Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
I stare at it before nodding and taking it from her.
“We’ll take a walk and give you some privacy.” She pats my arm and nods toward the door while eyeing my dad.
“Be right back, sweetie,” he says, following her out of the room.
I press the green button and put it on speaker.
“Hey, Colleen,” Ozzy says.
“It’s me,” I say with a weak voice. “Maren.”
“Jesus,” he whispers.
“I, uh, woke up.”
Nothing.
“Ozzy?”
The call ends.
I stare at the screen for a few seconds before calling him back. It goes straight to his voicemail. He’s probably trying to call me at the same time that I’m trying to call him, so I just hold the phone, gazing at the screen, waiting for him to call.
Nothing.
I give up and call him again. And again, it goes to his voicemail. “Hey, it’s Maren. I don’t know why we got cut off. Call me.”
I need to call Jamie, Fitz, and Will, but I don’t want to be on the phone when Ozzy calls back. So I wait.
And wait.
Eventually, my parents return.
“How’d it go? Was he shocked?” Mom asks before taking a sip of her bottled water.
“We got cut off. I don’t know if it’s an international calling issue or what.”
“But you talked to him?” Dad asks.
“Yes. I mean, he answered. I said it was me. He whispered ‘Jesus,’ and then it ended. And I haven’t been able to reach him since then, and when I call him, it goes straight to his voicemail.”
My parents exchange confused looks before returning their attention to me.
“Well, I have a list of people I’ve been sending updates to, including Taylor Reynolds. He works with Ozzy, right?” Mom asks.
I nod, scrolling through her texts with my good hand until I find Taylor.
Colleen: Maren is awake. She’s having trouble reaching Ozzy. Can you have him call her?
For now, I avoid the “Hey, it’s me, not Colleen” part. I just want Ozzy to call me back before I call anyone else.
Taylor: That’s amazing! Give her a hug from me. I’ll find Ozzy
I give his reply a heart.
“We talked with your doctor on our way out to take a walk,” Dad says. “Dr. Haze said if you don’t have any setbacks, you could go home in a week or less.”
I try to show my excitement, but I can’t focus on anything but Ozzy right now.
Taylor: Ozzy wasn’t feeling well. He went home. I think it hit him hard. He might need some time. Let her know he’s just really overwhelmed. I’m sure he’ll contact her soon. Everyone is elated and grateful that she’s awake. Thanks for the update
Mom glances at the screen. “Oh, Maren.” She kisses my forehead. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard for you to see things through his eyes right now, but I’m sure he’s been running on adrenaline. Every time Jamie put you on speaker for him and Lola to talk to you, my heart broke. He had the saddest voice. Give him a minute to process.”
I stare at the message from Taylor, rereading it. “Process me being alive?” I whisper.
She lifts my chin with her finger until I look at her. “Process you not dying.”
“Same thing,” I mumble.
Mom furrows her brow. “No. It’s not the same. And I know this because I’m still running on adrenaline fumes, but I know when it’s my turn to go back to the hotel for the first time since knowing you’re going to live, I will completely fall apart.” She fights the emotion pooling in her eyes as she swallows hard, keeping her jaw locked while putting on her best smile.
“Mom—”
She quickly shakes her head and steps back, holding up a finger like she used to do when I got a warning for doing something wrong. “Not yet. You need to let me walk out of here without my eyes swollen shut. So we’re going to talk about your dad’s upcoming colonoscopy appointment or your uncle Jeff’s grumbling over watching the farm for us while we’re here. We can even talk about the election or the new manager of Quick Fuel, who likes to ruffle your dad’s feathers by flirting with me. Pick your non-coma topic.”
I open my mouth to speak but stop before my words come to life. My friends and family were preparing to say their final goodbyes. There’s nothing I can say other than that must have been awful.
“I’d like to know more about the new manager at Quick Fuel,” I say with a smile.
Dad rolls his eyes, and the tension melts from my mom’s shoulders. I’m going to let her leave here without swollen eyes. We don’t have to celebrate my recovery until everyone is done mourning the trauma. My scars will be superficial. Theirs are much deeper and may never fully fade.
My parents each share very different accounts of the flirtatious manager. Then I use Mom’s phone to notify everyone else that I’m awake while Dad gets dinner for us. I don’t eat much, but I’m sure that will change in the coming days.