I'm Still Here Read online

  "Okay, then, I'm going to need a hint."

  "Well, I don't know about a hint."

  "Oh, come on already. Please?" I hated that I was begging. I hated that he was making me beg. I hated that I enjoyed begging him.

  "Oh, I guess. The hint is that my first name does not begin with the letter 'O.'" He was very coy, and if I wasn't mistaken, he winked at me.

  From the tone of his voice, it was obvious that he's played this game before. Shit, this was his standard line. No doubt about it. No way in hell am I going to be one of those girls who falls for a stupid line. Un uh, not me, not this time. Not gonna do it.

  "Look, O.K., whatever your name is. I don't mean to sound like a bitch, but I'm not in the mood for your line right now."

  "My line?"

  "Yeah, your pick-up line."

  O.K. smiled. He was not only smiling, he was laughing. Really belly laughing. What was he laughing at? Oh, shit. He was not only laughing, he was laughing at me.

  "Are you laughing at me?"

  "No," he choked out.

  I tried to cock my head but the neck brace prevented me from moving. Neck brace. Accident. Airbags. Big hair. Oh God, what must I look like right now? My hand flew up to my hair and tried to smooth it down. "Oh, God, do I look that bad?"

  He kept looking, and tried to stop laughing but couldn't. He was saved by an orderly who hastily entered from down the hall, "Ms. Cox, it is time to bring you to X-ray."

  I was wheeled off in one direction while O.K. just sat there, still laughing at me. Good thing I'd never have to see him again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "So there I was, accusing him of hitting on me. Little did I know that I was still covered in cornstarch from the airbag, my dress was stained and torn, and my hair was the size of a Jackson Five-era Afro. And to make matters worse, I had a bruise and road rash on my chest."

  "Oh gosh, Es, that's awful."

  I took a small sip of my green tea, staring down at the liquid. "That's not the worst part."

  "How can it not be the worst part? It sounds like a dreadful day. And then, to have some creep following you around and trying to pick you up. You poor dear." Jillian cooed at me. Her appearance was in such contrast to her soft, motherly demeanor. With her blunt cut black hair and dark glasses, she bore a startling resemblance to Edith Head. She could dress up as Edna Mode from The Incredibles for Halloween simply by donning a black dress. But beneath that hard exterior was a soft-hearted cream puff.

  "Yeah, no, it was even worse. I was eating a Ho Ho when I got hit. It smashed into my face. I went through the whole encounter with this guy with chocolate and cream smeared all over my face like a three-year-old."

  Jillian's hand flew to her mouth.

  "Oh yeah. I had Ho Ho cream in my eyebrow."

  "Oh, Es, that's even more terrible."

  "But wait, there's more."

  "How can there be any more? How could it be worse than that?"

  "Oh, it can be worse than that because that's my luck right now. You know, I thought moving to a new city would actually be a fresh start. But no, I'm doing even worse here than I had been. It's like I'm under a black cloud or something."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because O.K. was not some deranged stalker with good dental hygiene. Oh no, he was my doctor. Yeah, he was there because his shift started at eleven, and I was his first patient."

  Jillian froze, mid-bite on her Boston Cream. I gestured for her to close her mouth before she ended up wearing her partially masticated doughnut.

  "Yeah, he was there to examine me. The whole, 'how are you feeling?' was not a good Samaritan gesture. He was just doing his job."

  "Oh, Es, that's so embarrassing!"

  "Tell me about it. I've never had a day like that. I was like a walking disaster—like something out of a sitcom. That is so not me."

  "Well, at least you never have to see him again. Right?"

  I shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I'd never be able to rebound from the embarrassment of thinking he was hitting on me. Ho Ho cream in my eyebrow!"

  "Wait—why were you eating Ho Hos to begin with? I thought Saturday was that speed-dating event?"

  I again looked at my tea for answers. No words of wisdom in the leaves. I guess that happens when you use a tea bag. I shrugged again. Well, I tried to shrug. My neck and shoulders were still pretty tender, and moving them hurt. "Yeah, I chickened out. I told you it wasn't my type of thing."

