Live to Tell Read online

  Copyright © 2012 Lisa Harrington

  First ePub edition © 2012 Dancing Cat Books,

  an imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.

  No part of this publication may be printed, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation, an agency of the Ontario Ministry of Culture, and the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit Program.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Harrington, Lisa

  Live to Tell/Lisa Harrington.

  ISBN 978-1-77086-218-0 (EPUB) | ISBN 978-1-77086-219-7 (MOBI)

  I. Title.

  PS8615.A7473L58 2012 jC813'.6 C2012-903483-5

  Cover design and image by: Angel Guerra/Archetype

  based on a text design by Tannice Goddard, Soul Oasis Networking

  Dancing Cat Books

  An imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.

  390 STEELCASE ROAD EAST, MARKHAM, ONTARIO, CANADA L3R 1G2

  www.dancingcatbooks.com • www.cormorantbooks.com

  Chapter 1

  Syrup. That’s what it felt like, on my eyes, gooped through my lashes. I tried to force my eyelids open, but it was as if I had no strength. I gave up and, instead, listened. Strange noises. Clinking metal, weird humming and beeping, running water, footsteps squeaking.

  My heart beat faster. It was the smell — I knew that smell. This time I tried harder to open my eyes, determined to break through the sticky film. I could see my top and bottom lashes stubbornly clinging to each other as my lids finally separated. The first thing I saw was the whiteness of the ceiling. I kept staring straight up, waiting for the fogginess to clear. I didn’t want to look anywhere else. I didn’t want to be right.

  There was a stain on the ceiling. I focused on that, breathing slowly in and out. If only it had one more splorch on the side, it would look like Snoopy. The racing of my heart slowed a bit and I worked up enough courage to turn my head sideways.

  Excruciating pain shot through my body. As a reflex, I raised my hand to touch my head. More pain.

  There was a gasp and a shuffling noise, a hand slipping into mine. I didn’t have to look to know who it was.

  “Libby? Can you hear me? It’s me, Mom. I’m right here.”

  The hand squeezed tighter. I tried to squeeze back, but I wasn’t sure if it worked.

  Slowly, I rolled my head further towards Mom. I wanted to say her name but the same thick goo that had been all over my eyes now seemed to be on my lips, inside my mouth.

  “It’s okay, don’t try to talk,” she soothed. “Are you in pain? Do you want me to get someone?”

  I listened to her words, but they seemed upside down and backwards. The only thing I understood was the look on her face — scared and worried.

  My eyes returned to the white of the ceiling. Something really bad had happened. It was everywhere, pushing in, suffocating me.

  Doing my best to cling to her hand, I closed my eyes and slept.

  The next time I pried my eyes open, things weren’t so blurry. I blinked a few times before the lopsided Snoopy appeared and made me realize I hadn’t been dreaming.

  A feeling of dread washed over me. My insides turned to liquid, and I prayed I’d just be absorbed into the mattress and disappear forever.

  Again, I slept.

  As I drifted in and out of sleep, I was vaguely aware of the presence of others in the room — a light touch of hands, something in my ear. I didn’t try to wake up. It was too scary out there.

  THE SOUND OF SOFT snoring floated into my ears. It was familiar, comforting, and my eyes flickered open. My dad was dozing in a chair beside the bed. Not wanting to wake him, I lay still while trying to look around the room. I could barely move, cocooned so tightly in the sheets I felt like an egg roll.

  Flower arrangements lined the windowsill, some half-dead and wilted. A metallic balloon drooped sadly towards the floor. There was a sliver of daylight leaking through a crack where the curtains didn’t quite meet. White walls, giant salmon pink drapes surrounded me on two sides like a tent. A needle was taped and jammed into a gross-looking blue vein on one of my hands, a clothespin-type thing clipped to my finger on the other. Ignoring the pain in my head, I rolled my eyes upward to look behind me. I could see a tube running from a hanging bag. I knew the other end of the tube was attached to the needle.

  I tried to loosen the bedding. Even the slightest movement caused pain, then fear. What was wrong with me? Why was I here? I swallowed hard and attempted to wiggle my toes. One set seemed okay. The other I couldn’t move, couldn’t feel at all.

  The fear grew.

  I clenched and unclenched my hands. They were stiff, tender, and there was an ache vibrating through my arms, but at least everything felt all there.

  Holding my breath, I slid my hand under the sheet and gently began to pat my chest and stomach. My eyes widened in horror. There were bandages, lots of them. My horror was quickly replaced with tears.

  “Dad.” No sound came out. “Dad?” I finally choked.

  He jerked awake and the magazine on his lap fell to the floor. “Libby,” he whispered. “At last. Thank God.”

  “Dad?” I hoped my eyes would ask all the questions I couldn’t.

  “Oh Libby.” He grasped my hand and, careful of the IV needle, he pressed it against his chest.

  I stared back at him.

  He must have felt how afraid I was. “They say you’re going to be fine, just fine.”

