Say That Again by Gemini Sasson Page A

raspy sound came out.
    “What?” Maura said, bending closer so her ear was mere inches from Hannah’s mouth.
    Hunter put down the bag of clean clothes that Jenn had sent with them. Before he could reach Hannah’s bedside, Maura drew back and looked at him in disbelief.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    Maura glanced at her sister. “She said ‘thank you’.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Positive.” She flung her arms around her father and squeezed tight.
    “What’s this for?”
    “Just happy, is all. I’d hug her, but she likes to scream whenever someone touches her too hard, so I’m hugging you, instead.” Maura tilted her head back and they shared a smile. “Can I call Mom?”
    Hunter handed her his phone, but instructed her to make the call in the waiting area down the hall. He watched her go, then sat carefully on Hannah’s bed.
    She looked at him through a fog, but when he took her hand, she held on firmly.
    “Hannah, sweet pea. You know how badly you wanted a dog for your birthday and, well, we told you that you weren’t old enough? I’m thinking maybe we were wrong about that. If we had a dog ... If we had a dog, you could probably change his water and brush him sometimes. Maura could walk and feed him. You could both play with him. You’d have to share, though. Would that be okay?”
    She didn’t respond — not that he expected her to — but he went on anyway. “First, though, you have to get better, okay? And I know it’s hard, but when people ask you questions, you have to answer. That way we know you hear us and understand. Okay?”
    She nodded, barely, and breathed a single word, “Okay.”
    ––––––––
    —o00o—
    ––––––––
    A month after she spoke again, the Hannah they took home was not the same girl who had fallen into the river that cold December morning. She was quieter, less curious, and more withdrawn. It still seemed like she was having a hard time grasping thoughts and shaping them into words, but as Dr. Pruitt explained, it would take a while yet for her full mental capacity to return — and her personality might never be completely the same. She’d been traumatized and the effects of the tragedy that had very nearly claimed her life could last well into adulthood.
    As far as her motor functions went, however, she was almost normal for her age. Almost. Hunter couldn’t help but notice the slight shake in her hands when Jenn handed her a drink the morning they were packing her belongings in the hospital room. Hunter paused as he was folding her pajama bottoms, watching. Hannah brought the cup greedily to her lips. It was mango juice, her favorite. Juice dribbled down her chin. Undeterred, she wiped it away and drank until she had emptied the cup.
    He glanced at Jenn, but she was chattering away gaily, so happy to be taking Hannah home. A spot of guilt stained Hunter’s conscience. Through it all, Jenn had never given up hope, never wavered; while he had been convinced more than once that Hannah would never again draw breath, or look into their eyes, or speak. Perhaps it was because of what he’d been through himself as a child and then as a young man, but he wasn’t afraid of death like most people were. It was not a finality, an ending. It was merely a transition. And what waited on the other side was more beautiful than anyone else dared believe. It was a place not of rapture, but of peace and contentment. Where there was no yesterday or tomorrow, no there or that or then, but simply here and this and now.
    He had never spoken of his near-death experiences to anyone. Not even Jenn. How do you explain the hereafter to someone who doesn’t believe in soulmates or reincarnation or even God? It wasn’t about being secular or religious, though. It was about the spiritual. About believing there was more to any living thing than the body or even the soul. Even Hunter didn’t fully understand it. He simply accepted it.
    Except for Jenn’s monologue, the