Chapter Text
Epilogue
- October 2020
“Have a good weekend, Celine!”
“See you, Kyle,” I said and flashed him a little smile as I slipped my laptop into my bag. Todays late afternoon class was done, and now I just wanted to go home.
I said goodbye to the rest of my friends and then left the building.
Making it out on the parking lot, I fumbled with my car keys for a second, and then I hopped into my car. I dumped the bag with my computer and the few books I had needed for todays lesson on the passenger seat, and then I switched the engine on.
Despite the drive back to my home only took about five minutes, I still switched the radio on. My head was buzzing slightly from everything I had learned today, and I could need a second to think of something else.
The radio crackled slightly, and I muttered a quiet complain under my breath. Maybe it was time to replace the radio in my little red car.
“Love, love, love,
Love, love, love,
Love, love, love.
There's nothing you can do that can't be done,
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung,
Nothing you can say, but you can learn how to play the game,
It's easy
Nothing you can make that can't be made,
No one you can save that can't be saved, nothing you can do,
but you can learn how to be you in time
It's easy...”
I chuckled a little. So the radio was still working after all. One last hurrah, maybe.
“All you need is love,
all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need,
All you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.”
I tunelessly hummed along to the familiar melody. The Beatles was definitely doing a much better job than I, but I didn’t care. I needed to think of something else for a second. It was a month since I had started at the University, and it was still a bit of an adjustment. My life was suddenly filled with classes and books once more, and at first it had been pretty tough, to find myself back on the school bench, after a year where my life had consisted of only working and writing.
But I was beginning to adjust to the change and going to University was not bad in any way. I was finally studying what I had been dreaming of studying since I was nine. English & Creative Writing.
It was probably too early, but I was sure I could already see an improvement in my writing. Sometimes I was playing around with the idea of submitting one of my short stories. Just for fun. Just to see what would happen.
I drove down Lakeview Boulevard, and after a few minutes, I reached my destination.
I parked the little red car and couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud at my awesome parking skills. Then I hauled my bag out of the passenger seat and slung it over my shoulder as I walked the short distance to my destination.
I elegantly “hopped aboard” my favorite floating home and noted that the red flower on the porch looked a bit unhappy. Why is it that none of us can remember to water that damn thing?
If we didn’t start to pay better attention in the future, the red flower would wither completely, and that would be a shame.
I opened the door. I didn’t have to fumble around with unlocking it. The door was never locked.
I dumped my bag in the little hall and rubbed my arms slightly as I freed myself from my coat. The weather was definitely getting chillier. It was time to find a thicker coat.
“Hello, I’m home,” I called and silently added an at last. Todays lecture had been kind of long. It was nice to be home again.
I didn’t get an answer, and I hadn’t been expecting one either. I knew where to go to get an answer.
I slipped my boots off and wiggled my feet a little. Then I went upstairs, careful to avoid the little soft spot on the staircase. I didn’t want to announce myself with a creak. I had another and better way of
letting her know that I was home.
Reaching the second floor, I tiptoed down the hallway and peered into the bedroom. The door wasn’t closed, so I didn’t have to worry about a potential creaking sound.
I smiled a little as I slinked inside the bedroom. Greta looked so peaceful like this. All snuggled up under the covers and with her curly hair splayed out on the pillow. She “mm’ed” a little in her sleep.
Shifted slightly. The covers slid down and revealed her red lace nightgown with the flimsy little straps. I loved that nightgown. She shifted again in her sleep. A long, smooth, creamy leg appeared from underneath the covers. That could almost have been enough to distract me if I hadn’t noticed that the tape, she wore to secure her nasal cannula whenever she was sleeping, was beginning to come loose.
She would need to replace that tape. Or maybe I would. Maybe I could be sneaky like I had been a few nights ago and replace it while she slept.
Once again, I found myself tiptoeing as I crossed the floor. Just standing in the door and watching her wasn’t enough.
I effortlessly slipped into bed next to her like I had done so many times before. This was one good thing about the lesson ending a bit late. I got the opportunity to do this. Greta often took a nap in the afternoon. That had become a regular part of her routine. But that wasn’t all she did. I could see her laptop on the desk. She had clearly been working before she had to succumb to sleep.
A few months back, when spring was slipping into summer, Greta had announced that she had some news to share with me. And those news consisted of her telling me, with a glint in her ice blue eyes that I “wouldn’t be the only one who was going back to school.” I had of course asked her what she meant by that, and that was when she had revealed that she had been looking into online classes. So-called “open universities”. She was seriously considering taking a master’s degree in psychology and follow the original plan she had when was younger and still in college.
I had found that to be a brilliant idea, and I had more than encouraged her to do so.
And by the end of July, Greta had applied for the online classes. She had gone back to school before I had, and we had joked a bit about it.
