Free Becoming Ellen by Shari Shattuck

didn’t know, but she suspected that she’d made this one up.
    â€œBwana. It means ‘boss,’ or something like that. I read it in a Tarzan book. In this case I’m using it because you’re the guide, like on safari.”
    That made Ellen think she should have some kind of rifle or at least a machete. They started down the right side. The beds were separated by curtains on tracks, pulled closed on the sides for privacy, but left open to the center of the ward. As they went along, Ellen read the names on the charts hung on the foot of each of the beds. She stopped at the fifth and final bed.
    â€œThis is her,” she said, staring fixedly at the chart because she didn’t want to look up. The memory of the woman jammed between the seats on the bus had been hard enough to see. A second, unerasable imprint of the result of those injuries Ellen preferred to avoid, if at all possible.
    Temerity let go of Ellen and slipped in along the right side of the bed. She was able to avoid the machines that beeped and whirred by their sounds and a careful exploration with her hands. Ellen slid along the left side of the bed until she was partially concealed by the curtain, which was drawn to shade the bed from weak sunlight coming from the windowed wall next to it. Feeling somewhat safer, she finally raised her eyes to find that Temerity was holding the woman’s limp and bruised hand. Ellen waited to see what would happen, if the woman would wake up and say something. Or not.
    Speaking softly, Temerity said, “Hi, I’m not sure if you can hear me, but my name is Temerity and I’m here with my friend Ellen. She helped your little girl when the bus crashed. We wanted to come and see how you are doing.”
    The only response was the humming and clicking of machines. Ellen whispered, “I don’t think she can hear you.”
    Temerity sighed and said, “Maybe. We don’t know. How does she look?”
    Ellen scanned the bed, the monitors, the tubing that led into the Carson woman’s throat. Ellen didn’t know anything about all this equipment, but the rising and falling of the blue accordion-like shape in the clear-plastic cylinder matched the same motion in the woman’s breast.
    â€œNot good.”
    Temerity sighed again. She asked Ellen, “What’s her name?”
    â€œMadeline.”
    â€œMadeline,” Temerity repeated, first to herself and then to the inert form. “Madeline,” she called out softly. “No, you wouldn’t go by that would you? Maybe . . . Maddy. Hi, Maddy, nice to meet you. Wish it was under better circumstances.”
    To Ellen’s consternation, but not really surprise, Temerity groped around until she found the single visitor’s chair and pulled it up to the bed. “So, Maddy. We came because we wanted to find out how you are doing, and we don’t think our answer is a very good one. So here’s the thing.”
    Ellen stood watching in awe as, even though her voice was clear and never wavered, a tear trailed down Temerity’s cheek. “We know that you’re worried about Lydia, and we want you to know she’s okay. She wasn’t hurt at all, and we think she went to stay with another family for a while until you get stronger.”
    For an instant, when Temerity said the name Lydia, Ellen thought she saw Maddy’s eyelids flutter, but it may have only been a trick of the blinking monitors.
    â€œAs soon as we know more, we’re going to come back and tell you. We think you’ll feel better if you know what’s going on and that Lydia is okay.”
    There it was again, Ellen was more certain this time. Just a flicker of movement when Temerity said the name. Ellen was so startled that she actually said, “Did you see that?” to Temerity.
    Her friend’s response was a roll of her head in Ellen’s direction. “I’m sorry,” she said dryly.