Chasing the Sun

Two days had passed since Tyler had been kicked out of Abbey’s hospital room, bringing the days since her accident to fifteen. In the last fifteen days the only two-sided conversation Tyler had spoken with Abbey was the two second one once she had been brought out of her coma; the broken up, confused, loss of memory conversation that nearly had Tyler gripping for a large bottle of Jack Daniels to take a little bit of the stinging away.

That Monday he was surprised with a visit.

“Hi, um, Tyler is it?” A quiet voice poked out the hallway. Since being taken off life support Abbey had been moved from the ICU to a regular neurological observation floor. Tyler looked up from the book he was reading on the Family Room couch, and nodded, slightly worried. She pointed towards the spot on the couch next to him and he shrugged. He wasn’t going to be the first one to initiate a conversation. No, she had to be the one. He wasn’t going to get himself into even more trouble.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted a couple of days ago,” her voice was low, and quiet and didn’t have the same ring that she had before. She sounded sad, maybe even depressed. “I’m confused… About a lot of things, and I didn’t know how to express it.” He blinked, not knowing what exactly to say. What was there to say?

“Okay.”

“I’m trying though—to get my memory back. Dr. Davidson said such good things about you, very high praising. Said you were here with me almost every hour of everyday since I was admitted. You’re lucky your job was so flexible.”

“I’m a hockey player. They understood. Family first.” He explained, trying not to go off on a tangent, and to keep to the short, sweet, and simple of it all.

“By the way, where is my family? My mom, dad, do I have any siblings? Do you know if I have any siblings?” Rapid-fire questions were being shot at him, and as he tried to wrap his brain around all of them her face fell. “It’s okay. I understand I was kind of rude the other day… if you don’t want to talk. I just figured because Dr. Davidson said you were my boyfriend--”

“Fiancée.” He corrected, she blinked back at him and nodded.

“Yeah, that. Well I figured maybe you could help answer some of my questions, and maybe fill the stupid void I’m having from my memories.” For the first time in two days Tyler smiled, genuinely smiled because he actually had something to smile about.

“For starters, you don’t have a very good relationship with your mom,” Abbey looked as if she were about to ask why but Tyler kept continuing. “Your relationship with her sort of fizzled off around your freshman year of high school, today isn’t the day for that story. Your dad, Patrick, he was around when you were still in your coma… He lives up in Sault St. Marie, where we’re from, but wasn’t able to stay due to working and having to take care of your siblings, which, yes, you have. Two sisters, and a brother; all younger, you’re the oldest of four. A damn good big sister if I do say so myself.” She grinned, happy that she had some sort of family. “The next oldest is Megan, she’s two years younger than you and has a husband, Craig, and a daughter, Emmy. You’re also a very good aunt. Next is your brother, Justin, he’s eighteen, and while you think he’s a pain in the ass, he’s really a good kid. He looks up to you because you were kind of a mother figure for him. Last, but certainly not least, is your baby sister, Sam. Samantha, as I remember you telling me, was ‘that pain in the ass kid who always stole your shit growing up,’” She giggled, god he loved that noise. “True story. I’m not lying here.”

“I believe you.” His heart almost stopped for that one.

“Well, anyways, she’s sixteen now, and is aspiring to be an Interior Designer… Just like you. She probably looks up to you the most, if I had to decide. And then you have the dogs, Gio and Rocky, they’re miniature English bulldogs, and when we moved into the house last year you had to have them. Of course I, another part of your family also, gave into your ‘pleases’ and ‘I’ve always dreamed of having one of these’, and I end up cleaning up after them for the most part… Because you don’t like picking up dog poop.”

“So my job is an Interior Designer?” she asked, hopeful for his answer. He nodded.

“You were working on a fantastic project. A solo design for the Pittsburgh Steelers, the local football teams, locker room--”

“—Before my accident?” she asked, patching up the loose ends of what he really didn’t want to say, nodding she looked down.

For a while they were both silent. Tyler didn’t want to bring up the accident incase of some kind of PTSD attack that there could have been, and Abbey just sat confused as she tried to take in, and absorb everything that needed to be processed in such a short period of time. In the past forty-eight hours she realized she had gone from a person, with a family and a life and a boyfriend, to somebody who didn’t even know who she was anymore. She didn’t know exactly how to feel about that one.

“Can you tell me about the accident?” She asked, laying her hand on his muscular bicep. Tyler almost pitched a tent at the sudden contact of skin, but shook his head.

“Not today. Maybe tomorrow if you let me come back? You probably should get some rest, you’re still probably a little groggy from the medication.”

Truth be told, Tyler didn’t want to speak of the accident ever again. The having to recall those terrible moments after he found out she had been injured, and seeing her so banged up, bruised, and without spirit had taken a toll on him, and he wasn’t quite sure if he would be able to make it through the entire story without breaking down. Sure it was a positive outcome with her getting better, but the loss of memory still had Tyler questioning a lot of things.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied, looking obviously disappointed.

One thing he noticed right then and there was that she showed her disappointment. The old Abbey McNealy would have stuck all of her feelings of disappointment into a bottle to use as ammo for the fight that she had with the next unsuspecting bloke—usually himself. He didn’t like that she was changing. He had fallen in love with the old Abbey, and he wanted the old Abbey back.

“I guess your right.” She mumbled, standing up and balancing herself. Tyler stood up and held onto her arm incase she took a tumble, and in the other hand pushed along her IV pole. When they got to her room, she kissed him softly on the cheek. It was surprising to him, but it was a reminder that something must have been still there.

“I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me,” he offered, hoping that maybe she’d invite him in and he could watch her take a nap, or play cards or something to the extent of being in the same room as her. She shook her head and laughed.

“You’ve been in this hospital for fifteen days, go do something for yourself. I can be okay by myself for a couple of hours. If you come by tomorrow morning maybe we can have breakfast in the cafeteria, or something…” It was obviously an open-ended offer. Only if he agreed, would she go, he believed.

“That sounds good. I’d like that.”

“Good. Now go to your hockey practice or something… That pretty brunette lady with the French accent—Veronica? I think that was her name, said you hadn’t been around hockey lately. Maybe that will make you feel better.” Tyler chuckled at the butchering of Marc-Andre Fleury’s longtime girlfriend’s name, something he was sure she wouldn’t mind. That much.

“Veronique?” he asked also surprised. He hadn’t heard that she’d been by lately.

“Yeah, she stopped by earlier yesterday. We talked for about five milliseconds, her boyfriend is nice, go play hockey. Get out of this boring place while you can.” She laughed, obviously joking even though the place really was snooze city.

“Okay. I’ll bring some cards, or a game tomorrow and we can play after breakfast… How’s that sound?” she grinned again, the radiant smile once again back.

“Perfect.” She agreed, steadying herself once again and making her way from out of the hallway and back into her hospital room.

Things might have been staring to look up. At least on the conversational side of things.