For Lucy

Again, Josh took a quick glance back in the room through the glass doors. “Tatum.”

The light had to have been yellow, and she didn’t want to slam on her breaks. There was no way she was under the influence. A yellow light. It had to be a yellow light, which means the person who hit them either ran a red light or they took off so quickly at the green light that they didn’t see Tatum and Lucy coming through on the tail end of a yellow light.

“T-boned their car on Lucy’s side.”

“What about the person or people in the other car? Were they badly injured?”

“Minor injuries.”

Tatum jumps out of her chair, and I realize Lucy’s eyes are open. “She’s awake.” I push past Josh and rush to the opposite side of her bed. “Lucy …” I press my hand to her cheek gently and kiss her forehead over the bandage. “Baby girl, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Tatum grips her hand and looks on in a torturous mix of relief and pain. “Lucy …” she says and Lucy’s gaze slides in her direction. But before she can say anything more than her name, she starts choking on more sobs again.

“Mom …” Lucy whispers through a dry sounding throat.

Josh rests both of his hands on Tatum’s shoulder.

Lucy’s gaze flits from Tatum to me then down her body. “I … I still can’t feel my legs.” A little panic creeps into her words. “I thought it was temporary, but I can’t feel my legs.”

Josh takes out his phone. “I’ll have the neurologist come in and do another exam. It’s going to take some time for the swelling to subside. I don’t want you to worry, Lucy.”

“It’s …” Lucy gets teary eyed.

My girls are losing it, and I feel so helpless.

“I … I don’t like it. I … can’t … feel them.” She starts to panic.

I take her hand and run it over my scruffy face that I haven’t shaved in over a week. She used to love running her hands over my face.

“Daddy feels scratchy. Daddy feels like a porcupine.” She’d giggle.

“Do you feel this?”

Her hand moves as I continue rubbing it over my face, and she nods.

Bending forward, I run the inside of her arm over my face. “Do you feel this?”

She nods.

“Does it feel like a porcupine?”

“My—”

I shake my head. “Feel me on your hand. On your arm.” I bend down a little more and rub my face on her cheek. “Feel me because I feel you. And you are going to be okay, baby. You just need to breathe … and you need to be thankful for all the things you can feel. And eventually you’ll be better. Just … breathe.”

“Daddy …” she whispers as my face is next to hers so only I can hear her. She hasn’t called me Daddy in years. “I’m … scared.”

“Don’t be,” I murmur softly back to her, turning my head until my lips brush her cheek.

“I deserve—”

“Shh …” my lips move to her ear. “Don’t. Not ever. It was an accident.”

Tears fill her eyes, and I catch them at the corners before they have a chance to slide down her face.

“Mom.” Her attention returns to Tatum as if it’s just now registering that her mom was in the car too. “Are you okay?”

Tatum sniffles and swallows hard while nodding. “Fine,” she manages to squeak out.

Another doctor comes into the room. The neurologist, I assume for two seconds before Josh introduces me to her.

“It’s getting a little crowded in here. We’ll step out for a few minutes while you do your exam,” I say to the doctor but also to Tatum.

She looks to Josh for some sort of permission to leave or maybe just to not have to look at me.

“Go grab a drink and stretch your legs. I’ll stay with Lucy.” He kisses her cheek, and I want to grab her arm and yank my wife out of his hold on her. I am the thief. Not him. He’s not allowed to steal what’s mine. You just don’t rob a thief.

Tatum heads out the door and straight to the waiting room before I can catch up to her. My parents stand and rush to me as hers do the same to her. While I field a million questions from them that don’t really register, Tatum’s mom fusses over her injuries and asks about Lucy.

I look at Tatum.

She looks at me.

There’s something between us that’s unspoken, but I don’t know what it is. And I don’t like the feeling it gives me. Even after five years apart, I know this woman. I know when she’s hurting—which she is.

I know when she’s angry—and I feel a little of that coming from her too.

But it’s something more. A more I can’t quite place.

“The neurologist is doing an exam. When she’s done, I’m sure Josh can get you in to see Lucy.” This gets my mom off my back with her long string of questions. “I’m going to take Tatum and get her something to eat. You should wait with her parents and see if they can go back with you in a little bit.”