Chapter 16

Sixteen

I saw a bright light. Blinding. I couldn't even open my eyes, I had to squint and blink a whole bunch of times. My toes itched. Fuck. Pam shot me! A tunnel of light. Was that heaven? I wanted to call Molly first, just to say goodbye. I wanted a peanut butter sandwich too. What?

Did they have fluorescent lights in heaven?

"Trent? Oh my God! You're awake!"

I turned my head and saw my mom. She looked tired, like she'd just woken up, but she was smiling too, as if she'd never smiled before in her life.

"Hi Mom," I said, but nothing came out, so I said it again. Louder. "Hi."

Of course, she had to kiss me and hug me, and I didn't mind. I tried to lift my arms, but they felt incredibly heavy. I thought they were strapped down at first. After a moment or two I was able to hug her back though, and that was nice. She smelled good.

"I'll get the doctor," she said, blinking her eyes. Mom had started crying, but instead of wiping her cheeks, she wiped mine. I'd started crying too.

"Wait ... Are you okay?" I asked, kind of croaking the words. "How's the baby?"

"I'm wonderful," she breathed, hugging me again. "Oh, I missed you, Trent."

"I was right here," I said. "Where's Dad?"

"He's outside," Mom replied. "Sleeping on the couch."

"Really?" I frowned, remembering that maybe he'd cheated on my mom, except it all seemed like a dream now. Molly's house was real, definitely, but after that ... I remember being so happy walking home. That felt like a dream too.

"He was up all night with you," she explained, wiping her blue eyes. Smiling. Jeeze! She looked beautiful like that. "We've been taking turns."

"Taking turns?" I smiled back at her, not understanding what that meant.

I looked around and my neck felt stiff. My whole body felt like a pretzel, except I could see myself stretched out beneath my old quilted comforter. There was a lot of stuff from my bedroom. Pictures of my friends, my family. The poster of Darth Maul I'd had since second grade when I'd really loved Star Wars. It was taped to the wall, but I knew I wasn't in my room. There were wires stuck to me and a machine beeping softly. There were a lot of flowers and a dozen stuffed animals and...

"Molly," I sighed, seeing the porcelain ice skater sitting on top of a cabinet near my bed. She was still mad at me though, but not really. She'd been teasing me.

"I'll be right back," Mom said. "Don't go anywhere."

I smiled at her giggle. Wow! I'd missed that. Mom didn't laugh very often, but when she did it felt like the whole world stopped just for her. The machine beeped a little faster too, jumping from 66 to 81, but I didn't need a bunch of wires to tell me that my heart was working just fine. I could feel it. I'd never seen my mom so happy before.

"Trent?" Dad looked ready to fall down and I lifted my hand, waving at him. "Oh! Thank God!"

He practically pulled me off the bed, he hugged me so tight. I felt the stubble of his unshaven cheeks on my face. My dad was shaking and I put my arms around his back, and I'd never seen him cry before. He didn't say anything at first. Neither did I, and Mom sat on my bed, watching us and smiling and wiping her flushed cheeks.

"I'm so sorry," Dad whispered, kissing my hair. "I'm sorry, Trent. I'm sorry."

"What?" I stared at the doctor. He looked like someone's grandfather, being old and thin and mostly bald. He wore a bow tie "I was in a coma? For how long?"

"Fifty-three days," he replied. "But don't worry, everything seems to be fine. We're going to run a few tests to make sure, but all indications are that you're perfectly healthy."

My mom looked ready to cry again and I'd noticed she liked to bite her fingernails while Dr. Hirsch talked. She'd never done that before. But I'd never been in a coma before either. She stood by the windows with her arms crossed, looking nervous and happy all at once. Dad sat in a chair next to her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and neither of them seemed able to look at anything else but me.

"There's been some minor atrophy of your muscles," the doctor continued. "You've lost some weight too, but with physical therapy and a good diet, you'll be back to your old self in no time."

"When can we take him home?" Dad asked.

"In a couple days," Dr. Hirsch said. "We'll run our tests, as I mentioned, and keep an eye on him. A coma is caused by low metabolism in the brain and so we need to give it a little time to wake up."

"Trent?" Molly stood in the open doorway with her sapphire eyes big as saucers.

