Page 141 of The Surrender
“Let me go!” I scream, seeing them lay Jude on the ground. “Oh my God.” His face isn’t visible past the blood. “What are you doing? Take him to the hospital!” My mind is unable to compute the mess of a man before me. “Is he breathing?” This is my fault. “Tell me he’s breathing!”
I see a paramedic move in and rip his shirt open, revealing endless injuries and cuts.
“Someone get her out of here,” she snaps.
“No!” I screech, fighting with the hands stopping me from getting to him. “Please, no, no, no.”
The officer resorts to physically lifting me from my bare feet and carrying me away. “Amelia, you have to give them space.”
“Please,” I beg. “Please, please, please.” I’m placed on my feet, but he doesn’t let go of me.
“He’s not breathing!” a paramedic yells, starting chest compressions.
My hands in my hair, I turn away, unable to watch as they try to resuscitate him. “No!” I look at the heavens through my tears and scream at the sky, a high-pitched, agony-filled cry.
Chapter 31
Bursts of dandelion fluff float in the air, the sunlight catching them, making me smile a little. Just a little. I feel my face muscles pull as I do, the strain almost too much. Staring at the headstone before me, I circle my stomach, a bunch of peonies in my grasp.
Jude would want me to do this. So I set about changing the flowers and refreshing the water, before dusting off the headstone and placing a fresh bottle of Chablis down.
I hadn’t planned on staying long, but it’s so quiet here, so peaceful and pretty. Odd thing to say about a graveyard, I know. I lower to the grass and start plucking blades, trying to remember all the things I wanted to say. Isn’t it funny how you think constantly about something, unravel your words and feelings in your head, and then when it comes to the moment you have the chance to express it, you’re blank.
I’m completely blank, but the words and feelings are still there somewhere. Perhaps the universe doesn’t think I need to say anything. Maybe just one thing. “He loved you so much,” I whisper.
And that’s really all I need to say. So I leave the rest buried wherever it’s hiding inside me and get up, making my way to my car, smiling down at my feet in the long grass. But I don’t seemyfeet. I see a pair of beautiful emerald-green mules. Completely impractical. And totally Evelyn Harrison.
I get in and reach down to the passenger-side floor, pulling my bag up onto the seat. Something catches my eye, tucked away in the corner.My heart turns a little as I stretch and pick up Jude’s gold-rimmed Ray-Bans. Turning them over in my hand, I see him in my mind’s eye. Every glorious, unbroken, smiling piece of him.
My swallow is lumpy as I stare out the windscreen, seeing him holding my hand, running, the rain pouring down on us. I’m forced to shake my head clear and blink to stop the tears falling.
Then I slip on the shades and start the Jaguar, rolling slowly out of the churchyard.
The smell is familiar—one I wish weren’t. I reach the door and brace myself to see him. Brace myself for the guilt. Pushing my way in, I’m taken aback when I see he’s awake, even sitting up. The nurse is redressing one of his wounds.
She looks up and smiles mildly. “Look who’s wide awake.”
He’s been in and out for days, stressed, in pain. They even had to sedate him yesterday because he was confused, thinking he needed to get up for work. I was told it was the high dosage of meds, which were absolutely necessary after his surgeries. A broken leg, five broken ribs, a punctured lung, ruptured spleen, countless cuts, and trauma to his neck and throat, which stopped him from being able to breathe alone. The tracheotomy, done by the side of the road while I watched in horror, saved his life. It’s hard to believe he’ll ever be okay again.
I unload my bag on the chair and check him over. And then he smiles at me, and for the first time in days, I believe everything really can be okay. I pull the chair closer and lower, taking his hand, being careful of the needle in the back.
“Hey,” I whisper, seeing he’s completely with it now. He just smiles again, his bare, bruised chest rising and falling as he breathes loudly.
“He’ll struggle to talk for a while,” the nurse says, tapping her throat.
The tube that was poking out from his throat is gone, a large dressing covering the incision. I wince.
“Doctor removed the tube now that the swelling in his neck and throat has subsided.”
I feel emotion creep up on me, and I will it back. I just have to look at him, take him all in, appreciate him.
“Are you in pain?” I ask, rolling my eyes to myself. He nods with effort. “Okay, just blink. Once for yes, two for no, okay?”
A small smile tips his lips, and it’s so fucking beautiful. Then he blinks once.
“I’ve got some more morphine here,” the nurse says, changing the bag on his drip stand. “Shall we try some water?”
I raise my brows at Jude. He’s still smiling. I don’t know what he’s finding so amusing. Look at the state of him. He blinks once. “Yes, he’d like some water.” I look around and find a beaker cup. Picking it up by the handle, I assess the spout, showing Jude. He blinks twice, and I laugh a little, as does the nurse. It’s so good to see him awake, even if he’s utterly broken. And he won’t take his eyes off me, as if he can’t believe I’m here. “Drink,” I order, putting the spout at his lips and tipping. Poor thing is too incapacitated to object. He drinks, and it’s painful to watch him swallow.