  "Es, you know you have to get out more. You'll never find anyone sitting home eating Ho Hos and Fritos."

  "How did you know I bought Fritos too?"

  "Because I know your M.O. That's what you eat when you get stressed. Or need comfort. Or are happy. Or are sad. Or on days that end in 'Y.'"

  "Yeah, but only on those few rare occasions. Otherwise, I pride myself on my healthy eating."

  "This is true. You do eat so very healthy. I don't get the Ho Ho and Frito obsession."

  "That's what happens when you grow up on a commune with hippy-dippy parents. I've eaten so much tree bark and grass in my life that my body craves some bad stuff. I never got it as a kid."

  "Someday I want to meet your parents."

  "Cheryl and Dean? Yeah, I don't think so."

  "Awww, come on. I need to see where you came from. I need to see the people who produced such a wonderful child."

  I shook my head slightly. I hated talking about my family. I was getting angina simply thinking about them. Jillian never pushed, but I could tell she didn't understand either. "You don't understand. I don't have a relationship with my parents. I don't talk to them."

  "At all? How can that be?"

  I shrugged. "They're totally not normal. I mean, obviously. I call them by their first names. Always have. But they see me as the odd one. To them, I'm the black sheep. I don't fit in. I never have and I never will. And at this point, I'm persona non grata."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I'm too analytical. I don't read Tarot cards or tea leaves. I believe in Western medicine. I don't think that smoking a little weed will cure what ails you. I'm materialistic and like modern technology. And I ..." I broke off.

  "What?"

  "I believe that my sister is dead."

  "What do you mean that you believe it?"

  "Well, the most important detail in this story is that she left a suicide note. She wasn't stable, although my parents never wanted to see it. She disappeared one night and was never heard from again. She had been very ill and was an addict." I paused for a minute before saying, "But they never found her body, so my parents have always held out hope." I felt robotic saying it like that, but it had been so long, and I had been over it so many times. It had drained so much out of my life that I had to make the conscious decision to move past it. That was the final nail in the coffin between my family and me. I told Jillian as much.

  "How many kids are there in your family again? Ten, twelve?"

  "No, only seven." I smiled. It was amazing how people were dumbfounded when they found out the size of my family. It wasn't that big. It's not like we were the Duggars or anything.

  "Which sister was it?"

  "Aster."

  "Was she older or younger? Where was she in the line up?"

  "She was older than me by twelve minutes. We were twins."

  "Identical?"

  "No, fraternal. Cheryl's womb was the only thing we ever had in common."

  Jillian put down her doughnut and wiped her hands. "You mean to tell me that your mom named her twins Aster and Esther? And how did I not know you were a twin?"

  "I don't talk about it much. And yes, Cheryl did name us Aster and Esther. I was always jealous that Aster got this cool, ethereal pretty flowery name and I had the name of an eighty-year-old Jewish woman. Which wouldn't have been bad if we were Jewish, but my parents were originally Catholic."

  "Do you want to talk about it?" I could tell Jillian was dying to know more.

  "Not right now. Some
day, I'll tell you the whole story, but I'm not up for it right now. I need to have a lot more alcohol before I even attempt to tell some of my family stories. But you want know the weird thing?"

  "What?"

  "So, after the accident, Dr. O.K. had helped me out of the car and I was standing there. I was trying to lift my head. I heard a woman scream."

  "Was it the other driver?"

  "No, that's the thing. I don't know where the scream came from. It was somewhere across the intersection. I'm positive that it was Aster."

  "Why do you think that it was Aster?"

  "Because it was her voice. I know it was sure as I'm sittin' here. But it was also what she said."

  "What did she say?"

  "She said something from when we were kids. She said, 'Avert your eyes!' It was a private thing. No one else in the world would know about it."

  "What does it mean?"

  "We always had to share a room, which was fine, but as we got older, privacy became scarce. One night Violet was in our room and she thought a bug flew down her pants, so she took them off. Aster yelled, 'Avert your eyes' as Violet disrobed. I don't know why, but we found it hysterical. From then on, whenever one of us went to undress, the other yelled that."

  "Oh my God. Do you think it was her?"

