The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (12 page)

“Tally.” She spoke my name in the same disappointing exasperated way my mother still employs.

Even now.

Lying. I lied because I could. Well, I used to lie for that reason alone.

But now?

I finally resort to tell the truth and what does it get me?

Nothing.

I may not be able to breathe again.

The truth. Plain and simple.

With him. For him. Because of him. It doesn’t matter.

I lied. It made the not too distant past bearable.

It became a necessary coping mechanism. For me.

That’s what lying was for.

Lying appeared to be a way of life.

At least, for mine.

And, the truth?

Don’t believe all that hype about it setting you free. It doesn’t.

Instead, the truth will imprison you forever.

I cannot breathe.

All the air is gone from me.
I just didn’t know why quite yet.

“Who are you?” Linc asks me minutes after he first opens his eyes ten days after the accident. Then it is, “where am I?” Then back again to the burning question that already effectively skewers my heart all the way through to my soul. “Who are you?”

He’s been in a deep, drug-induced coma for nine days after surviving the initial impact, after the swelling kicked in which ignited the need for emergency brain surgery, and after having stopped breathing and being coded back twice in the five days that followed. The surgery and the quickness of the medical team ultimately saved his life; and counting,
three times.

We are so grateful he is still with us.
It’s a mantra. We say it all the time.
We’re just glad he’s alive.

They moved him out of intensive care yesterday and began reducing the narcotics so he would start to wake up. I am finally allowed to be with him and have been with him in this hospital room for the past twenty-four hours since they officially and finally allowed me in. I haven’t left the hospital for more than a few hours at a time in, well, ten days but I haven’t left Linc’s side in the past twenty-four. His dad has barely left his son’s side either. Everyone else as immediate family, including his aunt and uncle, and Charlie and Marla, have been taking turns staying with him as the medical staff in the ICU allowed it. And yet, Davis stayed vigilant in not leaving his son’s side once he was allowed in and I joined him in that valiant effort when they finally officially allowed me in.
Davis and I.
We’ve been unable to leave the room or Linc for the past day. We’ve been here for the duration, and we let them know—the powers that be—that we wouldn’t be leaving Linc’s side again if we could help it.

We would stay. Davis and I.

We are a team of epic wonder.

Until now.

The thing is I wanted to be here when Linc finally woke up. As I believed he would. As I had actually prayed to God that he would. And yet, Linc’s first words slice through me like a serrated knife surely would have. I feel severed even further by his quizzical look as he continues to warily watch me. Some part of me notes he looks like before—
before his surgery
—in those last few scary moments in the ER.
Confused. Undone. Indifferent.

“Who are you? Where am I? Who are
you
?” Linc asks again and then he turns to his father. “Dad? Where am I? Who is she?” He looks back over at me in alarm.

Linc’s dad gives me this surprising sympathetic look as he comes over and puts his arm around me and whispers, “why don’t you go tell the doctors he’s awake? And take a break? We don’t want to upset him further.”

I nod, rendered incapable of speech. I can’t make any sense out of what I’ve just heard. A part of my brain ticks off all the positives. Linc is talking just fine. He looks fine. I watch in wonder as he maneuvers his bandaged-up head enough to look around.
Perfectly normal. Perfectly fine. He has movement. There’s that. There’s sound
.
He’s talking. He’s alive. We are so grateful.
And yet, another part of me continues to reel at what he’s just said to me. “Who are you?” My mind tries to put it all together in this unnatural calm manner while the rising fear rips it away at about the same level.

All the various doctors warnings run through my head.

The side effects can be many.

There may be some memory loss.

There may be some confusion.

Some
memory loss.

Some?

Memory loss may be temporary or it could be permanent. We just don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.

Wait and see.

Memory loss. Temporary or Permanent.

We. Just. Don’t. Know.

“Who are you?” Linc asks me for a third time. He looks more and more agitated, while his dad urges to me to just go. But I just stand here, somewhat immobilized by the dawning reality that he doesn’t remember me at all.

“Find his doctors. Go get some help.” His words reach me. I watch him as he distracts a now distraught Linc by urging him to take a sip of water. It’s our first glimpse as to where Linc is coming from.

