Asher (Ashes & Embers 6)

Ember shifts her eyes uneasily between me and Sherry. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, her skeletal fingers clenching and releasing the blanket. Clench, release. Clench, release. I ache to touch her. To hold her tight in my arms and comfort her with whispers and soft kisses.

But the way she’s looking at me leaves no doubt that moving any closer to her would be an extremely bad idea.

“He’s the best first visitor anyone could have. He’s handsome and funny, and he always brings the prettiest flowers. He’s got some gorgeous hair too.” Sherry touches my hair playfully and gives us a reassuring smile. “Do you remember him?”

“No.” Her voice is foreign, distorted and hoarse, a mere scratchy whisper. But that single word could not have been clearer if she had screamed it at the top of her lungs.

“Asher, take some deep breaths.” Sherry trails after me as I stumble to the window at the far end of the hospital hall like a zombie. I had to get out of that room, away from the word no and the unfamiliar eyes before I had a meltdown.

I force air in and out of my lungs.

My head spins.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t feel my legs.

What the fuck is happening?

Outside, the sun is shining in a perfect, blue cloudless sky. We should be out there right now. Sitting by the lake, writing songs. Planning adventures for the grandchild that’ll soon be in our lives. Kissing and laughing. We should be living our dreams.

We shouldn’t be here in this continuous nightmare.

This shit only happens in movies. Not to real people.

Not to us.

What higher power hates us? What the hell do we have to do to be granted access through the door of happiness again?

Sherry lightly touches my arm.

“Tell me this isn’t really happening,” I say. “Tell me she hasn’t forgotten who I am.”

“Asher—”

“I feel sick.” I rub my hand across the persistent pain in the center of my chest. “I think I’m having a fucking heart attack.”

“You’re having a panic attack. Take some deep breaths. Do you want some water?”

I shake my head and try to remember how to make myself breathe.

“Asher, look at me.”

When I don’t turn, Sherry grabs my arm and pulls until I give in and face her. She removes her glasses and puts them on top of her gray hair. “It may not feel like it right now, but this is a blessing,” she says. “We’ve been praying for this day for such a long time. It’s a miracle.”

I nod, still taking deep breaths through the tightness in my throat and chest. “I know.”

Down the hall, I spot another nurse enter Ember’s room. I should be in there with her, not out here falling apart. “And I’m blown away that she’s awake. I can’t even put into words how fucking incredible this is. To have her back. It’s like a dream. I just wasn’t expecting—” I’m almost afraid to say the word. Like saying it aloud will set it in stone and make it permanent. “Fucking amnesia.”

She tilts her head. “It’s understandable and normal to be scared, but listen to me. She only just woke up. For lack of better words, her mind is a jumbled mess. She doesn’t know who anyone is—even herself. Memory loss is common with any head injury, and especially with a prolonged vegetative state. In time, her memories should fall back into place. Her brain is like a big puzzle right now, with all the pieces scattered to places she can’t find yet.”

I get that. It makes total sense. But it still doesn’t calm my heart.

“She didn’t show any sign of recognizing me. Not even a glimpse.” I blink back the sting in my eyes. “She looked petrified. It’s fucking killing me. I don’t know what to do...”

Or say.

Or think.

“I don’t know how to fix this.”

“Asher, it’s not your job to fix everything. You have to believe that.”

I nod, but it’s a lie. It might not be my job to fix the ones I love, but it’s my purpose. I wasn’t put here on this spinning orb just to sing and play guitar.

“Give her time. Give yourself time. Ember’s a very rare case. We knew she wasn’t going to wake up and be back to normal, throw her arms around you, and stroll out of here. That’s impossible.”

“I know.” I shove my hand through my hair. But that’s exactly what I was hoping for. Normalcy and smiles and hugs. Love. “You’re right. I can be patient. I just want her to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

“You’ve been the King of Patience. You’re allowed to feel scared. You need to understand that as scary as this all is, she’s actually doing much, much better than we ever could have expected. When the doctor was here earlier, he couldn’t believe it himself. She can actually talk. That’s extremely rare. She can move her arms and legs. She can swallow. She’s aware of her surroundings. Those are huge, and I mean huge, positive signs that give us a lot of hope for her continued recovery.”