But joking aside, I was so happy for her. She was doing what she really wanted to do. She was finally following her dream. And she could do it right here, from the bed. She followed classes online, and aside for a monthly lecture, she didn’t have to go anywhere to participate in classes. And she could stop whenever she felt tired.
So, whenever I headed over to University to study, she studied at home, and I was absolutely thrilled about it. Greta was so happy with what she was doing.
Next to me, Greta stirred in that telltale manner she always did when she was about to wake up. I silently cursed myself. So much for being sneaky.
“Mmm,” she muttered, and the next second, she opened her eyes and looked at me.
“Hi,” I said a bit apologetic. “I was actually trying to be quiet.”
Greta chuckled. “I think I’m used to having you creep into the bed by now, mon ange. It is in no way a problem. And I’ve already slept plenty.” She wiggled slightly and made a vague attempt at pushing herself up.
“No!” I immediately protested and grasped her wrist. “Stay here. I’ve just got here.”
“And I’m sure you are hungry, non?” Greta said.
“It can wait,” it brushed her off. “And why can’t you let me do the cooking for once?”
She scoffed.
I shook my head. “You still don’t trust my abilities in the kitchen,” I mock complained.
“You sat the stove on fire.”
“That was one time!” I defended.
Greta coughed dryly. “And I nearly had to call the fire department.”
“You are exaggerating,” I said. “The only thing getting hurt was a dish towel.”
“And what a nice dish towel that was,” Greta said sardonically.
I scoffed. “It was an accident, for fucks sake!”
“Language,” Greta admonished and hid a yawn behind her hand.
“For fucks sake,” I repeated teasingly.
A palm was lifted and immediately landed on my ass “Look who’s getting sassy,” Greta commented. “I might be tired, miss Welles, but rest assure, I’m never too tired to spank you.”
I snickered. “I’m sure you’re not.”
Smack. Her palm landed on my ass for the second time.
“Ow!” I complained and giggled softly. “That hurt!” but I didn’t mind. Not really. It had been revealed long ago that I liked this.
“That’s what happens to bad girls, Céline,” Greta warned and lifted her hand threateningly a third time.
“Go ahead,” I encouraged and allowed myself to wink at her. “I’m not stopping you.”
Greta smirked as her palm landed on my backside for the third time. This time the blow was a bit harder than the two previous ones had been. I winced a little and did my utmost to ignore the way my
body reacted to it and started murmuring about staying in bed a little longer.
“There.” she drawled. “I’m sure that’ll teach you a lesson.”
I laughed and then snuggled closer to her and smoothened the tape against her cheek. “There we go. It was slipping.”
“So it was. I could feel it. Thank you,” Greta said, and this time she didn’t quite succeed in suffocating a yawn.
“You’re welcome,” I said and wiggled my sock clad feet in between her ankles.
She teased a bit and squeezed my feet with her ankles, and then she asked: “how was your class today?”
“It was nice,” I said as I withdrew once leg and draped it over hers instead. “Kyle even wished me a good weekend.”
“Kyle,” Greta echoed, and her ice blue eyes narrowed slightly. “Wasn’t he the one who so eloquently referred to me as a “sugar mama” once?”
“He was,” I confirmed and cringed slightly at the memory. Greta had picked me up from class one afternoon, and there had immediately been rumors. “And I’m still a little sad you weren’t there to hear me
give him an earful.”
Greta laughed huskily. “Defending my honor, were you?”
“Always,” I assured her. “And I actually think he was trying to make up for his past blunder.”
“Let’s hope so,” Greta said as she grasped my leg and pulled so my thigh was practically draped over her waist. “Sugar mama. I’ve been called many things, but never that.”
“You are not a sugar mama,” I said firmly. “I’m pretty sure that term was made for women older than you. You’re only thirty six.”
“Thank you, miss Twenty Years old, I’m perfectly aware of how old I am,” Greta said, and her nose wrinkled.
I snickered. Greta might have issues with what she called her “progressing age”, but she didn’t look a day older to me. Thirty four, thirty five, thirty six. I couldn’t see any difference. And I had made sure to give her a proper celebration, even though she had told me she didn’t want one. I had completely disregarded her wishes. I had no problem with remembering how she had spent her thirty fourth birthday. Alone on a café with a book. And I had vowed that that was never to happen again, so on her thirty fifth birthday, I had invited her out for a change. We had had dinner in a very nice restaurant, and afterwards, once we had gotten back and the lights in the bedroom were dimmed, I had dedicated the night to “spoiling the birthday girl”.
Greta had been wonderfully ruffled, and doe eyed the next morning.
On her thirty sixth birthday, she had been a bit more tired, and we had stayed in. But that had been plenty nice too. We had watched old movies, and once she had fallen asleep on the couch, I had held her in my arms.
Greta’s fingers strummed lightly over my thigh. “I should get out of bed, miss Welles.”
“You should not,” I said. “And neither should I.”
“This is leading to nowhere,” Greta said plainly.