“I don’t want any God damn water!” Linc waves his arm around and crashes the water pitcher his dad was holding out to him into the far wall. “Who is she? Why is she here?” Then, he looks over at me. “Who are you? And why are you staring at me like that?”

Davis’ orders become sterner. “Go get his doctor. I’ve already pressed the ‘call’ button. Go!”

I start to leave, suddenly afraid of Linc’s agitated state of mind, but attempt to hold on to the last remaining sane vestiges of mine.

He’s back, but he’s different.

He doesn’t know me.

Which means what?

We won’t be getting married in front of the family and friends any time soon.

I glance back at the two of them. Linc’s dad cleans up the water mess wiping the floor and walls as best he can. Meanwhile, Linc still stares at me, open-mouthed, looking a little unhappy with himself for the sudden outburst. I start to smile, to reassure him. He traces his bandaged head with his free hand. He’s probably wondering what’s going on and trying to put this all together. Empathy kicks in.

“I’ll find your doctor,” I say to him softly.

However, his next words chase me out of his hospital room.

“Thank you, nurse.”

There are no words for that one. No Tally Landon comeback for those lines once delivered. I am in the deep end of the Tally Landon pool of thought and all alone.

I make my way into the hall in search of his doctors to explain all of this.
To him. To me.

To try and find some air.

CHAPTER NINE

West Coast -TALLY

It was a meeting. An intervention is what I refer to it as now, all this time later. Kimberley Powers flew in from New York. Davis Presley was there. Gina Masterson, Linc’s aunt and Davis’ sister, was there too, representing the psychiatry side of things but from a family perspective. I remember her looking squeamish, properly sickened as to what would eventually go down; I'll give her that. Uncle Chad was there too, in silent support of his wife. Charlie and Marla were there, siding with me. The
only ones
to side with me as it turned out.

It was a losing battle.

A setup.

I just didn’t know it then.

“He thinks he’s at Stanford still playing baseball for the Cardinal. He thinks he’s still seeing Nika.” I remember my audible gasp at this announcement, which only encouraged the man to go even further. Davis turned to me and said in that indifferent way of his I’ve come to know over the past two weeks, “He doesn’t remember you at all, Tally.”

Davis has adopted this official stance of disdain for me since Linc woke up two days ago and as everyone-in-need-to-know began to learn part of his memory was gone. Six years gone. Perhaps, permanently. No one knew for sure. There were no guarantees. We have been constantly reminded of that by all these doctors. Experts. Specialists. Every medical doctor involve with Linc’s case at the hospital except for my dad has reminded us of this.

No guarantees. Got it. Now what?

I felt the full force of Davis Presley’s hatred of me in this meeting.
I am a problem that needs to be solved. Pronto.

Linc is to be released from the hospital some time tomorrow. This meeting, this intervention, becomes the subterfuge to that action, I just don’t realize it at the time. The press has been hounding all of us. Every time we leave the hospital there is a request from a reporter for an update on Lincoln Presley. Linc remains national news from ESPN to ABC. Everyone wants to know about the baseball pitcher’s condition. “Brain surgery can be serious; he may never be the same,” one reporter has said.

I try not to watch the coverage because it sickened me and made it worse on all fronts.

News, good or bad, a breaking story is the goal for every reporter camped outside the front of the hospital. It isn’t my job to help them out and yet I serve as the tastiest bait even if I don’t want to be any part of it; the speculation about Linc and me has already started. Public records of our on-line application for a marriage license have been subsequently discovered and now the questions really begin.

“He was supposed to be getting married to his fiancee, Tally Landon, next month, but public records indicate the two were planning to get married at City Hall in downtown San Francisco the following day, just hours before his unfortunate accident put him in a coma twelve days ago. Ms. Landon refuses to comment on the marriage license application or the couple’s future plans which seem to be in question at this point.”

“Will the wedding with Lincoln Presley go forward as planned? Let’s find out. Ms. Landon, over here, Jay Otter with Sports Network, is it true you two are going forward with your wedding in mid-November now? Can you tell us your plans?”

“Is he going to be all right? Is he talking?”

“Ms. Landon, can you comment?”

“Is it
true
he refuses to see you?” I whirl around at that one and look hard at the reporter who dares to ask me such a thing.