On the walk to the hospital, Claire tries one more time to give Mia an out because she’s worried Mia might regret this offer her mother made. She is about to take some seriously crucial exams, way more important than Claire’s. And having Claire there means she will have someone else in her house, in her room even, taking up her space and time.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? I won’t be in the way of your study?” she asks.
“God, Claire, of course not.” Mia knocks her elbow against her arm. “You’re my friend. I want you to stay, so stop worrying, okay?”
“Okay then.” What else can she say?
With the matter decided, they settle into peaceful silence. As they turn onto the traffic-choked road, Claire looks over to the monolithic glass and steel structure of the hospital and thinks about the day ahead. She’ll have to go home at lunchtime and get some clothes. And Cam is having his first proper physio session in the afternoon. She wants to be there for that.
He will move to the new ward today, too, if he hasn’t already. It was so nice of Lorraine to call and tell her, even if it was the thing that set off that embarrassing little crying jag in Mia’s room. Claire doesn’t want to think about those tears again because it makes her cringe, mortified at the memory of losing it like that in front of someone. Even Mia.
But Lorraine was trying to deliver good news, and Claire feels as if she wants to thank her properly for going out of her way.
“Do you know if there is a nice florist around here?” she asks Mia. “The hospital one is kind of tacky.”
“Yup, I do.” Mia nods and checks her watch. “I’ll take you to the one Mum uses. It’s great.”
“You can tell me where it is.” Claire doesn’t want to take up any more of Mia’s time than she already has these last twenty-four hours.
“No, I’ll come. I love it.”
“Of course you do.” Claire grins. Such a geek.
When they enter the tiny shop, Claire can instantly see why Mia and her mother love it. It spills over with all kinds of flowers organised by shade, starting with jars of muted pastel blooms at her feet and ending in shelves over her head in explosions of the most vivid shades of crimson, orange, and yellow. And where there aren’t flowers, there are plants—leafy ferns hanging from hooks on the ceiling, a trailing vine framing the window. She has never seen a florist like this before.
She gasps. “Wow.” She tries to take in the profusion of colour.
“I know.” Mia waves at the small, white-haired woman behind the counter who is busily working at tying up a bouquet of purple blooms. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.” Claire turns in a slow circle, completely overwhelmed by the assault of scent and colour and choice. “I have no idea where to even start. Help.”
“Sure. For your brother, right?”
“What? No.” Claire pulls a face and shakes her head. “His only gift is my presence.”
Mia laughs. “Who are they for, then?”
“For one of the nurses.” Claire stares at the selection and tries to guess what Lorraine might like.
“The one with the hair?”
“Yeah, the one with the epic hair.”
Mia takes another step into the depths of the store and stares up at the top shelves. She digs her hands into her pockets. “I’m thinking something bright but traditional.” She nods to herself as she looks around.
Claire smirks at the seriousness of Mia’s assessment. “Uh, okay, nerd, but I have no idea what that means in flower.” She elbows her in the side. “But you sound like you have a pretty good fallback as a florist if you don’t get into medicine.”
She points at some bright yellow roses. “Maybe those?”
“Nah.” Claire shakes her head. “I hate roses.”
“Who hates roses?”
“Me.” Claire continues to search the shelves. She does hate them. It’s a Brendan thing.
Then she sees them, a cluster of rich orange lilies in a shade crazily similar to Lorraine’s hair. They are half open, nestled among wide leaves of a deep, lush green.
“Those,” she announces as she points at them.
Mia follows her finger and nods. “Definitely those.”
* * *
“I’m bored,” Cam whines. “Talk to me.”
Claire looks up from her book and rolls her eyes.
The nurse tending him chuckles. “First sign a patient is getting well.” He places a piece of spotless white gauze over the wound in Cam’s leg. “They start crying boredom.”
“I liked it better when he slept all the time,” Claire grumbles and puts her book on top of her bag. Actually, she doesn’t mind the distraction at all. She is currently so sick of the sight of her French culture textbook, she’ll take anything, even Cam’s complaints, over revising another chapter.
“But you’re my visitor.” Cam is petulant. He looks like he did when he was ten and realised he’d finished all his Easter eggs before Claire, again. “You’re supposed to entertain me.”
