Edward Adrift

if she wasnt here and that would suck.
    Mom and Victor are getting on a plane to come here.
    The doctor people who took Edward on the helicopter said he was lucky.
    I wish theyd come out and say something.
    I hope hes okay. Im really scared. So is that lady.
    I had the strangest dream.
    In my head, I was a building. Only I wasn’t a static building, rooted to one place like buildings are. I was a shape-shifting building. I would grow longer and longer and take up entire city blocks, then I would shoot up high into the sky and change color, and then I would double back the way I came on the other side of the block. It was a little like the old arcade game Centipede, the way the centipede would grow and grow, taking up more of the screen. The only difference, in this case, is that no one was shooting at me and trying to separate me.
    I’m so thirsty.
    I open my eyes, and sitting next to me is Sheila Renfro. She’s looking into my face with her blue eyes. I must still be dreaming.
    “Sheila Renfro.”
    “Hello, Edward.”
    “What are you doing here?”
    “You had a wreck.”
    “Where’s Kyle?”
    “He went to the bathroom. He’ll be back in a minute.”
    I look around the room. It’s all white.
    “You lied to me about Kyle,” she says.
    “What?”
    “You lied to me. He’s not your nephew. He’s your friend, and his mom and dad are on the way.”
    I try to move my elbows behind me to push myself up, and the pain is so bad that I think I’m going to pass out. I don’t keep statistics on such things, but it’s the worst physical pain I’ve ever felt.
    “Edward, be still,” Sheila Renfro says. “You broke a couple of ribs.”
    I stop moving and wait as the pain recedes.
    “Can I have some water?” I ask.
    Sheila Renfro comes to the other side of my bed. I follow her with my eyes. I’m afraid to move again. She slips a big plastic cup of water with an oversize straw under my chin.
    “Drink up,” she says, and I do.
    Every time I swallow, it hurts.
    When I’m done, I say, “How did I break my ribs?”
    “You drove into the back of a snowplow.”
    “Is Kyle all right?”
    “He’s fine. A little sore, but he wasn’t hurt.”
    “Where is this?”
    “St. Joseph Hospital in Denver.”
    “Is Kyle all right?”
    “Yes. I said he is.”
    “How did you get here?”
    “I drove. You left your phone and your medicine and I followed you.”
    “You brought us here?”
    “I brought Kyle here. The helicopter brought you.”
    “Where’s Kyle?”
    “He went to the bathroom. I told you that.”
    “What happened?”
    “I told you.”
    “I’m sorry I lied.”
    “Don’t lie to me ever again.”
    “I’m sorry I lied.”
    “Close your eyes, Edward.”
    I close my eyes as Sheila Renfro tells me to do, and a new image fills my head. It’s my father in the Cadillac DTS that used to belong to him and now belongs to me. It’s midday and the sun is out, and my father is wearing sunglasses.
    “Where shall we go, Teddy?” my father asks.
    “You’re driving, Father,” I hear myself tell him.
    “Damn right,” he says, and we’re off.
    The dream blinks out of my head like a television being turned off. I open my eyes.
    Sheila Renfro is stroking my forehead, pushing my hair back slowly and rhythmically, and she’s looking at me. She’s smiling at me.

    When I wake up again, it is to the sound of multiple voices talking in my hospital room.
    I open my eyes and wait for the adjustment to the light, for the retina and the iris and the rods and cones to do their jobs.
    It’s Donna and Victor and Kyle and Sheila Renfro and a young man in a white shirt and a black tie.
    “Hi,” I say. My ribs ache when I do.
    My friends all jump as if they are surprised to hear my voice. Donna comes over and dips her head down to mine and kisses me on the cheek, and I feel suddenly warm. Sheila Renfro lingers behind her, watching. Victor shakes my hand gently; I think he sees me wince as I reach across my body with my right hand, and he spares me the vigorous shake I usually get from him. Kyle walks around to the other side of my bed, opposite the grown-ups, and says, “Hi, Edward.”
    “Hi, Kyle.”
    The young man in the white shirt steps forward.
    “Hello, Mr. Stanton. I’m Dr. Ira Banning. Do you remember me?”
    Even with all the activity in the room, some things are starting to return to me. I remember stopping for gas in Kit Carson, Colorado, after we left Sheila Renfro’s motel in haste, when I looked