I raised on my elbow. “Actually, it does. In a moment, I’m going to kiss you. That’s leading somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Depends on which direction you chose,” Greta quipped.
I snickered slightly as I leaned in and kissed her. Now who was being sassy?
She immediately returned the kiss, and her soft hand came up to cup my cheek.
The next morning neither of us were out of bed, and it was far, far too early to even think of getting out of bed when a phone started screeching. Loudly.
Both Greta and I groaned our complaints, and I scrabbled to switch the lights on. after a few seconds of fumbling, I finally managed to do so, and because of sleepy state, it took me another few seconds to realize that it was Greta’s phone screeching.
“God, what a noise,” Greta complained as she sat up and scrabbled for her phone. She suffocated a yawn and then answered it: “hello? Yes, this is she.”
I rubbed my eyes tiredly and tried to wake up properly as she talked to someone on the phone. My sleep hazed brain couldn’t really understand who was calling and what the conversation was about,
because Greta mainly said “yes” and “no”, so given how unimportant the conversation appeared to be, my only wish was to go back to bed for a few more hours.
“I see,” Greta said. “Yes. Of course. We’ll do that. Yes. Right away. Alright. Thank you for calling. Bye-bye.”
She ended the call, and I immediately stopped forgot all thoughts about being sleepy when I saw the look in her eyes.
“That was the hospital calling,” she said quietly, but still completely audible.
“Okay? And?” I asked. My throat was as dry as sandpaper.
She nodded a little. “It’s time.”
It felt as though someone had unplugged my stomach. It’s time. I had heard that sentence about a million times during Greta’s examinations at the hospital. The hospital will call you when it’s time.
And now....
Now it was time. The hospital had called. Which could only mean one thing.
There was a heart for Greta.
Now it felt like someone was squeezing my stomach instead.
“We better get a move on,” I said as I quickly slipped out of bed and raced into the bathroom to get ready.
My heart was hammering as I showered and got dressed in top speed, but I firmly ignored it. If I was nervous, Greta was probably feeling horrible. I had to be there for her in any way I could. I had to put
my own anxiety aside for her.
Greta was quiet as I gulped down a quick cup of coffee and a single slice of bread. She wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything before the operation, and I was surprised that I was able to eat anything. But
Greta had insisted that I ate something.
She was quiet as we found the pre-packed bag and loaded it into her Mercedes as well, and I made no attempt of pulling her out of her silence. She was allowed to be quiet. But I did lift one hand from the wheel and gave her hand a little squeeze.
She squeezed back and tried her best to flash me a smile, but it didn’t really work.
We were received by a hoard of doctors when we arrived at the hospital, and Greta was immediately escorted away for a final blood test and a final chest x-ray.
I would have liked to go with her, but I wasn’t allowed in the x-ray room, so I had to settle for waiting outside. I sank down on one of the plastic chairs and silently begged that this was really happening.
That the heart was suitable. She had waited so long for this. We had waited so long for this.
“Celine!”
I looked up when I heard my mom’s voice. She was coming down the hall towards me.
“Mom,” I said a bit meekly.
She immediately gave me a hug. “Doctor Richardson told me it was time for Greta’s operation.”
“They just took her away for the last x-rays and blood work,” I said as I returned the hug. “But aren’t you at work right now?”
She shook her head. “Doctor Rawlinson is filling in for me. I’m going to stay here with you.”
I took her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Doctor Richardson is an excellent cardiologist,” mom said and returned the squeeze.
“I know he is,” I muttered.
We sat down in the uncomfortable plastic chairs again. I couldn’t help but tap my foot up and down as I waited for doctor Richardson to come out with either bad news or good news. The heart could still
become unsuitable at the very last minute, and if that happened, the transplant would be cancelled.
Please, let it be a match. Please, let everything go smoothly. Please, please, please.
I felt sick as we sat there and waited.
It felt like fucking ages before a door opened, and doctor Richardson came into the waiting room.
“Miss Welles. Doctor Welles,” he acknowledges and nodded to my mom.
“So?” I said as I leapt out of the chair.
“It’s a match,” doctor Richardson said.
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “You can see miss Adams before the operation. Through the door and to your left.”
I immediately went through the door and jogged down the hall until I found the right door. My heart was pounding in my chest. This was really happening. Greta was having the lifesaving surgery right
now.
I had never felt more relieved and scared in my entire life. It was an odd mixture of both.
I quietly knocked on the door and then slinked inside.
Greta was sitting in the hospital bed. She was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns with strings in the back, one of those blue, plastic-y hairnets over her curls, and her forehead was wrinkled in
concern.
“You look nice,” I told her.
She snorted quietly. “Yes, ravishing, don’t you think?”
“Very.” I said completely seriously. Hospital gown or red lace, it didn’t matter. Greta looked good no matter what.
“How are you feeling?” I asked dumbly and immediately cringed.
“Like I’m going to be sick,” Greta said matter of factly.
