Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101622 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“You’ve been freed, Mr. Landers.” The door is barely open before Nurse Edi announces like she’s won the lottery. Maybe she has if I’m being released. She looks at the woman standing at the end of my bed. “I’m glad you’re here, Mrs. Landers. You’ll be able to sign the paperwork and then he’s all yours again.” I catch the scowl before she plasters a smile back on her face for Del—oh shit. I’m married.
I glance at my hand again, rubbing the tip of my thumb under the finger that should have some form of representation of such a union. There is none. Did I lose more than a day? Did I lose the memory of my wife, of getting married, the honeymoon, and our life together? I eye this Delaney lady. I would have thought sex with her would be more memorable.
My skin itches under this chalky cast smothering my arm. What else can’t I remember?
Nurse Edi leads her out of the room, leaving me lying here staring out the window at the surrounding buildings. Their shadow finally reaches my window, slowly shoving me into darkness, which matches the holes in my mind.
Reaching over, I flick on a small bedside lamp. I scan the nightstand for a phone, my wallet, anything that gives me access to the outside world. I’m not sure if I should escape while Delaney’s gone or invite her to my place when she returns. Our place?
What the fuck is happening?
None of this sits well with me. Something is definitely off.
The moment the door opens, I ask, “Do you have my phone?”
Delaney enters, shaking her head. “No. The hospital said it wasn’t on you when you arrived.” She comes bedside and hands me my wallet and watch. My dad’s watch. The face is cracked, one of the lugs sports a deep indent, and the bezel is scratched on the top. The second hand is miraculously ticking as if time never stopped for me. I’ll take it as a good sign since I’m somehow here after being hit by a car.
“Thanks.” I start putting the watch on my left wrist. Reaching down, she helps secure the clasp. Handy since I can’t use my right for shit now that my arm is broken and fingers a bit stiff.
“You’re free to go home, but they want to wheel you out the door.” Walking to the closet, she pulls the clothes out. “Do you need help getting dressed?”
“No.”
“I have brothers, if you’re worried.” I stare at her, curious how that matters in this predicament, especially if she’s my supposed wife.
What the fuck is happening? If I find out Jimmy set up this elaborate prank, he’s a dead man. “Did Jimmy put you up to this? Did he set up this whole thing?”
“A car accident? No, he didn’t set this up.” Placing my clothes on the bed, she says, “I can leave the room. I don’t have a car, but I can call a cab or a rideshare if you prefer and have it waiting outside.”
I stare at her. “Is this for real?”
“Is what for real?”
“You. Me. This whole thing?”
Her shoulders fall as if I’ve hurt her feelings. When I see her expression sink, I’m quick to add, “It’s a lot to take in.”
I’m given a defeated nod before she says, “I understand. It has been a lot.” She walks out, and as soon as the door closes, I’m not sure if she’s just getting a car or leaving altogether. I’m also unsure what I want to happen next, other than showering and sleeping in my own bed.
I get up and slowly step onto the cold linoleum. With my working arm, I start to lay out my shirt to help me put it on, but then I realize it’s never going to fit over this cast. It’s ripped and covered in blood anyway, so it’s not worth the effort. I toss it in the trash bin and manage to get my pants on, though my belt is not cooperating. I let the hospital gown fall over my waist. I’m too tired to give a shit about how I look.
I slip on my shoes, skipping the hassle of putting on socks and then walk out of the room. I wasn’t expecting a ticker-tape parade, but a greeting or goodbye would have been nice. Heading toward the door, I’m greeted by Nurse Edi and a wheelchair. “Get in, Mr. Bossy Pants.”
“Is that why you’re mad at me? Was I bossy?”
“We’ve never had bossier.” She starts pushing me down the corridor. “You were ordering stocks like they were items on a menu, and you told one of our newer nurses that you could do a better job than she could.”
My lips part, the apology owed to most of the staff, from what it sounds like, on the tip of my tongue. “Can we blame it on the anesthesia?”