Every Wild Heart by Meg Donohue

Author:Meg Donohue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2017-01-20T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

On Wednesday morning, I tossed my phone into Nic’s lap and started the car. She was supposed to be at school at nine and as usual we were running late. The battlefield that was San Francisco at rush hour waited for no one. I took a strange pleasure in navigating the predictable morning gridlock with Nic at my side; during those thirty to sixty minutes, Monday through Friday, our fates were intertwined.

“Find something that will appease the traffic gods,” I said to Nic, nodding toward my phone.

She scrolled through my playlists, and before long, the car’s speakers filled with the sound of Janis Joplin wailing about the pieces of her heart.

I grinned. “You know, this was playing in the hospital room when you were born.”

“And when I woke up from the com . . . I mean the concussion,” she answered, just managing to correct herself before she said “coma.” She was working hard to use language that downplayed the seriousness of her accident in the hopes that I could be convinced to disregard Dr. Feldman’s recommendation that she refrain from riding. Despite her bravura, I’d noticed that she winced as she walked down the stairs from her bedroom that morning. No matter what she said, her injuries—brain and otherwise—were not fully healed. She wasn’t riding anytime soon.

“Right,” I said. “Your ‘concussion.’ The concussion that left you unconscious and in a coma for four hours and stole at least as many years from my life.”

“Drama queen.” I didn’t have to look at Nic to know she was smiling.

“Head case,” I shot back.

“Mom! I can’t believe you’re joking about my battered head.”

“Oh, so now it’s battered?”

Nic laughed. “No. It’s not. I’m fine.”

I shook my head but could not help laughing along with my daughter. How could I? There she was in the passenger seat of my car, wearing a bright red T-shirt that I hadn’t even known she owned, laughing and healthy. I felt so lucky that she was there beside me, where I could reach out and squeeze her hand.

“Hands on the wheel, please, Mom.”

I sighed and returned my hand to the wheel. I began to sing along with Janis. To my delight, Nic joined in.

After a moment, she stopped. I felt her eyes on the side of my face. “Do you ever miss playing music for people?” she asked.

I glanced at her. “What do you mean? I play music all the time.”

“Not on the radio, though. Not the way you used to. You have such a cool music collection but no one ever gets to hear it.”

“Oh. Well, first of all, thank you. Second, I hear it. You hear it. Simone and Damien and Rachel and Sam hear it when they come over. Roy hears it in the car, as much as he might wish he didn’t.”

Nic began braiding the dark hair that fell over her shoulder. She could do this practically in her sleep, her fingers nimble from hours spent plaiting Tru’s coarse tail. “Yeah,” she said, “but we’re just a few people.

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