Pieces in Chance (3 page)

The doctor – Dr. Adams, going by the name tag on his coat – began to speak and Drew tried to focus on his lips, trying to follow his words, but it was hard. Eventually she gave up and lifted a finger, clearly asking him to hold on a moment as she glanced at Dean. Her eyes pleaded with him to help her – she desperately wanted to know what was going on in the conversation, but if he didn’t slow down, there was no way she’d ever be able to read his lips. Her brother nodded sadly before turning to the doctor, quickly explaining that she couldn’t hear what he was saying before he stood and moved into her line of sight. Once he was in place, to where she could see both the doctor and her brother, the doctor started over.

“You sustained a multitude of injuries, Drew. You’ve got a minor concussion along with two ruptured ear drums,”
Dean signed for him, cringing as he heard the words being said and translated them for her. The doctor continued,
“You also have a fractured cheekbone, your eye socket is completely shattered, and we found three broken ribs.

“We think you had a seizure from the smoke inhalation – you’re very lucky to even be alive. If it weren’t for Officer Carrigan here, you probably would have died in that house.”

Drew glanced at the officer, cradling his bandaged hand, and a pang of guilt coursed through her. She didn’t feel lucky to be alive, and knowing that someone risked his life to save hers, smarted. Officer Tommy Carrigan was a good man – he’d lived in Chance his whole life, been a childhood friend and one-time boyfriend of her mom’s, who now had a wife and baby girl at home waiting for him. She hated the idea of him taking a chance with his life, taking the chance of losing his life, leaving his family to go on without him, for a life she hadn’t wanted. Summoning inner strength, she let her gaze meet his, the pain in his expression causing her to avert her gaze, tears filling her eyes once more.

After a long moment, she raised her head once more and the doctor nodded to Dean, ready to continue with his evaluation of her injuries.

“You have third-degree burns on your feet, ankles, and legs, as well as your hands, wrists, and arms. The IV in your arm is currently providing you with the strongest pain medication we can give you at this point, but know that you’re going to be in pain once we have to start cutting back. There’s not much we can do at this point for the facial fractures, though we have a plastic surgeon on his way in to take a look. As for your burns? Our burn management team will be in to check on them for the possibility of needing a skin graft or not – but they’re not life threatening. So far, we don’t believe the nerve damage will be too bad, but it will take time to relearn simple functions.

“You will probably have difficulties with basic things – walking, writing, even tying your shoes is going to be rough for some time, though we have plenty of time to deal with that, okay?”

Drew nodded, understanding what he was saying. She was a hot mess, and despite her limited knowledge of medical issues, she knew she would probably end up staying in the hospital for longer than she’d like.

“I’m not trying to overwhelm you – as I told your brother earlier, I believe you deserve to know the extent of the damage and every outcome possible. It is my understanding that you’d been slowly losing your hearing the past year or so due to … losing your hearing.”

She could tell by the look on his face he was trying to maintain his composure, obviously not wanting to say the words ‘abuse’ or ‘beatings,’ though they weren’t news to her … or probably to him either. A look of pity flashed across his face, faster than he could cover it, and she hated it. Drew didn’t want his sympathy – every person in the god-forsaken town had known what her father was doing, but no one had stopped him before things had gotten completely out of control. They had no right to feel bad now, after the fact.

“Yes,” she spoke aloud, idly wondering if the word had come out correctly. Glancing at Dean, he inclined his head, confirming her unspoken question and she tried to smile, grateful he could still read her mind.

“Unfortunately, the damage to your ear drums is irreversible. For that, I’m sorry – perhaps in the future you may be a candidate for cochlear implants, but that will be down the road somewhat,”
he paused, and so did Dean’s hands, as the doctor seemed to search for the right thing to say.
“Anyway, you’ll be staying with us for a while – don’t worry about the cost and insurance – the city of Chance is going to take care of you. I’ll be back to check on you, Drew; the police would like a few words.”

With that, Dr. Adams walked out of the room, never pausing to look back at her. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but scoff. The city of Chance wanted to take care of her now? After all this time? They could keep their money and their help. Despite her father’s hatred for her, as far as she knew he hadn’t touched the money her mom left her and Dean – and while she wasn’t wealthy in any terms, her mother had planned smartly and gotten a decent life insurance. Surely it would be enough to handle whatever the hospital bills would be, regardless of how long she was going to be staying.

It was Officer Carrigan who spoke, drawing his words out slowly so she could follow what he was saying, not having to rely so heavily on her brother’s moving hands. She appreciated them both, him for taking her new situation into account and Dean for still continuing to translate, making it easier to catch everything.
Dean’s arms are probably getting tired,
she thought, momentarily distracted, watching his face for any sign of annoyance and finding none.
That’s my brother, always thinking about me before himself.

Holding up a hand, she stopped the policeman’s words before she’d caught any of them and turned her gaze back to Dean. His arms fell to his sides as he cocked his head, confusion plain on his face. She hesitated a moment, trying to decide the best way to give him a break – now that he’d gotten to drop his arms, his shoulders had slumped, exhaustion getting the best of him. But, her twin was nothing if not proud and selfless; he’d keep going as long as she needed him. Drew knew it and loved and hated that about him. She would probably always need him, he was all she knew of kindness and love since her mom had died, but she wanted him to think more about himself. If she told him to go get some rest, he’d merely shake her off – she’d do the same if it was something he’d said to her. Instead, she decided to be stealthy about it.

“I’m thirsty,”
she signed, glancing around for the ugly pink pitchers hospitals always kept in the rooms. Finding it, she gingerly stretched, wincing as pain lanced through her as she grabbed it off the rolling tray beside her. Luckily for her, it was empty, so her plan wouldn’t be ruined.
“Would you get me some more water? And … maybe something to eat? I’m starving. Geez, how long was I out for? Three weeks? I could really go for some enchiladas.”