  "I don't know what to think. I've felt for seven years that she was dead. I've done battle after battle with my family to give up their hope and to let go." I finished the dregs of my tea and stood up. "I know that I am right. I just can't explain what happened."

  "Do you think she was there, you know, in spirit?"

  "I don't think so. But at this point, I don't know what to believe anymore."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. Nothing worked. Damn whiplash. I couldn't sit, but I couldn't lie down either. It still hurt to turn my head. I guess it was a good thing that I didn't have a car to be driving right now. I wouldn't be able to anyway. I got up, popped another couple of Advil like they were Tic Tacs and went over to my computer.

  I sat there, staring at the dark screen, hesitant to even turn it on. I knew what I was thinking of doing, and I didn't want to do it. I mean, I did want to do it, but, oh crap I was so confused. I knew I wanted to start researching, trying to find out what was happening to me. But I was scared. I needed to talk to someone about the situation. Not Jillian. She was too soft-hearted and naive. Despite the cruel and hard realities of our jobs with Franklin County Children's Services, Jillian was still shocked each time someone did something bad to another human being. It was why she was good for the job—she had faith in the human race. I considered myself good for the job because I had grown up in a family of dysfunction, and I understand how messed up things could really get.

  The alarm on my phone beeped. I looked at the calendar reminder. I had physical therapy in forty-five minutes. Without a car, I was left to walk to therapy, so I needed to get going. As much as I had hated my beat-up, rusted-out, piece-of-shit mobile, it sure beat hoofing it everywhere. When the weather was bad, I took the bus, but I think I hated that even more. At least it was a warm day, but not too hot, especially considering it was the end of August. Thank you, global cooling. I would probably only be a little sweaty by the time I reached the clinic, but I threw on an extra coat of deodorant before leaving nonetheless. I pulled my unruly red hair up into a knot (or as close as my hair would let me) on the top of my head. It was more like a big fuzz ball. I would need my hair off my neck for the session. Plus, I was always looking for containment of my hair, which refused to be contained or defined.

  Thirty-five minutes later, I was huffing and puffing up the large hill that led to the medical arts building where the PT clinic was. I couldn't run or work out because my neck and back were significantly jacked up. Three weeks had passed since the accident. I was still waiting on a rental car from my insurance. It had seemed like a good idea at the time to switch to that company with the cool commercials, but in hindsight, paying a little more for a company that actually delivered might have been a good idea. No longer would I be fooled by talking animals promising better prices. I was due to go back to work on Monday, and I would need a car to visit my clients. I needed to get that red tape unraveled soon. That was another problem for another moment. At this moment, I needed to get into the PT clinic so Kevin could work wonders and hopefully fix me once and for all.

  Of course, recovering from whiplash and then speed walking to my PT session was probably not the best idea. I was often full of not-so-bright ideas. By the time I got to the door, I could barely stand up, let alone pull the freakishly heavy door open. Seriously, this was a place for people with physical problems. Why did the door weigh fifty pounds? As I was struggling with the door (I'd be damned if I would use the handicapped button), an arm reached over my shoulder and I heard a voice say, "Allow me, Ms. Cox."

  I knew the voice without turning around. Of course, I couldn't turn my head, even if I wanted to, but luckily I didn't need to. Why was this guy always showing up? Why did I always have to look like an ass when he did show up? I don't think that looking like an ass was my baseline, but this would be the third time with this guy, so maybe it was. Was it the karmic rule of the universe that I should always embarrass myself in front of the adorable doctor with the killer grin?

  I stepped back and allowed him to pull the door open for me. It appeared effortless on his part, like the door weighed no more than a sheet of paper. Huh. He probably worked out. Rescuer, doctor, perfect teeth, gorgeous brown eyes. I didn't need to add a most-likely fit and trim body. He was too perfect. He needed nothing more in his favor.

  "I'm here for PT," I said as I walked towards the PT clinic door. Duh. I was such a dolt. Why was I always saying and doing idiotic things around him? When he was merely some anonymous person who had pulled me out of my car, I could form a coherent thought and not sound like an imbecile. But once I realized that he was not only a kind person (because what other type of person would help a stranger out during a car accident?), but cute, I seemed to have lost brain cells.