"The good news is that you can have all the visitors you want," Dr. Hirsch told me with a chuckle. "I'll check in on you later."

He had to get out of the way quickly, because Molly was running towards the bed and the room wasn't all that big.

"I knew you'd wake up!" She fell on me, sorta, and I felt like Popeye on spinach as my arms went around her. I suddenly didn't feel very tired at all.

She kissed me!

Right on the mouth too. In front of my parents and everything. And just a couple hours ago she'd been mad at me, except it only seemed like a couple hours. I felt like I'd taken a nap, but it had been almost two months for everyone else.

She looked great too, even better than I remembered and I did have a sweet ache in my stomach like maybe I hadn't seen her in a long time. Perhaps my heart knew what my brain didn't, you know? She wore a sweater and a long skirt, like a rum colored grandma skirt that would have looked silly on most girls her age, but Molly made it look good. Kinda casual, kinda dressy, and she had a bunch of bangles and rings and earrings like a gypsy with her black hair all over.

She was in a whole other league compared to other girls.

"That's weird," I said, smiling into Molly's face as she leaned over me. Our noses were touching and her lips were naturally red and moist. I could still feel them on mine.

"What?" she asked, blinking her wet eyes.

"You're beautiful even when you're not mad," I told her, and she giggled and kissed me and cried all at the same time.

"He's awake," someone said from behind Molly. A man, and I thought he was talking to my parents, but apparently he wasn't.

"You scared me to death!" Molly whispered. "God! I am mad at you!"

"I'm sorry I didn't call you," I said, looking over her shoulder to see the guy. "Who's that?"

"Just now. Molly's hugging him..." he said talking on a celphone. "That's right ... You might want to talk to the DA ... I love you too. Bye."

"Huh?" She turned her head. "Oh. That's my dad."

"Oh." I felt my face warming and glanced at my parents. They were watching, smiling as we were still hugging each other.

"Say cheese!" a girl said, and I hadn't even realized Shannon was there, but I recognized her. I frowned because she'd gotten me in a lot of trouble. "Trent! Smile, this is for Facebook!"

"Leave him alone," Molly said. "He just woke up!"

"We gotta tweet this," Shannon said, taking another picture with her phone. "It's so awesome."

"She's got ten thousand people following you on Twitter," Molly told me with a shrug.

My mom and dad kind of looked at each other. They weren't much for the internet unless it involved work and I hated that Facebook Twitter stuff.

"Following me?" I thought she had to be joking.

"More like fifteen thousand now," Shannon said. "Hey!"

"Go to the cafeteria," her dad said, pulling her by the arm. "Here's some money. You can toot there all you want."

"It's tweet, not toot," she snorted, and gave me a wave. "Bye, Trent. I'm glad you're okay."

"Daddy? Trent's awake," Molly said, as if the man didn't know already.

"So I see," he said, stepping closer. "That's good news. Real good news."

He was a handsome man, about the same age as my dad, or a little older maybe. He wore a nice suit anyway and he had friendly eyes. They were brown, not sapphire like his daughter's, but I could see the resemblance anyway. They had the same chin and jaw maybe, and I was glad he wasn't angry because Molly had kissed me. Our first kiss! And then our second. I wondered if I wasn't still in a coma and just dreaming about her. Everything seemed so strange.

"I'm going to talk to your mom and dad for a minute, okay?" he said, inviting my parents out of the room with a small jerk of his head.

"We'll be right outside," Mom said, following Dad with some reluctance.

"Don't worry," Molly said. "I'll keep him company."

We had a lot to talk about, or she did anyway. There isn't much to say about being in a coma. It's a lot like sleeping and if I'd had any dreams, I didn't remember them. Actually, it's more like a time machine, except it only goes in one direction.

"Everybody loves me?" I grinned at her. "What's that mean?"

"You're on the news every night," Molly said.

She'd been jumping from one subject to another at random. Back and forth as new thoughts would fill her head. It made me kind of dizzy.

"Like King News, the first thing they say is how many days you've been in a coma," she told me with a giggle. "Like..." she lowered her voice, " ... It's day fifty and Trent Patterson remains in a coma."

