked away in his pocket now. “Alyson?”
“Yes?” I ask. I position the teddy bear by the bed with a “Welcome Home Baby Boy!” balloon in its hand, right under the “Congratulations, you did it!” banner.
“What do you think you’re doing?” His arms are folded over his chest, clearly annoyed.
I ignore the slight tapping of his shoe and walk over to the drawn curtains and open them wide, letting the bright southern sunlight filter into the room. The sun does nothing to lighten the mood. When I face my parents again, I’m met with even more displeased expressions.
“I’m making things cheery,” I say matter-of-factly.
“This is ridiculous,” Dad says, his voice so low I’m taken aback. He stares at a balloon with “Hello World” written across it in gold letters like he would love nothing more than to pop it.
“No it’s not,” I argue. “He’s sitting in this dark room with nothing but the sound of his ventilator and heart monitor to keep him company. Of course he’s not going to wake up to that.”