  "I got that," O.K. said smiling. He nodded towards the door. "How's it going?"

  "Other than the fact that I can't turn my head, I'm in constant excruciating pain, I still have no car, and I have to go back to work in four days, things are just peachy." I didn't mention that I was beginning to doubt my sanity thinking that I heard my dead sister just after the accident. Actually, I wonder if O.K. heard the woman screaming too? Maybe I should ask him. If he heard it too, then maybe I wasn't going crazy. If he hadn't heard it, well, then, I think the answer is pretty obvious.

  "Wait, you don't have a car yet? How did you get here? Did someone drop you off?"

  I could be crazy (completely to be determined), but I could have sworn that he glanced at my left hand when he said the word 'someone.'

  "Um, no. I walked."

  "You walked? Do you live close by? This isn't a residential section." Crazy again, but I know a look of relief crossed his face when I said that I was here alone.

  "I live over off North High in Clintonville, in an apartment complex by the Steak 'N Shake."

  "That's at least a mile away!"

  "It's about a mile and a half."

  "And you walked it?" He almost seemed incredulous.

  "Yeah. You know, I always hated my car, but at least I didn't have to worry about anyone breaking into it when I had to drive into bad neighborhoods. Now I miss it dreadfully. At least the walking is good exercise. I can't really do anything else right now. It kind of keeps me a little sane as well."

  "Are you not doing so well since the accident?"

  I wanted to be flippant and brazen and shrug it off, but I couldn't. "Yes. No, not really. I didn't expect things to be this hard. I thought I'd get better faster. And ..." I trailed off before I got to the coo-coo part.

  "Did you say you were going back to work on Monday?"

  "Yeah, hopefully, as long as Kevin gives me the okay."

/>   He smiled when I said 'okay.' "Do you still want to know what my real name is?"

  I could swear he was flirting with me. Should I flirt back? Could I flirt back? It had been so long since I'd even tried. Last time, I thought he was flirting with me, I ended up sounding like a gigantic jackass. No, I was going to take the straight and narrow approach.

  "Um, actually, I have to get into my appointment with Kevin's magic hands, but, um, there is something I would like to talk to you about. Would you be available to grab a cup of coffee sometime?"

  "Far be it from me to keep you from Kevin's magic hands, although I now wish I were Kevin. My office is down the hall. Why don't you come over after and I'll give you a lift home? You might have to wait a few minutes, but I'm just catching up on some paperwork. Will that work?"

  "Oh, um, sure." Holy cow, that was definite flirting. "I hadn't really expected you to actually say yes." Dammit. Where was my internal filter and why wasn't it working?

  O.K. smiled again. He had the most delightful lines around his eyes. It showed that he smiled a lot. I liked that. Of course, with teeth as perfect as his, I'd be smiling all the time as well. He seemed like a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Maybe he was the kind of person I should consider pursuing. The question was, was I the kind of person that he would consider pursuing?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I sat in the waiting room of Dr. O.K.'s office. The secretary kept stealing glances at me out of the corner of her eye. It was apparent that she wanted to check me out but didn't want to be caught doing so. It made me wonder if there were girls here to go out with Dr. O.K. all the time. However, she wasn't very sly, and I caught her every single time. I was sure that I was a sight to behold. Black yoga pants and gray sneakers. A lime green, slightly fitted v-neck t-shirt. And then there was the hair. Piled on top of my head, the ginger curls had escaped containment and now it looked like I was wearing an electrocuted animal.

  My hair was my arch nemesis. I hated my hair. It was red. But not really red; that was just the category I fell into. Honestly, it was orange. I never said that aloud because then came the inevitable comment ... carrot top. And it was curly. The only thing I had going for me is that it was not super thick, just moderately thick. When it was humid, it sucked moisture out of the air and grew to epic proportions. My whole life, all people ever commented on with regard to my appearance was my hair. No one ever saw past the domineering life force to my face, which I thought was remotely pretty. No one saw my eyes, which were the coolest color, half way between dark blue and dark green. No one saw that my skin was porcelain and flawless and that I looked younger than my age. Nope, they only saw the hair.