"No way!" I grinned at her. "Really?"

"I swear," she said. "Oh! And the mayor was here. She gave you a medal, did you see it?"

"A medal for what?"

"For being brave!" Molly said, getting off the bed. "It's right here. See?"

She'd picked up a black box, like the kind jewelry comes in, and snapped it open. There really was a medal inside and she sat on the bed so we could look at it together.

"You saved your mom," she sighed. "That's so cool."

"I got shot," I said. "It was an accident. I didn't even know what I was doing."

"Yeah, but you did it anyway," Molly said, looking into my eyes and biting her bottom lip.

We were going to kiss again. I could feel it.

"I love you, Trent," she whispered.

"I love you too," I replied, and this time she gave me a real kiss. Her tongue teased my lips and slipped between them.

I might have worried about having some serious morning breath after sleeping for so long, but Molly didn't seem to care, so I didn't either. I tickled her tongue with mine and rubbed her back. She wore a light brown sweater, angora maybe, and the soft texture felt amazing. She smelled like perfume too. The expensive kind. Gucci. That's what it was and I couldn't think of it before, but now I knew. She tasted sweet, like peppermint, and I was glad they'd disconnected that stupid heart monitor because I probably would have broken it right then.

We made out for five minutes and the only reason we stopped was because our parents were back.

"Do you feel like getting out of bed?" Mr. Carpenter wondered, smiling like he already knew the answer.

"I'll see if I can track down a wheelchair," Dad said.

"What's going on?" Molly asked, echoing my thoughts exactly.

Two nurses were already coming into the room, one of them pushing a wheelchair. My dad just rubbed his jaw.

"I feel pretty good," I decided, and it would be nice to get out of bed.

"Why don't you guys give us a little privacy," one of the nurses said, a young black man. "We'll take care of Trent."

"Oh!" I hadn't realized there was a catheter shoved inside my you-know-what. I couldn't see it, the nurse hadn't yanked the comforter off me or anything, but I saw the tube and the bag hanging from the bottom of my bed.

"We need to clean ourselves up a little too," Mom said, speaking to me, but looking at my dad.

"I'll be right outside," Molly told me.

"I'll stay out of your way," Mr. Carpenter told the nurses, and he didn't seem to be going anywhere. It made me wonder what the deal was, you know?

Maybe he wanted to talk to me about kissing Molly. It would suck to wake up from a coma and be in trouble first thing. I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet!

"In about fifteen minutes," he said, "there's going to be a lot of reporters talking to you."

"There is?" I winced as the other nurse, the older, grey haired woman nurse, pulled the catheter out of my penis. That was kind of embarrassing, but I didn't look at her or her hands and that made it better.

"First Dr. Sing is going to talk about what a great hospital he has. Doctor Hirsch is going to explain why you woke up and tell everyone what a wonderful patient you've been."

"Okay." I shrugged and smiled, not understanding a word of this.

"And then the reporters are going to start asking questions. A lot of them," Mr. Carpenter said. "They're going to ask how you're feeling, what you want to do now that you're awake, whether or not you saw Jesus..."

"What?" I laughed and he grinned.

"It's possible," he said. "But don't underestimate them. What I want you to do is keep your answers simple. If they ask about anything before you were shot, tell them you don't remember. Okay? You're not going to talk about anything except what's going on right now."

"Uhhh ... Why?" I asked, making a face as the two nurses basically gave me a sponge bath. "I mean, what are you telling me this for? Shouldn't my mom and dad..."

"Because I'm your lawyer," Mr. Carpenter said. "I'm representing you and your family in the upcoming liability suit."

"The what?" I blinked at him.

"We can talk about it later," he said. "The important thing is that we avoid saying anything in the press that might hurt us later."

"Like what?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Like if a reporter asks you why Pamela Keller intended to shoot your mother..." He stared at me. "What would you say?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know what you'd say or..."

"I don't know why she wanted to hurt my mom," I lied, and believe me, I could take a hint. That's exactly what the man wanted to hear.

"Good." Mr. Carpenter nodded, walking towards a tall, metal wardrobe painted cheery yellow.