I let out a dry little chuckle at that. “That’s very understandable.”
Greta stretched her hand out towards me. “Come here.”
I immediately did as requested and came closer to her. I interlaced our fingers, and she squeezed a bit. She took my other hand in hers and brought both my hands up to her lips. She brushed a light kiss
over my knuckles. “I want you to know-“
“Nope,” I interrupted firmly and shook my head. “Nu-uh. We’re not doing this, Greta. We’re not making an “in case I die”-speech. I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t allow me to die, or you won’t allow me to make a speech?” she said and tried her best to sass.
“Both.” I said, still firmly.
She shook her head a little. “Céline...”
But I interrupted her again. “We don’t need to tell each other how we feel, Greta. We already know.” I took a breath. “You already know how much I love you. And you already know that I would walk through hell for you. And cross countries.” I laughed a little and the last part.
She kissed my knuckles again.
“See?” I said gently. “You already knew that didn’t you?”
She nodded a little and her fingers wandered from my hands to my wrist. “And I don’t have to tell you that meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You already know that.”
Despite my insistence that this was not a goodbye speech, my throat still constricted almost painfully. “Aren’t we lucky we don’t have to tell each other all that? And you know what I don’t need to tell you either?”
“What?” she asked and gave my wrist a little squeeze.
I pried one hand out of her grasp and ghosted my fingertips over her cheek. “That my life began the night I met you at that bar.”
She smiled a little, shook her head like she couldn’t believe her own ears.
“I love you,” I said. “And you’re going to be fine.”
“Ever the hopeful,” she commented and patted my hand lightly.
“Nope, just predicting the obvious,” I said. “When you’re all recovered from surgery, I’m taking you to Canlis. You know? That ridiculously expensive restaurant you’ve talked about.” I released her hands and turned away from her for a moment to collect myself.
“If I make it out of surgery, I’ll marry you.”
I spun around and almost tripped over my own feet. “What did you just say?”
“In a few years,” Greta immediately amended. “You are much too young to get married.”
“Did you just...... Did you just fucking propose to me?”
“No. I said in a few years. That’s not the same as a proposal.”
“Uhh, yes, it is,” I said. “You said you wanted to marry me!”
“Is there any chance you are willing to write it off as anxiety?”
“Not in a million years,” I chuckled.
She shook her head. “Forget I ever said anything.”
“Never,” I said and laughed a little. “The minute you wake up from surgery, I’ll be right there, reminding you of what you promised me.”
“I didn’t promise you anything, Céline.”
“Yes, you did.” I closed the distance between us and kissed her cheek. “And I don’t need to tell you what my answer is. You already know.”
She shook her head again. “You’re too young to get married.”
“You’re not,” I teased.
I earned myself a roll of her ice blue eyes at that.
Then the door to her room opened, and a nurse came inside. “Miss Adams? Everything is ready and prepared.”
“Very well. I suppose all you need is a prepared patient then,” Greta said as she lied down in the bed.
Another nurse came into the room and she and “nurse one” rolled Greta and the bed out of the room.
I followed them down the hallway. I would have followed them into the operating room had I been allowed.
Greta looked paler and paler and by the time we reached the door, she actually did look like she was going to be sick in a moment.
“I love you,” I told her. “And I’ll see you when you get back.”
“I’ll try not to be late,” Greta quipped halfheartedly.
“You better not.” I ignored the nurses existence and bend slightly to capture her lips.
She immediately returned the kiss.
“I love you.” I said again.
“I love you too,” she said.
And then she was gone. Rolled into surgery where I couldn’t be with her.
My knees felt like jelly, and my mom gripped onto my shoulder. “She’ll be fine, Celine. Doctor Richardson is an expert in this type of surgery.”
“I know,” I said meekly as I sank back onto the hard plastic chair.
After a few moments, “nurse one” came out and informed us that “Miss Adams is sleeping now, and we’re getting ready to perform the surgery.”
Perform the surgery. They made it sound like something trivial. A routine case.
There was nothing routine about Greta’s heart.
I shifted on the seat. I was already uncomfortable and reminded myself that it was too early for that. I was gonna sit here for many, many hours.
I could damn well be uncomfortable later.
The surgery was gonna take a long time, and both the nurses and my mom had gently suggested that I went home and took a nap in the meantime, but I had plain refused. I was gonna be here when Greta
woke up. Like I had promised her.
If I do recover from surgery, I’ll marry you.
Had she been serious?
I couldn’t be sure. You never knew when it came to Greta, but she had sounded fairly genuine.
I tipped my head back against the wall and listened to my frantic heartbeat. I tried to imagine it. Saying “I do” to Greta in a few years. The fantasy came shockingly easy to me. I could actually see that
happening. I could see myself marrying her.
I wanted to marry her. I had never considered it until now, but of course I wanted to marry her. Another symbol that it was going to be her and me forever? I would take it.
