Unsuspecting Dreamer

Chapter 17 Little Things

'Where am I?' my eyes snap open. I'm back in the hospital. 'Was any of it real? Why am I here? What Happened?' I start to panic; the pinging of the heart monitor I am hooked up to speeds up.

"Nurse, she's awake!"

I turn my head and see Steve calling out the door. 'It wasn't a dream.' I sigh in relief.

"Steve." my voice sounds weak, I don't like it. "What happened?"

"You fainted in the park." He walks over to the bed and clutches the railing on the side. "They ran some tests; the results aren't in yet."

"Best date ever," I groan, trying to make a joke.

He laughs. "Well, I did learn that your first name is really Eliza, and that you weigh..."

"You say that number and I will kill you!" I exclaim, grabbing his arm.

He starts to respond but a nurse comes in, so he sits in a chair next to my bed while she checks my vitals.

"I wasn't sure who to call at first, so I called Libby. I left here a message, I hope you don't mind. Her name was at the top of your contact list." Steve informs me. "I'm glad you woke up. Sorry to do this to you but I've gotta get going."

I look at the clock in the room. It's well after midnight.

"Oh wow! You didn't have to wait."

"No problem." He reaches out and squeezes my hand.

I watch him leave, trying to keep calm. Being alone means so much more when it's in this place. The nurse tells me to get some sleep. But after 9 hours of a forced nap I don't think I'll be getting much rest.

.....

Kara let me off for a week. The concussion isn't serious but I need to rest. I still don't get how I could have gotten it in my car accident; it was months ago.

Steve's been calling every couple of hours. I actually don't feel completely cut off from the world. Libby and Hunter tag-team-text me. I find it sweet and funny. They are cuing up for their tour of the UK and Libby is just as full on excited as Hunter is.

I am in the process of reading the final draft of my short stories when my doorbell rings. "Who is it?" I yell, walking to the door.

"Pizza man!" A light voice yells back.

"Hunter!" I throw the door open.

Libby rushes in and Hunter follows, closing the door behind him. Libby grabs me and escorts me back to my chair, asking questions, trying to be helpful.

"Really, I'm fine," I assure her. "Please, come in, sit down."

Libby and Hunter sit side by side on the couch; they look so comfortable, so unguarded.

"So, we're leaving for the tour tomorrow and we wanted to stop by and say a proper goodbye." Hunter tells me.

"Plus we wanted to check in and see how you were." Libby adds.

"That's so nice of you," I enthuse, silently grateful I remembered to change out of my pajamas. I look at the clock hanging on my wall. "How long can you stay? It's almost 6."

"We aren't interrupting you are we?" Libby's face is full of concern.

"No, I've just got a lasagna in the oven and it'll be done in about half an hour, if you wanted to stay I'd be happy to feed you."

"Sure, we can stick around," Hunter decides, glancing around my living area. He picks up the book I threw aside. "This yours?" He asks.

"Yep, final draft." I beam, unable to keep the pride from my voice.

"Cool, mind if I..."

"Go ahead, I've got some stuff to get ready for dinner."

"I'll help," Libby volunteers. I fend her off as she tries to help me move and I show her that I am capable of handling myself. "We get back at the end of the month, we still have to get together. How's the 25th?

"A Saturday..." I say thoughtfully as I wash my hands. I figure it out in my mind, "I'm sure I am open. Should I keep it free?"

"Yeah, let's plan on it, then the big tour starts and things really get crazy."

"I bet." We fall into easy conversation and Hunter stays completely silent. Finally, I crane my neck to see into the living room. Hunter is sitting on the floor, not reading but paging through one of my notebooks that I left on the floor. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Oh sorry," he looks up. "This was open and it caught my eye."

I rack my brain, trying to remember what is in that one. I had several spread out by my chair and couch.

"No, it's fine," I reassure, not wanting to offend him, pretending I don't mind.

"Sorry, Hunter's not into reading one thing for long periods of time," Libby apologizes.

"I'll have to keep that in mind." I smile as I set the table.

"This is pretty good," Hunter tells me, walking over with the notebook in his hands. 'My poem notebook!' I recognize. The color in my cheeks rise. That is one of my more personal ones.

"Thank you."

The oven timer goes off and I am saved from an uncomfortable conversation of what my words mean, why I wrote what I did. I hate when people ask me that, because I wrote exactly what I mean, what I was feeling.

"Let's eat." I place the dish on the table.

We all sit down to enjoy the meal, and for the first time in 8 months I feel like part of a family.