He didn't have to worry about me. I wasn't going to say a word to anyone about my dad cheating on my mom. Not until I had a chance to figure it all out, anyway. At least they weren't divorced. Mom hadn't treated him like a leper, and that had to mean something. It could be that I'd misunderstood what was going on, and I hoped I did, but I seriously doubted it. Pam had been pretty convincing talking about all the things Dad had promised her.

"You can wear this," Mr. Carpenter said, holding one of my old blankets.

It had teddy bears on it and Mom must have brought half my bedroom to the hospital. I smiled when I saw it. I hadn't used that blanket since I'd been eight years old probably. I was dressed in a fresh hospital gown and in the wheelchair before it occurred to me that the blanket over my legs made me look like a little kid. I guess that's what Mr. Carpenter wanted though.

"They're going to try and surprise you," he said, "but I'll be right there if you get into trouble."

"Okay." I nodded. He made it sound like I was Custer off to meet the indians. It made me pretty nervous, as you can imagine, but I hadn't quite grasped how popular my case had become. I guess nothing much ever happens in Seattle.

"One more thing," Mr. Carpenter said, leaning down as he pushed me out of the room. "We're going to need a little man-to-man soon. Molly likes you a lot."

"Uh ... Okay." I turned my head to see him smiling, so that made me feel somewhat better, but not as much as seeing my mom and dad waiting for me. And Molly.

After the two doctors were through talking, Mr. Carpenter told the reporters I'd take a few, brief questions. He hadn't been kidding either. There must have been about two dozen people there, even more than that if one counted all the cameramen. Every TV station from Portland to Vancouver must have sent a camera crew and more were coming in, looking unhappy and a bit out of breath.

"Trent!" They all shouted at once and I winced beneath the bright lights. Mr. Carpenter pointed at someone.

"Trent, how do you feel?" a man asked me, and all of a sudden the small auditorium fell completely silent.

"I feel pretty good," I said into the microphone Mr. Carpenter held for me. "I'm kinda hungry."

That made most of them laugh, at least politely, and Mom rubbed my shoulders. She and Dad were standing right behind me.

"How does it feel to be a hero?" a woman asked, getting the question in just ahead of a half-dozen others.

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I guess I'll have to find one and ask him."

That seemed like a really stupid answer to me, and I kicked myself for being a smart-ass, but everybody laughed for real that time.

"What do you want to say to Pamela Keller, the woman who shot you?" a Chinese looking woman wondered, and she looked familiar. She was kinda hot too.

"That's not something Trent wants to talk about today," Mr. Carpenter told her, getting some groans and dirty looks. "Yeah ... Question, Tom?" He pointed at a reporter.

"What do you plan to do now that you're awake, Trent?"

"Ummm ... I want to go back to school," I said. "And, uh ... I really want to learn how to ice skate."

I grinned at Molly and she rolled her eyes, but wow! What a smile!

"My girlfriend's going to teach me," I said, kind of pointing at her.

"How about a picture of you two together?" someone suggested.

"Give her a kiss!" someone else said, and Molly looked pretty self-conscious the way she blushed, but her dad seemed to think it was a good idea.

He was probably happy nobody could ask anymore questions while Molly posed with me and I kissed her cheek for the cameras. There were more questions shouted out, but I didn't answer any of them. A woman asked me if I'd known my dad was having an affair, which seemed pretty rude. Someone else wanted to know what it felt like to get shot. They were dumb questions, but I was just some kid who'd been in a coma. It all seemed pretty dumb to me.

"Now I'd like to read a prepared statement for the Patterson family," Mr. Carpenter said, and it turned out to be a short one.

Basically he read a thank you note to the hospital and the doctors and nurses. He talked about how much support the people of Seattle had given me and my parents. He hoped that now that I was awake, the press would respect my privacy and not climb the tree outside my bedroom and take pictures of me in my underwear ... Well, he didn't say that, exactly. But he should have, just to liven it up a little.

I was just glad it was over with.

I was back in my hospital bed and it's surprising how tiring just getting in and out of bed could be. Rolling around in the wheelchair hadn't been too bad, but I really wanted to walk. That would have to wait for the next day, however, when I saw a physical therapist. My muscles were definitely weak after two months with no exercise. I had sort of a diaper rash too, but I don't want to talk about that.