“You still dream of making furniture?”
Her body had fully relaxed against mine as she nodded. “But it’s not something that I will be able to do anytime soon. I’ve realized that I don’t need school to do it. I only need money,” she said with a laugh. “I know it’ll take me time to save up, but I also know how worth it it’ll be in the end, knowing I did it all on my own.”
Before I could say anything else to her, a nurse walked in the room. “Are you the family of Mr. Jacobs?” she asked, holding a clipboard to her chest as she stood in the doorway.
Bree jumped up, her hands shaking at her sides. “Yes…he’s my father.”
Without thought, without a moment’s hesitation, I reached out and grabbed her hand in mine, gripping it tightly to show her my support. She needed to know that someone was there for her.
The older woman in pink and white scrubs took a few steps and sat down in the chair closest to her, motioning for Aubrey to do the same. “He’s awake. He’s very tired and still recovering from the anesthesia, so he’s groggy and doesn’t really know what’s going on. We have him sedated with heavy pain meds, so he’s not very lucid. But he’s in the clear, and that’s all that matters right now. You’re welcome to see him if you’d like, but we ask that only one person at a time goes in. And we don’t suggest staying too long. If he knows you’re in there, he might try to stay awake, and he needs his rest to allow his body to heal.”
Aubrey relaxed in front me. Her shoulders slumped and her head dropped. “Any idea of how long it’ll take for him to recover? When will he get to come home?”
The nurse shook her head and answered, “Let’s take it one step at a time, but as long as everything goes well, which we fully expect it to, he should be moved to a regular room tomorrow. As far as when he will be released, I can’t give you an answer. It all depends on how fast his body starts to heal.”
“Thank you,” Bree whispered, gripping my hand.
I wasn’t sure if she meant it toward me or the nurse, but the lady smiled and left the room. I didn’t move, refused to let go of Bree, and waited for her to make the first move.
“I need to go home.”
I nodded, knowing my time had come to an end.
“But I don’t want to be alone.”
“Why would you be alone?” I asked cautiously as I explored her wedding band with my fingertips and thumb.
She turned away and closed her eyes. “Can you please just make sure I get home okay? I’m really drained right now, and I would feel better if I knew someone was watching out for me. Plus, after what happened to my dad, I’m kinda scared to be driving.”
“Of course.” I couldn’t say more, ask more, or even suggest more, worried that it might push her away. I simply left it at that, grabbed her purse from the floor, and escorted her out to the parking lot.
I followed her across town, stopping when she pulled into a driveway next to another car. The smart thing to do would’ve been to wave at her and keep driving home. But I never claimed to be smart around Bree. That fact had been proven time and time again when I’d shut off all logic and engaged in a romantic relationship with a student, knowing the reality of the outcome. I decided to park on the road in front of her house and got out, knowing the dangerous line I teetered on. Just as I did with all things pertaining to Bree, I rationalized my thoughts. All I wanted was to say goodnight, to let her know that I would be there for support anytime she needed me. But as soon as I stepped up to her after she closed the door of her car, someone walked outside.
She was young with blond hair, petite, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. She wrapped her arms around her waist as she approached, probably fighting off the slight chill in the air. Her eyes narrowed on me, taking slow, cautious steps toward us.
“How is he?” she asked, facing Bree but not looking away from me.
“He’s fine. They said he can have visitors, but only one at a time and not for very long. Since I’m home now, you can go see him if you want. I don’t think I’ll go back up there until tomorrow. But if you want to go, you should probably hurry before they shut down visiting hours.” Bree’s voice was soft, full of sadness.
“Have you seen him?”
“No.” Bree shook her head adamantly. “I know he looks bad. I don’t want to see him that way. I don’t want to see him with all those tubes coming out of him and hooked up to the machines. They said that he’ll hopefully be in a regular room tomorrow, so I’m waiting on that.”
The blonde nodded, finally turning her full attention to Aubrey. She lightly touched Bree’s shoulders and smiled. “Thank you. I’m going to pick up Mom and then take her. She’s been a nervous wreck, and I think seeing him might calm her some.”
“I feel bad now. I’ve made you two wait this long.”
“Don’t feel bad,” the blonde said, shaking her head. “He’s your dad.”
“He’s yours, too.”
They both embraced each other, holding on for an extra second before letting go. The young woman, who I assumed to be one of her sisters, regarded me once more, and then backed away.
“Ayla is already fed, showered, and in bed. I don’t know if she’s asleep yet.”
“Thank you. Really, thank you for everything,” Bree whispered, sounding on the verge of crying. “If I don’t see you later, I’ll see you in the morning.” And with that, the sister got in her car and left.
I felt beyond confused, but didn’t know where to start. I only stood there, waiting for Aubrey to make a move, or at the very least, say something. I didn’t want to break the silence with an interrogation, and couldn’t believe I’d escaped one from her sister.
“Thank you, Axel. It really meant a lot that you were there,” she said, avoiding an explanation of who that was or what was going on.
I grabbed the tips of her fingers and exhaled loudly. “Bree—”
“Would you like to come inside?” she asked, clearing my head of any question I’d thought to ask. “I really don’t want to be alone.”
Unable to speak, I nodded and then followed her inside.
The house was small, but had a very comfortable, lived-in feeling. Pictures of Ayla hung on the walls, along with pieces of colored construction paper drawn by a creative artist donned with stick figures and various shapes. I stood in the entryway, taking everything in. The couch seemed worn, yet well taken care of. A small television sat on top of an antique-looking table with vibrant colored swirls as accents. The coffee table in the middle of the room was dark wood, yet more vibrant colors stood out on the edges and legs, glazed over by a thick coat of shine. I turned around and noticed a small bookcase. It stood at my hip level and was filled with children’s books. It, too, had the same painted designs beneath a polished coat.
“Are these yours?” I asked as I ran my finger over the top of the bookcase.
“What do you mean? I live here…so yeah, they’re mine.”
I lifted my head to look into her eyes. “I mean, did you design these?”
“They were old pieces of furniture I found on the side of the road and I just fixed them up. Whenever I pass by someone’s trash and see a piece by the road, I always stop and grab it. Some need more work than others. Some only need a new coat of paint. And sometimes, like the furniture in Ayla’s room, I end up taking pieces from several different things and turn it into one thing.” Her cheeks flamed red, showing her embarrassment over my awe of her talent.
“These are amazing, Bree. Why don’t you sell them?”
“I do sometimes. If I find something we don’t need, I take it to the flea market and sell it there. But I can’t do it regularly because I can only do it on things people have thrown out. I’m trying to save money so that I can start building my own. I’ve taken these things apart so many times I could make something with my eyes closed.”