“Are you sure I can’t drive you back to the houseboat, honey?” Mom asked and touched my shoulder once more.
I shook my head violently. “No. I want to be here when she comes out of surgery. I promised her.”
“She’ll not be awake right away, Celine. And she’ll need you to be well rested.”
“Then I’ll sleep here,” I said stubbornly. “I’m not leaving the hospital until she’s out of surgery, mom.”
“Okay.” Mom patted my shoulder lightly. “Then at least let me find you a cup of coffee.”
“Coffee would be nice,” I said and flashed her a tiny, wobbly smile.
Another pat to my shoulder, and then she went down the hallway to find the coffee.
I tried to stall my breathing as I looked at the big clock on the opposite wall. The operation had started by now. A heart-lung-machine was breathing for Greta right now. It was strange, knowing that she
wasn’t breathing on her own right now.
She’ll be fine. Of course she will. She’s strong. The strongest person I know.
She would recover from surgery and I would take her back to the houseboat and care for her. Make sure she would recover fully. I would be by her side all the time. Right now, the University meant very
little to me. I could study from home. Greta was the most important right now. Everything else was insignificant.
As long as Greta was okay.
My heart thrummed uncomfortably in my chest, and I felt as though it was mocking the situation.
Could I give her my own heart, I would.
My hands curled into fists. There was so many factors. So many little things that could go wrong behind those closed door. Blood loss. A new heart that didn’t beat like it was supposed to. I had done my
utmost to stay optimistic. But that had been during The Wait. Now, that the surgery was happening, my brain seemed to come up with all sorts of scary scenarios.
Stop it, I scolded myself. She’ll be fine. She has to. We’re not done yet. My shared history with Greta Adams was not done, and there was no way it was gonna end like this. I wouldn’t allow it.
“Celine?”
I looked up. Mom was standing in front of me.
“Coffee?” she offered gently and held out the cup towards me.
“Thanks,” I muttered and took the cup from her. My hands were trembling, and my cheeks were wet. When had I started crying? Maybe I had been doing it all along.
“Oh, honey.” Mom said as she sat down next to me. Her hand was on my shoulder again.
I took a sip of the hot coffee, and my voice trembled as I said: “I’m so scared, mom.”
“I know,” she said, and her arm wrapped around me, squeezed me slightly.
“And it’s silly,” I said with a little headshake. “Because I know she’ll be okay. She has to be.”
Mom didn’t say anything. She simply squeezed me again.
And I was actually grateful that she didn’t just parroted me with “of course she’s gonna be fine”-nonsense. I was optimistic, but I also knew all the many factors. I knew how many risks there were involved with this type of surgery.
Optimistic, yet realistic.
I took another sip of my coffee. My knuckles turned white as I clutched the cup between my fingers, holding on to it like it was some sort of anchor.
That first cup of coffee didn’t last long. I gulped the hot liquid down in top speed. Mom fetched me a second cup.
I gobbled it down just as fast.
But I took it a bit slower once I reached my third cup of coffee. If I kept up this pace, I would probably end up puking all over. And I wasn’t particularly interested in that.
I texted Hannah and Michelle to let them know that Greta was undergoing surgery right now. Michelle couldn’t come home. She was currently in Spain, but Hannah immediately offered to come over to the hospital. I thanked her for the offer. Told her that I really appreciated it, but I was alright. My mom was here. I wasn’t alone. She didn’t have to put everything on pause. I knew that she was currently studying for a very important exam.
Hannah instructed me to text her the moment Greta was out of surgery, and I promised to do so.
I took another sip of my coffee. It was warm, but I couldn’t taste it. Not really. And my mouth felt completely dry. Something was swirling in my stomach, and I kept worrying that it would spill over and I would puke all over the floor.
My knuckles turned white as I clutched the cup tighter. I had never really paid much attention to religion, but now I found myself praying to whatever god was out there. If there was one. Please, if you just pay the littlest bit of attention, let Greta make it through this operation. Let her live. Let everything be okay. She’s not done living. And I’m not done with her. We need more time.
I closed my eyes as I tipped my head back against the wall. Let her be okay, let her be okay, let her be okay.
As I sat there with my eyes closed, I could suddenly see it all. A pair of soft lips lightly grazing my cheek as the beautiful stranger came to my aid in a bar. A voice stopping me. Slender fingers handing me a dropped key. A busstop on a darkened night where there was made room for me under a big umbrella. Surprisingly strong hands gripping my upper arms and preventing me from slipping on the wet buss floor.
A panic attacked soothed by a soft, velvet voice in a crowded elevator. Slender fingers gently wrapping around my wrist to calm me down. A “forgotten” book left at a swimming pool. The smell of pineapple lingering on the pages.
A forbidden kiss shared in a Mercedes. Oh, honey, you don’t wanna do that.
A room at hotel Ballard. The promise not to think anything of it. Cold fingers roaming on my body.
