Page 68 of You Know Why

“You’re in the hospital at Vanderbilt, in Nashville. You were in an accident. You have a severe concussion, and you might not remember things properly. And you decided to stop your heart for a bit, too, just to give us a decent scare. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for three days.”

An unsettling wave moves through me. That is not good, no matter the timeline.

“Why do you look weird?”

“Hardly slept, hon. Let me get your nurse, they’re going to want to know you’re awake. You’re much more with it than you have been.”

“A concussion, and something with my heart?”

Margot grabs the bedside remote and presses the big red button. “They’ve kept you mildly sedated to give your brain time to heal. It had some significant swelling, and they couldn’t take any chances. You’re lucky—at one point, they were talking about removing a part of your skull to relieve the pressure, but it calmed down on its own. And yes, you decided to get tachycardic on us back in Atlanta. You were on an external ventilator for a bit, too, so your throat might be a little sore from the forced air.”

I swallow reflexively. It does hurt. A ventilator? Images of the pandemic, all those people unable to breathe, dying alone . . . Stop it, Brook. Stop. You’re spinning out. Your throat is sore because you were on a ventilator because you had an accident. Nothing else. Still . . . something feels wrong about all of this.

“Remember what I told you.”

“You’re making exactly zero sense, sister.”

Margot gasps out a sob, half laugh, half cry. “Hey, at least you know me. Trust me, okay? I’m going to get you through this. They stopped the sedation last night, and you have surpassed everyone’s expectations. You came to a few hours ago, and your eggs were a bit scrambled. You’re much more lucid this time.”

A nurse bustles into the room. “Oh, Mrs. Locke, look at you! You have such pretty eyes. Wow, you two do look alike, don’t you?” She speaks to Margot as if I’m not here. “I’ve let neurosurgery know she’s awake again. They’ll be here shortly to do an exam. In the meantime, let’s try to get her to drink something. Her urine is getting a little dark. The PureWick will be changed shortly.”

“Um, hello? I’m awake now. You can talk to me, not her.”

The nurse’s grin widens. “Feisty, too. Wonderful! Sometimes patients go in and out when they first wake up from sedation. Don’t worry if you get tired, just close your eyes and rest. You’ll wake up again.”

She leaves, and I focus again on my sister. Margot looks beautiful but horrible. She’s thin. Dark shadows under her eyes, hair greasy and scraped back into a ponytail, shirt wrinkled and worn. Her face seems warped, as if she’s melted. Something is definitely wrong with my eyes. She smells of roses, still, like Mom. Mom.

“Where’s Mom?”

A flash of sorrow crosses Margot’s face. “She’s been gone a long time, honey. Remember? She died when we were in high school.”

I don’t remember this, and the pain of hearing that the soft and gentle woman I love, whom I need right now to hold me and tell me everything is going to be okay, is gone, makes tears come.

“How?”

“Breast cancer. It took her quick, our senior year.”

“Dad?”

“Um . . . last I heard, still in Florida.” She fidgets, then mutters, “Dad might be a little much for you right now.”

Florida? None of this is registering. The last thing I remember about my dad is him waving a sparkler toward my face, tears shining in his eyes. Fourth of July, maybe?

Mexico. Wedding. Trey.

“And Trey? Are we still . . . together?”

Margot smiles, lets out a goofy little laugh. “You could say that. I think the kids might like to think they’re legitimate.”

“Kids?”

“They’re at home right now.”

“I have kids?”

Margot sighs. “You do. Two of them. A boy named after Trey that you call Four because he’s the fourth Andrew Edward Locke, and a little girl named Neve that you named after a friend of yours in Ireland. You have a husband. And a life. Granted, it’s a little complicated right now.” Margot’s wavy face looks as if a cloud has passed by, and her voice trails off as if there’s more to say, then she brightens again. “I swear, you will remember everything soon. These memory gaps are just the aftereffects of the medication they’ve had you on. You’re coming back online in bits and pieces, just like they said you would. They don’t believe there’s any sort of permanent damage.”

This is feeling more and more surreal, but I remember Trey and I remember Margot, even though she looks wavy, so if she insists that I have children—I have children?—I will have to trust her. Though no matter how much I try, there is a big blank when I think of them.