  Licking my dry lips, I mouthed, “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Your mother.” Anxiety clouded his face and he nervously checked over his shoulder. “She went to get coffee, she should be here, she should be the one …”

  At that moment the drape moved slightly and my mom slipped around the edge. “No raisin bran, had to get you blueber—” She stopped in her tracks when she saw Dad holding my hand and my eyes open. “Libby!” Dumping the food onto the dresser, she hurried to the bed, relief shining in her eyes. “You’re awake, really awake.”

  Dad let go of my hand and placed it on my stomach. He stepped back and reclaimed his chair as if he knew Mom was now in charge.

  My hand had barely touched the sheet before she scooped it up in her own. “It seems like we’ve been waiting forever for you to come around. You’ve been in and out for so long. I’ve never been so happy to see those beautiful green eyes …” She tenderly brushed my bangs off my forehead.

  I tried swallowing again, hoping to croak out some words. She dipped something in a cup, a sponge on a stick, and dabbed it around the inside of my mouth — water.

  I could hear the words she was saying, but I couldn’t understand a lot of them.

  My head felt light, my eyelids heavy, but I was determined not to fall asleep. “What happened?” My voice sounded like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.

  Mom touched my cheek. “Honey, there’s lots of time to talk about that later, when you’re feeling better.”

  “Mom.”

  “Libby …” She looked down and began to massage my fingers one at a time, as if she was trying to restore circulation.

  Dad shifted restlessly in his chair. He stood and placed a hand on Mom’s shoulder.

  She took a deep breath
. “You were in an accident, honey. But you’re going to be fine, just fine.”

  Accident. The word zoomed towards me. “What?” I whispered. “Don’t worry about anything right now. You rest. Trust me,” Mom said.

  I searched her face, her eyes. She had never lied to me, not ever. As sleep finally took over and everything around me melted away, I consoled myself with that single thought.

  Chapter 2

  The sound of a curtain being dragged along a track made its way into my sleep. I tried to ignore it but I could feel light on my face, and reluctantly forced my eyes open. Nothing looked or felt familiar. Panic rose in my throat, then I saw the stain on the ceiling … I remembered. I was in the hospital.

  “Good dream or bad?” someone asked.

  I meant to say “Huh?” but my teeth were still covered in a thick layer of paste, and my lips stuck to them when I tried to form the word. My eyes darted around the room until I found the source of the voice. It was a nurse.

  “You were mumbling and twitching in your sleep,” she said, sliding her hands into latex gloves.

  Desperate to wet my mouth, I tried licking my lips, but all I could feel were curling flakes of dry skin.

  She came closer and, efficiently but gently, lifted my body forward, then flipped and re-fluffed my pillow. She was humming. I think it was Adele.

  “I’m Trina,” she smiled.

  “Oh,” I mouthed.

  “So … good dream or bad?” Trina asked again as she popped a wet swab in my mouth and ran it along my gums and teeth.

  Almost crying with relief, I closed my eyes and savoured the feeling, gasping for more. “I don’t remember,” I finally managed to say.

  “Here. Let me put something on those.” She squeezed some Vaseline onto a Q-tip and spread it over my cracked lips.

  I smooshed them together, to work the cream into the broken skin. “H-how long?” I asked.

  “How long have you been here, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “About twelve days.”

  It took a second for her words to sink in. Twelve days?

  Trina moved around the space, checking tubes, my bandages, taking my temperature, writing things down, applying more cream to parts of my face. She didn’t look much older than me, and she was pretty, red hair and freckles. She kind of reminded me of my best friend, Kasey. I watched her and wondered if she liked being a nurse, if it was ever any fun. She seemed super cheerful about everything and I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about that.

  She looked up from writing something down. “Are you in any pain?”

  I shook my head.

  “The doctor will check in on you soon. Now that you’re awake, you might get your IV out. Won’t that be nice? Some real food,” she said as she hung my chart off the foot of the bed.

  “Could you maybe tell me …” I lifted a hand and pointed to my stomach.

  “The doctor will explain all that to you. He’ll be able to answer any questions.”

  I sighed with frustration.

  “Your parents should be here shortly,” she said, attempting to perk me up. “Last night was the first time they went home together. Up ’til now, they took turns spending the night.”

  My parents. Mom. A memory swirled around in my head … accident. I think she said I was in an accident. What kind of accident? I couldn’t wait for them to get here. Today was going to be different. Today I was going to get some answers. I was going to stay awake no matter what.

  “… not allowed to see you yet.”

  Trina had continued talking, but I only caught the last bit. “Sorry?”

  “You had some friends drop by. We had to tell them you’re not up for visitors.”

  “Oh.”

  “A very pretty girl — kind of bossy though.”

  “Kasey.” I couldn’t help but smile, even though it hurt my face.

  “Oh, and a couple of boys. Both nice looking. I’m guessing one’s your boyfriend. His injuries were mostly superficial. He comes everyday. I’m surprised he’s not here yet.”

  My heart fluttered. “Nate …” I whispered.

  She winked. “He’s a real hunk. That blond hair, blue eyes.”