Drunken accusations. Passing out on a red velvet couch. The promise not to come back.
Two more hotel rooms. More promises not to make anything of it. Lips against lips. Soft curls tickling my skin.
An argument that ended with a girl leaving her mother’s house. An argument that ended with the girl calling the only person she could think of. Her nightly savior.
The girl was rescued. The girl was brought to a safe place. A houseboat. Another kiss shared.
Five days in paradise. Five days where the lines blurred. The girl realizing that this wasn’t just a fling or something forbidden. She was in love.
Parting ways with the promise to see each other again.
A date in a Ferris wheel. Tired eyes concealed by sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat.
Disaster striking. A half-empty houseboat. Seattle wasn’t the fresh start I had hoped for. I’m leaving.
Revelations. Shouting. I’m sick!
Two fates connected in the most impossible way. Two fates intertwined one foggy night on Madison Street. Metal colliding with metal.
Shock and then hopefulness. Telling her to stay. Hotel Ballard again. Skin against skin. Lips against lips. Hidden tears shed.
A letter with a goodbye so heartbreaking, the girl almost crumbled under it.
A month of darkness. A month of nothingness. Numbness.
A decision made. A hasty departure. The plan to follow her.
My body was going stiff as I sat there, in the uncomfortable plastic chair. The coffee in the cup was going lukewarm.
One more hotel. The last hotel. Renewed hope. A drive through the mountains. A cabin in Verbier. An entire month of utter bliss.
Two years of bliss. Sure, there had been rough days as well, but none of them had been bad enough to erase all the good days.
Two years, and I already had so many memories with Greta. Two years wasn’t enough. Please, I’m begging you, whoever is out there or up there, give us more time to make more memories. Please,
please, please.
I took a sip of the coffee. It wasn’t even lukewarm anymore. It was cold.
Mom was still sitting next to me, and now that I finally looked up, she flashed me a little reassuring smile.
I returned the smile. Or, I tried. I feared it was mostly just a nervous grimace.
She reached put and put a hand on my shoulder again. I patted her hand lightly. My tongue felt like a dried up leaf in my mouth. She didn’t mind that. Didn’t try and have a conversation with me. I was
grateful for that. I was afraid I would throw up if I opened my mouth.
Please, please, please, let Greta be okay.
Four hours. It doesn’t seem like much, does it?
Four hours is a short span of time for the busy student who reads up on a big test. Four hours is a short span of time for the adult whose day is full of chores.
But for the child who impatiently asks, “are we there yet?” four hours is an unbelievable concept.
And for someone who is sitting in a waiting room, desperately waiting for news, four hours is agonizing. Four hours is a life time.
I don’t know how I did it. I don’t know how I managed. Four hours where I didn’t budge from the spot. Four hours where I barely moved a muscle and kept my gaze fixated on the white door. The door
Greta’s bed had been rolled through. They were replacing Greta’s heart behind that door.
Her precious, tired heart.
The heart I had fought so hard to find a way to. The heart she had finally opened to me.
Something wet prickled on my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them. Why should I?
After four hours and ten minutes, the waiting was getting unbearable.
“It’s been over four hours,” I said. My voice was raspy. I hadn’t said a word for several hours.
“I’m sure we’ll hear something very soon, Celine,” mom said and took my hand.
I nodded, but I could feel the bile swirl around in my belly again. Delayed. They were delayed. And that could only mean one thing. Complications. Something had happened. Something was delaying
things.
Oh, god, her new heart isn’t beating like it’s supposed to. They can’t get it to beat. She’s bleeding. She’s loosing blood. I’m loosing her.
My breath became ragged.
“Celine,” mom said and her grip on my hand became tighter. “Look at me.”
I forced myself to look up. To look at my mom.
“Sometimes operations takes a bit longer,” she said gently. “It doesn’t necessarily mean that something is wrong. Do you hear me?”
I nodded.
“You should go home and rest,” she said softly. “Sleep a little. I’ll stay here and wait. And I’ll call you the moment I hear anything.”
“No,” I said and shook my head. “I’m not leaving her. I’m okay, mom. I am.”
She didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the matter.
I shifted on the chair. Stretched my legs a little. They felt stiff. The muscles in my lower legs were cramping. I reached down and rubbed the spot harshly. Looked at the big clock again. Tick, tock, tick,
tock. The minutes were ticking by. Why is nothing-
“Miss Welles? Dr. Welles?”
My aching muscles screamed in protests as I jumped up from the chair. “Yes?” I answered for both my mom and me. “How is she?” I asked the nurse. “Is she okay? Where is she? Is she awake?”
“We’re done with the operation. The new heart started beating right away. It wasn’t necessary to give Miss Adams shocks,” she nurse said.
It felt as though something heavy detached from my chest, and I puffed the air out roughly. “Can I see her?”
“She’s barely awake yet, but-“
“I want to see her,” I interrupted. “Please?”
