Seth paces. Five hours. That’s how long they’ve been waiting for word on Sal. He snakes a hand through his hair, hating hospitals, thinking about the shitshow that’s gone on since they arrived.
Questions from doctors, glares from suspicious nurses. Stale coffee. Dead phone batteries. A missed gig in Perdido Key. Finally, an hour ago, they identified the unidentified girl in that hospital bed.
Seth knew it by the tattoo on her palm, but dental records confirmed it.
It’s Sal.
It shouldn’t be this easy, and yet it is. She’s here.
She’s alive.
And she doesn’t remember. Seth’s heart plummets as he thinks about Sal, so confused, so lost, on that beach. Now his biggest question is not where she got the brain injury, because that’s obvious, but where Sal has been all this time and what’s wrong with her?
From his spot on a hard plastic chair, Jace says, “Would you sit the hell down? You’re making me dizzy, man.”
“How long does it take?” Seth gestures in annoyance at the window of Sal’s hospital room, where the drawn curtains shield any glimpse of her. The only evidence she’s in there the gut-wrenching scream she let loose hours ago.
“And where the hell is Luke?” Seth gripes. “He ain’t answerin’ his phone.”
He and Jace have both been calling Luke for the last three hours. His phone’s been off, the calls going straight to voicemail. Even Mort isn’t answering, and he’s always on that goddamn phone of his.
“He never picks up,” Jace says, but his voice betrays worry. He and Seth both wonder if they were right to leave Luke alone so soon. “Keep tryin’.”
Seth’s crawling out of his skin. He needs answers. He needs his brother here. Now.
Then, in a low voice, Jace says, “Seth.”
Seth turns to see the doctor coming their way. “Fucking finally,” he says, surging forward to meet the doctor in the middle of the hallway. The badge on her coat reads NEWSOME. “How is she?”
Beside him, Jace settles in silently to listen.
“She’s sedated and resting.” Dr. Newsome hesitates. “She’s confused. There’s damage to her memory, but we’re not sure to what extent.”
Seth rips a hand through his hair. “She can’t fuckin’ remember us, that’s the extent.”
“Seth,” Jace admonishes.
“We’re planning to order a series of brain scans for tomorrow.” Dr. Newsome’s mouth is zipped in a tight line. “But, Mr. Kincaid, until her husband gets here, I’m afraid that’s all I can say right now.”
He swallows. “Can we see her?”
The doctor gives a slow nod. “When she wakes up, if she consents, then yes, you can see her.”
“Ask her,” Seth says, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Ask her.”
I am alive.
The thought jolts Sal as she brushes curious eyes around the sterile hospital room. A nurse has opened the shades to let the early-morning sunshine in. Sal angles her face toward the window, ready for a healthy dose of vitamin D, listening to monitors cheep and beep. Though she’s still groggy from the sedative, she’s calmer and clearheaded. For once, her temple has stopped throbbing, courtesy of whatever drugs she’s been shot up with.
There’s a swift flash of white, and then Dr. Newsome is perching beside her.
Eager, Sal sits up in bed as straight as she can. The hospital gown’s too big; it keeps slipping off of her shoulders. Wires and tubes tug at her. The thin skin on the top of her bandaged hand stings from where she ripped out her IV, but she barely feels it.
She’s close to something. She just doesn’t know what.
She keeps her eyes on Dr. Newsome’s face. She’s kindly looking, with curly salt-and-pepper hair that frames her face like a halo. She wears a bow tie and speaks slow. The room’s extra quiet, tilted with concern. A nurse hovers in the corner. Sal’s been given scant details about her condition, but their hushed whispers lead her to believe there’s something more going on.
Dr. Newsome smiles. “Miss, is the name Sal Kincaid familiar to you at all?”