  Nate had brown hair, brown eyes. Who was she talking about?

  I was just about to ask when Mom rushed in. “Oh Libby, I meant to be here way earlier. There was a fender-bender on the Fairview overpass. I swear, ever since they supposedly fixed it, it’s been nothing but a deathtrap. Why go to all that trouble of building a new lane, only to make it ten feet long?” She looked up from rooting around in her purse. “But enough about that. How are you feeling? How was your night? Does anything hurt?” She finally noticed I wasn’t alone. “Good morning, Trina. Has the doctor been here? Did I miss him?”

  Trina smiled at Mom. “Doctor should be here any time now.” Then she turned to me. “I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow, Libby,” and she left.

  I nodded in Trina’s direction but my eyes were glued to Mom. What was wrong with her? It was like watching the Energizer Bunny hopped up on fifty cups of coffee.

  “Mom. Sit down,” I said in a scratchy voice. “I wanna …”

  “Your father had to, absolutely had to take a conference call. It’s the first time he’s been into the office. But he promised he wouldn’t be long.” She looked frazzled as she peeked around the edge of the curtain. “He’ll be so mad at himself if he misses the doctor …”

  “Mom. Please, just sit.”

  She bit her bottom lip and sat down in the chair beside my bed, for about a split second. Then she leapt to her feet. “Look!” she pointed towards the floor. “Dr. Murray’s here.”

  I followed her finger. Maroon Converse high-cuts were visible under the curtain and I watched them walk around the space next to mine. I could hear a gentle voice talking to the patient on the other side. There were other pairs of footwear, other voices, and it only took a few minutes for them to make their way to me, to my side of the curtain.

  “Good morning, Libby,” the man in the high-cuts said. “I’m Dr. Murray. This is my team.” He flipped open my chart. “We’ve been in to see you before, but this is the first time you’ve been awake.”

  I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to.

  A resident asked the doctor a question, but I didn’t really understand what they were talking about.

  I thought this was what I wanted, to know what was wrong with me. Now I wanted them all to leave.

  Dr. Murray closed my chart. “So Libby, how are you feeling today?”

  “Okay … I guess.”

  “You probably want to know about your injuries.”

  I slowly nodded.

  “You’ve had surgery to repair some damage to your spleen and to stop the bleeding. You suffered a concussion and there are some stitches,” he leaned over to look at my forehead, “along your hairline, but your hair will probably cover the scar. You’ve also fractured your tibia, so you’ll be in this cast for a number of weeks. We’ll get you fitted with some crutches so you can start moving around. Any questions?”

  Placing a hand on my stomach, I whispered, “Are there stitches all over?”

  “They’re staples, and they’ll come out in about a week or so. Actually, I’m going to have at look at your incision now, okay? Try to relax.”

  I turned my head away from him and stared out the window, praying for it to be over.

  He peeled back the bedding and part of my johnny shirt. “Looks good … Does this hurt?” he asked as he felt around the area.

  Not able to stop myself, I winced.

  He covered me back up. “The site will be tender for a while,” he told me, then turned to the residents and elaborated using lots of medical mumbo-jumbo.

  They shuffled as a group to the foot of my bed, lifted the sheets, and inspected my cast. They seemed satisfied.

  “We’re going to start you on some clear fluids,” Dr. Murray announced. “See how that goes, then we’ll take the I
V out.”

  “When can I go home?”

  “Hopefully within a week, but let’s take one day at a time.” And then they left.

  “I just have a couple questions for the doctor.” Mom left too.

  Something awful, something unsettling hovered over me like a giant umbrella. It was totally independent of anything else that was wrong with me.

  Mom returned and sat back down beside me.

  “I still can’t remember anything,” I said. “Like about how I got here. I forgot to ask him why.”

  “The doctor mentioned you might have some holes in your memory.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “Especially after a head injury like yours. But you can ask him next time.”

  It was way more than holes. “Mom. Tell me what happened. Tell me about the accident.”

  “Well … you tell me what you remember, and I’ll see what I can fill in.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate, hoping some pictures would appear in my head. “I don’t remember … anything.”

  Mom sat up a little straighter. “You don’t remember anything? The party?”

  “Party?” I echoed.

  “Cal?”

  “Who?”

  Her eyebrows scrunched together in a worried frown. She quickly tried to erase it, but too late, I’d already seen. I grabbed her arm and squeezed, hoping some of the stuff she knew would transfer to me. “Tell me.”

  She hesitated, like she was unsure about what words to use. “You and Kasey … you went to a Halloween party at Tori’s.

  In my head a tiny flash, Kasey’s voice. “Her parents are going out of town. We have to go. Everyone will be there. It’s a ‘can’t miss.’”

  “There was a lot of drinking,” Mom said.

  “Was I drinking?”

  “Yes.” She waited for me to say something. When I didn’t, she continued, “You met Cal there.”

  Another tiny flash, again Kasey’s voice. “He’s gorgeous. Just look at the way he’s leaning against the counter …”