“But—”
“It’s like Anna said. If she has no conscious awareness about her situation, she isn’t suffering.”
“What if the awareness is deeper than consciousness?”
“There is no awareness without consciousness.” She smiled gently. “That’s why they call it unconscious.”
I rubbed my hands over my face. “What about music? T
hea loves dance and techno.
“She listens to a classical station sometimes. Delia’s orders. She’d read Mozart stimulated the brain.”
I stared. “That’s it? That’s Thea’s entertainment?”
“Well, no. She has a TV. Her favorite show was The Office. She watches that, though I don’t know that she can keep up with the plot. Like being here, it’s just routine.” She smiled gently at me. “And when I shut off the radio or TV, she doesn’t remember they were ever on.”
Her expression was full of pity as she left. Joaquin had looked amused. Anna wanted me to mind my own business and stop trying to diagnose a complex neurological situation I had no training or education for. They’d all given up on Thea.
Rita popped her head back into the room. “Before I forget, Jim, can you take Miss Hughes for her walk today at one o’clock? I know it’s your break time but—”
“Yeah, I can do it,” I said.
Because I wasn’t going to give up on her.
Chapter 9
Jim
The day dragged until one o’clock. I grabbed my phone and a set of earbuds from my locker and shoved them in my pocket. I approached Thea at her table in the dining room, a half-finished plate of cheese, crackers, and sliced green apples in front of her. I let her see me first.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
“Two years.”
She nodded. “I just came back. You’re the first person I’ve seen.” She looked at my nametag. “Hi, Jim. I’m Thea.”
“Would you like to go for a walk and get some fresh air?” I asked.
Her smile was painfully stunning. “I’d love to.”
We stepped out the back door and into the stifling heat of the summer day. Instead of wilting in the humidity, Thea came alive. Despite her bland clothing, she was vibrant and beautiful. I suspected that Thea Hughes, pre-accident, wouldn’t have been caught dead in khaki pants and loafers.
“It’s so nice out, Jim,” she said. “Is Jim short for James?”
“You can call me Jimmy,” I said because I was sick of our usual script.
She nudged my arm with a laugh. “I was about to ask, mind-reader. You are a Jimmy. You have kind eyes.”
At least that line I could listen to a hundred more times.
“It’s so quiet,” Thea said.
I gripped the phone and cords in my pocket, wondering if introducing music was a good idea. What if it set her off? But Thea’s five-minute world was always quiet, and I was tired of second-guessing myself. So fucking tired of not doing something.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said slowly. “Do you like music?”
Music is life.