One Last Miracle [complete]

II

 II

three months, twenty-nine days...

"Miss Adams, you have a visitor."

"Visitor?" My voice is quiet, as I stare up at the white wall. The constant beep-beep-beep of the monitor threatens to drive me insane, but I tune it out, trying to seek out the nurse that's speaking.

Next to the bed, from where he's sitting on a plastic chair, Dad frowns. He looks up from his phone for a second—no doubt texting mum about if she can make it today. "Who is it?"

Pressing the button on the hospital bed to lift it, I watch the elderly nurse stand by the door, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. "Uh, he's says his name is James. James Bennett. If it's the wrong room, I can tell him."

For a second, I don't recognise the name. Then I remember yesterday—sitting with him and talking. "Uh, no, I know him." But why is he here? That's the question.

Dad looks over, eyes narrowed. "You know him?"

"Yeah. I met him yesterday." Looking back over at the nurse, I say, "Let him in."

I'm more than aware of dad's narrowed eyes on me as the door opens. Slowly as if the person is scared of what they see when they open it.

When James finally steps into the room, leaving the door open, he stands there awkwardly. Just looking around, taking everything in. There's not a lot—just a hospital bed, a few chairs scattered around and medical equipment.

Without warning, dad stands, walking right over to James—close enough to be a threat, but further enough away for it to seem innocent.

They just stare at each other—James refusing to look away.

"Dad," I whisper. "Back off."

He doesn't—until a few minutes later. As he goes to sit back down next to the chair, he doesn't turn his back to James nor does he break eye contact.

"He's got it, dad," I mutter.

"Alyssa . . ."

"Dad."

He just sighs. And doesn't stop watching James as he walks forward.

Ignoring dad, I watch him as well. He's dressed the same as yesterday—denim jeans and a white singlet. There's a green band around his left wrist, matching the Converse on his feet. On the top of his head, a pair of dark glasses sit.

Glancing warily at dad, the corner of his mouth tilts up. I try to smile back, but I'm too confused for it to work.

Before I can ask what he's doing—stupidly, considering he can't hear—he lifts his left hand up. In his grip, is a can of Coke.

"Alyssa?"

"Don't ask, dad. I don't know either." I pause, itching around one of the drips in my arm. "Can you, uh, leave the room? Please."

I don't need to look at dad to know his eyes are narrowed. "Alyssa."

"Dad, please." It's already awkward enough—though I can't say it's a bad surprise to see James.