The nurse frowned slightly, but then nodded. “Alright. But only for a few minutes. Follow me.”
I followed the nurse down the hall and through a yellow door.
“Only for a few minutes,” the nurse warned again as she drew a curtain back.
I nodded silently.
There she was. Greta. Lying behind the curtain. Surrounded by machinery that made “bleep-bleep”-sounds. There was a tube in her mouth, tubes sticking out of her chest, a thinner tube in her wrist, some sort of catheter in her neck. Two wires near the bottom of her chest. Another, more traditional catheter, and then of course all the tubes that provided her with medicine for the pain. Pale cheeks and closed eyes. But alive.
“Why is she restrained?” I croaked and pointed shakily towards the strips tying her wrists loosely to the bed.
“It’s just a precaution, miss Welles,” the nurse said patiently. “When she wakes up, she might try and pull at the tubes. The restraints will be removed once she’s fully awake. It shouldn’t be too long. We’ve
already eased the anesthesia.”
I nodded. My knees trembled as I sat down on the edge of her bed. She was surrounded by machinery and draped in different tubes, but she still looked like Greta. Like she was peacefully asleep.
Someone had removed the hairnet, and her chestnut curls were spreading out on the pillow.
“Can she hear me?” I asked as I reached out and touched her hand. I couldn’t hold it because it was restrained, and I had to fight the urge to free her hands from the restrains.
“She can hear you,” the nurse confirmed.
I turned my attention back to the sleeping Greta. “You made it,” I told her. “There is no getting away from me now. You’re stuck with me.” I shifted a bit and stroked her cheek. “I hope you’ll wake soon. I
need to see those beautiful eyes of yours.”
For a moment there was no reaction. Only deep sleep. But then I saw her hand twitch.
“I think she’s waking up. Please stand aside for a moment, Miss Welles,” the nurse said professionally as she pressed the red button above Greta’s bed.
The grey door behind us opened, and Dr. Richardson came inside. He paid little attention to me as he bent over Greta’s bed. “Welcome back, Miss Adams. Just relax. The operation went well. The
restraints will be removed from your hands in a moment, but it is important that you don’t touch the tubes, alright?”
I couldn’t see Greta because Dr. Richardson was in the way, and Greta couldn’t exactly speak with the tube in her throat, but she must have made herself coherent somehow, because the nurse stepped
back and said: “Miss Welles is right here.”
Doctor Richardson stepped aside and allowed me back to Greta’s bed. I smiled a little as her saw her ice blue gaze. Her eyes were a little unfocused because of the anesthesia, but she clearly recognized
me.
“I’m right here,” I said and repeated what the nurse just had said. “And you’re okay. Just relax.”
She nodded. As best as she could. Her forehead wrinkled slightly as she saw all the tubes and machinery she was hooked up to.
“We’ll remove the breathing tube in a few hours,” Doctor Richardson said. “And afterwards, we’ll monitor her ability to breathe on her own.”
I wanted to stay with her, but after another few minutes, I was kicked out by the nurse. The patient had to rest, she said.
I refused to go home, and after a few hours, I was allowed back into Greta’s room.
“But only for a few minutes,” the nurse warned. “We’re removing the breathing tube very soon.”
I held her hand again. After a few moments, Dr. Richardson and two nurses started circling around her, and I knew it was probably my cue to leave so they could remove the tube from her chest, but
Greta’s grip on my hand tightened.
“Can’t I stay?” I asked. “I don’t want to leave her.”
The nurse frowned and lowered her voice as she said: “it’s not very nice to see.”
“I don’t care,” I said firmly. “I’m going to stay.”
“We’re ready to remove the breathing tube,” Doctor Richardson said, and the nurse didn’t bother arguing with me.
The removal of the breathing tube truly wasn’t nice to watch, but I didn’t care one bit about my own discomfort. My heart shattered for Greta as I saw how the doctor and nurses gradually pulled the tube
out of her mouth.
Greta wheezed as the last part of the tube was removed from her throat, and for a moment, it looked like she couldn’t breathe. Her lips turned blue. Her grip on my hand went lax.
“She can’t breathe!” I hissed panicked to the nurses. “Do something! Put the tube back!”
“Give her a moment, miss Welles,” Doctor Richardson said and then turned to Greta: “miss Adams? Miss Adams, you have to breathe. Deep, steady breaths. Come on. You can do it. In through your nose
and out through your mouth.”
A slight spluttering, as from an old engine trying to start. Wheezing. Too soft fingers barely wrapping around mine. I was about to open my mouth to ask the doctors to help her once more, but then I heard the most calming sound in the world. The sound of Greta breathing in and out. Rattled, at first, but after a few tries, the sound became steadier. More focused.
“That’s it. Good.” Doctor Richardson praised. “Deep breaths. That’s better, isn’t it?”
