Best of 2017

“You know how it is. She’s had it for a few weeks now, but it’s not real, obviously. Like everything else, it’s in her head.”

It’s a sad truth, but this is how it’s been for as long as I can remember. No doctor ever finds anything wrong. They only humor her with a false diagnosis. It breaks my heart, and I wish I could help her, but there is no helping someone like her. The scary part is that every day since Richard’s death, I understand her more and more as my own panic disables me.

“How can that be?”

“With the right amount of money and pressure, a doctor will diagnose you with anything. In this case, her sugars are normal, but for her they’re “high,” so the doctor gives her insulin. Then she gets “sick” and a horribly vicious cycle starts.”

“What can you do?”

My eyes lock with Sydney’s. Her forehead is furrowed and I feel a stab of pain for putting that look there. “All I can do is be there for her and take care of her, I guess.”

Her cheeks pinch in and little lines of worry appear on her brow. “I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

She gives me a tight smile and sits beside me on the couch. “I know it’s not my fault, but I care about you, so your pain is my pain.”

“You have no idea how much that means to me. I know I’m not the easiest—”

“Eve—”

I hold up my hand. “No, Syd, let me finish. I never really had any friends. In high school, even in college, I always had to be there for my mom, and it didn’t lend well to fostering relationships with my peers. Sure, I had some friends, but eventually they got sick of me always canceling or leaving early. But you never care if I have to disappear for hours to check on her, or if I’m evasive or closed off, and I thank you for that. I know it can’t be easy being my friend, but I thank you for putting up with my endless pile of shit.”

Sydney moves closer and pulls me into her arms. Her embrace is warm and comforting. My shoulders drop forward as I let some of the built-up tension be absorbed into this hug.

“This isn’t a one-way street, babe. You’re there for me, too.” I pull back and look into her eyes. She smirks at me. “You help me pick out all my outfits for dates, and you deal with my endless crazy diets.” She laughs, lightening the sober mood lingering in the air.

“Yes, totally the same.” I giggle back, joining her. Together we laugh until she stills, and every muscle in her face tightens as she grows more serious.

“I love you, girl. No matter what,” she says and tears well in my eyes. “And even with everything you are going through, you’re still the strongest person I know.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t know many twenty-four-year-olds who are the sole caregiver to their mother. Even if she doesn’t need you all the time, I know her health wears on you. But every day, no matter how bad your own day was, you are still there for her when she needs you.”

“Thanks.” Her words act like a balm. As if they are a magical elixir that mends my troubled soul.

Even if it’s only temporary, I welcome the feeling.

THE SMELL HITS ME. Unmistakable, yet indescribable at the same time.

Coppery.

Sweet.

Pungent.

It seeped through our house like mist on a hazy day.

Blanketing the world around me. It filled my nostrils.

Suffocated me with fear.

“No!”

My whole body flails as screams leave my mouth. Everything is closing in on me. Fear, stark and vivid, glitter behind my lids. Trying to escape the confines of my mind, my eyes flash open. A half-dressed Sydney rushes in. The door collides with the wall, causing the room to shake.

“Are you okay? I only left you for a minute.” Am I okay? Am I okay?

The words echo around the space. Jumping off the walls. Bouncing through my brain.

But they have no meaning. Nothing has meaning. The only thing I understand is the feeling of the blood coating my skin.

Blood.

Wildly, my eyes dash around the room like a crazed animal clawing at myself. “Get it off! Get it off!”

“Get what off?” She eyes me with confusion as I scrub my hands over my body, trying desperately to clean it off.

“It’s everywhere! Don’t you see it?”

I can feel it. Taste it. It’s everywhere. Controlling everything.

“See what? I don’t see anything.”

“The blood! The blood is everywhere!” My shrill voice echoes through the room as Sydney flips the light switch and the room floods with light, blinding me. “There’s no blood.” As my eyes adjust, I lift the blanket. There’s nothing there. “I saw it. I smelled it. I swear it was there!” I cry.