“No, I’m your sister. That means I’m duty bound to be here with you. Entertainment is what the TV is for. That’s why Mum and Dad paid for the premium deal, idiot.”
“Don’t worry, hon. He won’t be bored later.” The nurse winks at Claire as he lifts Cam’s leg and deftly winds the bandage around it. “You’ve got physio this afternoon,” he tells Cam. “That’s going to hurt.”
“Is that a threat?” Cam winces slightly as the nurse fastens the bandage.
“No, it’s a promise.” The nurse lays the sheet carefully back over Cam’s leg and grins at him. “Believe me, no one gets thrown from a car, then lies completely still for a couple of weeks in a hospital bed, and enjoys being made to move. You won’t be doing much, but you will suffer.”
“Well, I’d just like to thank you for single-handedly ruining my anticipation of the day ahead. I had one thing to look forward to. And now, nothing.” Cam shakes his head and puts on a woeful, betrayed air.
The nurse checks something off on Cam’s chart and heads for the door. “Happy to be of service.”
Claire gives Cam her best malevolent grin, but he ignores her. Instead, he picks up his remote control, turns up the volume a little, and flicks through the channels. She kind of understands why he’s complaining, though. Even with the good TV package, there’s still nothing to watch. Premium gives him a slew of dated movies, mediocre television on repeat, and sport, sport, and more sport.
“I can’t wait to get home to my Xbox,” he says, still flicking.
“Just please don’t make me watch golf again. I may stab myself in the eye. Or you.”
“You know, don’t you have anything better to do than hang out with me and complain about my choices in viewing pleasure?”
“Yes, Cam, in fact I do,” she grumbles as he settles on a basketball match. She automatically picks up her textbook. “But you know how it is, as the only representative currently in town, this Pearson must do her family duty and supervise your whole not-dying thing.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
His not dying is actually going incredibly well today. He’s upright for the first time, bolstered against some pillows. He looks relatively human, too. The grazes on his jaw and face have mostly healed, and his hair has been washed and brushed. From the neck up, she can’t really tell there’s anything wrong with him.
“Mum called this morning.” He stares at the screen. “Just checking in.”
Claire nods, not even looking up from her page.
“You know, she got all weird when I told her I can’t really remember her being here.”
That makes Claire look up. “You can’t remember?”
He shakes his head and flips over to a hockey match and then straight back to the basketball. “I mean, I know she was here, and I remember knowing that and remember the nurses talking about her. But I just can’t really remember her. Then, I don’t remember much, really.”
“What do you remember?” She’s curious now.
“Just little things, like the doctors talking about me. I remember feeling really weirdly heavy, like I weighed more than usual. I remember pain. I remember not being able to speak. And I remember you telling me about the accident. And I remember how pale you were.” He turns and glances at her quickly and then looks back at the screen.
“I’m always pale.”
He smiles, but it fades to a frown. “But I just don’t remember Mum.”
“She would not like that.”
“No, she would not.” Cam shakes his head and grabs a pen. He shoves it down the top of his cast, scratches at his upper arm, and frowns. “When I told her, she did that thing, you know, where she’s kind of angry but trying to pretend she’s not because she knows it’s not cool to get angry about it?”
Claire nods. She knows that one exactly. “Guilt,” is all she says.
“Yeah, I guess.” He continues to slowly work the pen in and out of his cast.
Claire watches him as he stares at the screen and scowls when a player misses an easy shot. She crosses her legs and taps her pen on her mouth. She knows her mother feels bad about leaving them here. She wouldn’t call so much if she didn’t. She wouldn’t harass the doctors all the time. She wouldn’t organise for their aunt to bring Cam his favourite foods so he doesn’t have to eat the shitty hospital food. Of course, she hates that Cam can’t remember her being here when, for a while, she was so intensely, irrepressibly here. She almost feels sorry for her. Almost.
“Thanks for hanging out,” Cam suddenly says. “I know you’ve got a lot going on, with exams and everything, and—”
“Cam?”
“What?”
“Shut up.”
She tells him to shut up because that’s the only way she knows to tell him that of course she’s here with him. Of course there’s nothing more important for her right now than sitting in this room.