The grip on my fingers tightened a bit, and I puffed out a breath of relief when I saw Greta’s shoulders rising and falling slowly as she breathed in and out.
“Good,” Doctor Richardson said again as he put his stethoscope to Greta’s chest and listened.
I was kicked out again. And highly encouraged to go home and get some rest.
I refused. Plain refused.
I stayed at the hospital. I lost all sense of time as I waited to see Greta again.
I ended up falling asleep in the plastic chair. When I woke, the nurse was standing in front of me, telling me that I was allowed to see Greta again.
“Is she awake?” I asked as I followed the nurse through the grey door.
“She is.”
Not only was she awake, but she was also sitting up in the bed, propped up with lots of pillows. And she was smiling at me. A tired smile it was, but a smile never the less.
“Hey,” I said and returned the smile. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve had a horrible encounter with a bus,” Greta rasped huskily. “And I fear I look like it too.”
“You don’t,” I chuckled. “You look beautiful.”
“Sweet talker,” Greta croaked hoarsely, but she was still smiling.
I chuckled again as I took her hand. “You made it out of surgery. You owe me a ring.”
“Do I?” Greta said and leaned back against the pillow. “Yes, I suppose I do.”
I brought her hand up to my hand and kissed it lightly. “I love you. So much.”
“I know,” she rasped, and I felt every bit impressed. To think that she was able to sass after having underwent such a major operation.
I kissed her palm this time. Relief was surging through me. The operation was done. I knew it wouldn’t be easy peasy from here, but never the less.
I was allowed to be relieved.
No complications followed. Greta quickly became a master when it comes to training breathing exercises, and cough when she was supposed to. There were no signs that her body was rejecting her new heart. Of course, there would always be a little risk, but right now, there was no apparent ones.
After fourteen days, she was allowed to come home. She was not allowed to drive or lift anything, and rest was still going to be a major part of her routine. She had to be watched closely and come in for regular checkups. She wasn’t allowed to be left alone. Someone had to watch her. Me. And I willingly did that. It was going to be a major adjustment for the both of us, and it would be at least six months before Greta would feel her old self.
But I would be there every step of the way and help her.
“First hurdle,” I said to her as I gently buttoned her pajama shirt and then helped her lie down on the red velvet couch.
“Mmm,” she nodded tiredly. “It’s good to be home again.”
“It’s good to have you home again,” I said and gave her forehead a light peck. Then her lips.
She returned the peck, and then shot me a look. “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap, Céline? You look like you could need it.”
“I’m staying here with you,” I dismissed and quickly found the thickest blanket the houseboat had to offer. Gently, I draped it over her to make sure she wouldn’t be cold. Then I dragged the nearest chair
over to the couch, so I could sit close to her.
“I’m robbing you of your sleep.”
“No, you’re not.”
She smiled a little. “Ever the stubborn one.”
“You know it,” I chuckled.
“Will you ever stop hassling me?” she joked.
“Nope,” I told her. “I’m actually counting on becoming the next Mrs. Adams someday.”
“After you’ve turned twenty five,” Greta said sternly.
“Yeah, yeah. You and your rules,” I chuckled.
She laughed hoarsely. “Oh, believe me, mon ange. It’s a long time since I last connected you and I with any rules.”
I smiled widely at that. “I’m glad. I’ve never liked rules.”
”Rules exists to be broken,” Greta quipped.
“Mmm. At least when it comes to you and me.”
Greta shook her head a little, laughed quietly, and then murmured: “If you don’t want to sleep, you should at least do something sensible.”
“I am doing something sensible. I’m watching over you.”
She shook her head vaguely and then chuckled hoarsely again.
“What is it?” I asked a bit confused.
“It’s just been so long since I last was able to breathe on my own. Without any oxygen or help.”
“Oh.” I said and nodded a little.
“Come listen,” she said quietly. She would probably have gestured, had she been allowed to move her arms that much.
I quickly rose from my chair and crouched down in front of her.
“Feel it,” Greta encouraged, and her soft, warm fingers wrapped loosely around my wrist as she gently brought my hand up.
I did as instructed, and I smiled widely at her as I felt it.
“Can you feel it, mon Coeur?” Greta asked as she placed her hand on top of mine.
“Mmm,” I said. “I sure can.”
And I could. The slow, steady beat. The quiet lub-dub-dub-lub-dub-dub.
I looked up at her again. The woman I loved. We didn’t need any words right now. We just sat here and listened to the most soothing sound in the world. The best sound imaginable. The sound I would forever cherish and be grateful for.
The sound of her heart. This new heart, she had opened for me without hesitation.
I smiled up at her. There would be more hurdles along the way, I knew that. But I also knew that we could face them. As long as we were together, we could do anything.
I would be with her. Through it all.
I took her hand. Me and her. Overcoming what ever hurdle life decided to throw at us.
One day at a time.
Greta met my gaze and squeezed my hand. The hand that was still resting over her heart.
The End