“It was only a dream. You’re okay. Shh, you’re okay. Here, let me get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

It was so real, but she’s right. There’s nothing here. But the tension still lingers in my bones. It still resides in my heart, in my mind.

By the time she comes back, my tears have dried but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. That the dream was a piece of a puzzle, but I don’t know where the piece belongs. “Here.” She hands me the glass and I take a long gulp of the water. It cools my body, quenches my thirst, but it doesn’t stop the wave of apprehension sweeping through my body. “Do you need me to get you anything else?”

“No. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She raises an eyebrow at me. I steady my breathing to convince her I’ll be fine. Plastering on a reassuring smile, my head bobs up and down a few times. “Really, I’m okay. Please, go back to sleep. You don’t have to stay up and watch me. I’ll just watch some TV or read a book.” My voice sounds fake even to my own ears.

She crawls out of my bed. “You sure?”

A part of me wants to beg her to stay to comfort me, but instead, I bow my head.

“Yeah.” I exhale.

She eyes me one more time before turning around to leave the room. My life pre-accident seems so far away right now as my body shakes like a leaf falling from a tree. It’s as if I don’t even know who this person I’ve become is, but it reminds me of my mom. I need to snap out of it. Return to the version of me that I know. That makes sense. I haven’t been back to work since the funeral. Between Richard’s death and my head, no one is in a rush to have me return. But being alone all day is starting to wear on my sanity, so I need to go back. The only problem is, my body is psychically exhausted. I only have a few more days before I go back and I’m scared. I don’t think I’ll be able to function on this little sleep.

I lie in my bed and pull out Pride and Prejudice. I always find comfort in Jane Austen’s words. Maybe that will take my mind off having to return to my real life in a few days. Maybe it will bring some semblance of normalcy.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MR. DARCY insulting Elizabeth and them falling into an all-consuming love only possible in stories, I must have fallen back to sleep. This time, no visions danced behind my eyes. There was no taste of fear so terrifying that I’m sure it will haunt me for days. Peace finally found me and although brief, I welcomed the reprieve.

I wake with a new resolve this morning, and that is to start preparing for work. It’s inevitable that I must return. It’s been almost two weeks since I left the hospita

l, and I can’t hide forever. My two-week leave of absence is coming to an end, but the idea of all that I missed at work suddenly makes my head ache. I knead at my temples. No, I will not get a headache right now. I have too much to do. For the first time since Richard died, my appetite has returned. I can’t imagine how sickly skeletal I must appear to Sydney. When she’s around, I sense her studying me. The concern is evident in her eyes.

Today my stomach rumbles and turns with the need to be satisfied. It needs strength and substance. Heading into the kitchen, I pull out cereal and milk, and sit down when my phone rings . . . Sydney. I’m not surprised; she checks in often to make sure I’m okay.

“Hey,” I answer but it comes out muffled as I chew the corn flakes in my mouth.

“Hi. What’s going on over there? You okay?”

“I’m good, just eating.” I lay the spoon down and stand to grab some water. The faucet comes to life and I pour myself a glass from the cold stream. “How’s work? Anything I need to know?”

“Nope, you’re on break. I’m not going to talk work with you,” she says in a stern voice that makes me smile. “Oh shit, the other line is ringing. I’ll call you back.” I don’t even have time to say goodbye before I hear silence. Sitting back down with my now filled cup, I reach for my spoon when my cell phone rings again. My mouth splits into a smile. That was quick. When I peer down, I realize it’s a number I don’t recognize. Should I answer? Curiosity wins and my finger swipes the screen.

“Hello?”

“Is Eve Hamilton there?” The voice is unfamiliar and it puts me on edge.

“Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?” My shoulders tense, the time going still as I wait.

“Hi, this is Pamela calling from Milton Schwartz’s law office. He’s the attorney handling Richard Stone’s estate. Do you have a moment to speak?”