Pause (Larsen Bros)

My fingers tighten around the wooden spoon.

“Hope I’m not freaking you out,” he says in a gruff voice.

“No. It’s okay. I asked.”

“Yeah, but . . . shit.”

“It’s okay, Leif. Tell me.”

And he does. He opens his mouth and lets it all out. “I’m always standing there with my stupid arm all messed up and blood leaking out of me and the pain just about bringing me to my knees. And you’re stuck. You’re trapped. And I’m fucking helpless. There’s nothing I can do and no one will stop and help. Cars keep right on streaming past. No one giving a fuck. And I just want to scream.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Leif. You did all you could do,” I say. “Mom told me, they had to cut me out of my car. There was no way you could have—”

“I know.”

I take a deep breath. “Your subconscious just needs to get the message.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

He just looks at me. “Anna, it wasn’t your fault either. That car lost control and swerved into your lane. There was nowhere you could go. Nothing you could do.”

“I don’t like that you’re still hurting.”

“Yeah, well . . . a few night terrors won’t be the end of me.” He turns away. “And here you are, safe and well and all in one piece. Life is good. Most of it.”

I don’t know what to say.

On one hand, it sucks not being able to remember the accident. Not being able to dissect it inside my skull and know for certain that I did the best I could. No one has really been able to give me the right answer about that day. The one that will set my mind at ease. But on the other hand, if I did remember, I’d probably be having nightmares about it, along with the weird ones I don’t tend to talk about. Because talking isn’t going to help me. It’s just not. Though, now that I think about it, it might help Leif.

“I haven’t told anyone else about this,” I say.

His gaze jumps to my face.

“I’ve had this dream a couple of times since I woke up where I can’t move, but the light is slowly disappearing and the dark is setting in. I know something bad is in the shadows, but there’s nothing I can do.” I take the pan off the heat and measure out and mix in the rest of the ingredients. It’s easier to confess a weakness without making eye contact. To say the words aloud and let out my messy insides without exactly listening. “It’s so frustrating and scary. I wake up in tears, trying to get my body to move, feeling something creeping closer and closer and the dread is just horrible.”

“You think it’s from when you were in a coma?”

“Who knows?” I shrug. “It’s as good a guess as any. No one can tell me what the brain does and doesn’t process in that situation. Everyone’s experience seems a little different. How awake or aware they are. If they dreamed or not. How much time passed for them, if any.”

“You read about some cases?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Doctors and nurses at the hospital and rehab talked to me about them sometimes too. One woman had a car accident like me and dreamed the entire three weeks she was in a coma that she was driving to work. Couldn’t figure out what was taking so long. Another man dreamed he was happily married and had this whole wonderful life. But when he woke up none of it was true. It was all just gone.”

“That must have been fucking horrible.”

“Right? It would be heartbreaking. To expect to wake up to this beautiful life, but it’s all gone.”

His face stills. “That’s a little like your situation in a way.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I guess so. Anyway . . .”

“But you didn’t see anything in all that time you were lying there in the hospital?”

I shake my head. “No, not that I remember. I just woke up and all this time had passed. It didn’t feel real. Didn’t seem possible. It was the day of the accident and then it was seven months later. Boom. Time just disappeared on me.”

“So we’re both a little messed up,” he says.

“We went through a hell of a thing. Nearly got killed. Shouldn’t we be a bit messed up?”

He says nothing for so long that I finally look up. While I worked, he’d been stacking the dirty items in the dishwasher. I thoroughly approve. His expression isn’t haunted now, more contemplative. His gaze narrowed, and jaw set. “I think you’re right.”

I just nod. “Been meaning to ask, what did you read to me when you were coming into the hospital to visit?”

“Oh.” His cheeks brighten and he looks away. “Clem was in charge of buying the books. She didn’t want to plant any bad or dark ideas inside your head. We thought it was best to keep things reasonably light and happy. Your mom also made some suggestions.”