A smile pulled the corners of Dean’s lips, the effect she’d hoped her words would have on him. He knew how much she loved Mexican food. Plus she wasn’t lying, she really was hungry.

“I seriously doubt they’re going to let you eat chicken enchiladas, Drew.”

“Why not? I’m freaking hungry. I’m in the hospital, not the state penitentiary,”
she harrumphed, wincing at her own words. No one had said what happened to her father. The doctor had alluded to his death, and if that was true, she should be in lockup. The fire was planned, maybe not in advance but in the moment, and it was her fault.

Dean ignored the unintended pun.
“Well, that’s true, but you
are
in the hospital. You just woke up after three days of being unconscious. They’ll probably make you swallow down Jell-O or pudding, if you’re lucky.”

“Betcha you could sneak a donut or two then. Then again … maybe you can’t.”

Seeing the determined pinch in his forehead made Drew want to dance. She knew she had him now – he could never back down from a challenge, especially when it came to her. His gaze darted from her to the officers and then back again.

“What about translating?”

“Officer Carrigan seems to realize that I’ve become … soundly impaired – he’s talking slow enough I can read his lips,”
she responded wryly, making light of the situation if for no other reason than to take some of the strain off her brother’s expression.

Nodding, he walked toward her, grasping her hand and giving it a squeeze before leaning down and kissing the crown of her hair. She watched as he moved away, stopping in front of the policemen, his back to her. The two men took turns shaking his hand, an exchange of words she’d clearly missed having been shared, and Dean hesitated at the doorway. After a moment, he held a single hand up.

“I love you, too,” she answered aloud, her strength slipping from her and the effort to raise her hand to mirror the image seeming hard.

The roomed seemed much smaller with her twin absent from the room and Drew took a deep breath, mustering what strength she could. She knew the conversation with the officers wasn’t going to be fun. It was one of the main reasons she’d wanted Dean to leave – he didn’t need to hear what was going to be said by them, her answers, or see any of the outcomes. There was a big possibility that they were going to slap her with some handcuffs; Drew knew her brother well enough – if that happened, he wouldn’t go down without a fight. She didn’t want him getting in trouble for decking the nice men of the law who were only there to do their job. If incarceration was her punishment, she’d take it.

Doing her best to sit up straighter, Drew looked at the men expectantly. They looked a little lost, unsure, and she could have laughed if she wasn’t starting to hurt. Trying to be encouraging, she gave them a little smile and gestured with her hand.

“I can read your lips if you talk slow,” she told them. It was going to take her some getting used to, speaking without any comprehension of how loud she was or if her words were what she intended. She was going by instinct alone and, going by the nod the second officer gave her, she’d spoken correctly.

“Dean told us that,” the officer told her, taking a step toward her bed. “I’m Officer Marks, we haven’t met. I’m new in town.”

Drew had already figured out that much. Chance wasn’t a big place and it was a rarity to not know, either by name or face, someone there. She took a moment to take him in. He looked to be average height for a man, despite the fact that she was lying in a hospital bed – maybe five-nine or so. He looked younger than Officer Carrigan though, somewhere in his twenties, if that. Brown hair cut in a military-style high and tight, along with piercing hazel eyes and strong cheekbones that almost made him look mean. But there was something about him that had the opposite effect on her; if she didn’t know herself better, she’d almost think she found him attractive.

Shaking her head slowly, she stared at Officer Marks, intrigued by the way his lips moved as he clearly concentrated on getting each word to her. A part of her was surprised they hadn’t resorted to using the handy pen and pad of paper they held in their hands to communicate; instead they allowed her to ‘hear’ the best way she could without making her feel lesser.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Drew, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” She answered with a nod, wishing she’d met him in a different time and place as well. Perhaps they could have talked over coffee, both listening and
hearing.

Stop it, Drew. Dreams and thoughts like that will only depress you. So you can’t hear anymore, get over it. You’re not dead … though not from the lack of trying,
she scolded herself, turning her attention to the cop once more.

“As you know, there was a fire at your house,” he began again and she quirked an eyebrow. Of course she knew that, she’d set the damn thing. “Do you know what started it?”

For a moment she debated the idea of lying, but she didn’t want to. The truth was that finding a way out, even if by death, had seemed like a better option than what was behind door number two. 

“Yes,” she told them honestly. Neither officer said anything as they stared at her, waiting for her to continue. “A lighter.”

Mirth played on the policemen’s faces, lightening the mood in the room slightly. That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected, but she appreciated it nonetheless. It was better than stern gazes and anger, along with accusatory glances and harsh condemning words. Why
weren’t
they looking at her like a criminal? She was and she knew it … She even expected the treatment that would come along with that label.

“A lighter, Drew,” Officer Carrigan mouthed slowly, though she was unsure if his words came out as a question or a statement. She decided to go with the former, and inclined her head. “Why a lighter?”

“It makes fire,” she said simply, shrugging. Drew fidgeted, uncomfortable speaking aloud. She’d never admit that she was focusing hard on certain letters, remembering the feel of them and their sounds before making them. The more she was doing it, the more she was realizing she could. It wasn’t easy, and it took a lot of effort, but at least she was getting the hang of it. Realistically she knew very few people in Chance, let alone the US, knew ASL, so she needed to get used to communicating the best she could.

The shocked look on Carrigan’s face was almost comical. He probably hadn’t expected her to tell the truth so openly, so honestly. Most people when faced with an interrogation from the police, especially when guilty, probably tried to act innocent, and spin a fancy tale of lies. Since she’d already accepted what had happened, and answered his questions easily, simply, she figured it threw him a bit.