The Wedding Tree by Robin Wells Page B

forgetting.
    â€œRalph and I will meet you at the house,” Eddie said.
    â€œFine,” I said, although I didn’t really register what he’d said. I was too caught up in noticing that there seemed to be two Eddies. Something was wrong with my vision, because sometimes I saw double and even triple.
    Becky—no, it was Hope; I’d seen her face fall too many times when I’d called her the wrong name over the last few days, and Isure didn’t want to do that again—smiled at me. “Does the seat belt hurt your ribs?”
    Seat belt—that’s what it was called. And why on earth was she asking about my ribs? Something must be wrong with them. That must be why my lower chest throbbed. “I’m fine, dear.”
    But I wasn’t. I was confused and disoriented, and my hands were clammy. Thoughts flitted in and out of my head like hummingbirds, pausing for just a few seconds before winging on their way. I couldn’t seem to hold on to any of them.
    I knew I was in a car, but where the heck were we? I looked around, searching for clues. A woman in a blue medical outfit—what do they call it? Scraps?—was pushing a wheelchair away from the curb. “Take care now, Mrs. McCauley,” she said.
    The hospital—that’s right. I’d fallen, hit my head, and cracked my ribs. Relief washed through me—first relief that I could remember where I was, and then relief that I was leaving. The next time I came here, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be so lucky.
    My days in the hospital all blended together in my memory like that cottage cheese and Jell-O recipe I used to make, opaque and filled with chunks of crunchy stuff that tasted the same—only instead of apples and celery, these chunks were made up of having my blood pressure checked, being helped to bathroom, and feeling a stranger’s hands bathe me in the shower.
    It was humbling, being on the receiving end of bathing and bathroom care. I’d performed the tasks for Charlie when he was first injured, but getting the help myself . . . well, I knew it had been hard on Charlie, but I had a new appreciation of just how hard. I think it must have been worse to get help from a spouse than from a stranger—especially knowing that the spouse had been about to leave you.
    One thing I do remember clearly about my stay in the hospital—it stands out, as sure as nuts in Jell-O—was that visit with Mother. If I didn’t want to spend eternity getting tongue-lashed, I had to tellHope everything and take care of that piece of business I’d put off for decades. The thought made my breakfast turn sour in my stomach.
    I must have closed my eyes and dozed for a moment, because the next thing I knew, Hope was pulling up in front of the house. Time has become uneven. It slides by unnoticed, as if nothing is changing, and then all of a sudden, I look around and everything’s different.
    â€œSit tight, and I’ll get your walker out of the trunk,” Hope said.
    My walker? I didn’t need a walker, like an old lady! Or did I? Maybe so. I couldn’t risk falling again until I finished following Mother’s instructions.
    The sun was shining, and the tulips in the yard were in full bloom—bright bursts of brilliant yellow and white, blinding as a flashbulb. A handsome officer’s face floated into my memory, and my mind started to go down a rabbit hole, but then my eye caught the hot pink flash of azaleas, just starting to bud, and my thoughts zoomed even further backward, back to childhood.
    I was five years old, crouched beside the azalea bed with my mother. She wore her brown-checked housedress, flowered cotton gloves, and her floppy straw gardening hat. I had a gardening hat and a pair of gloves, too, but I’d taken them off after about two minutes. I’d never liked the feel of things on my hands or head.
    â€œYour skin is going to turn as brown and rough