Anything but Ordinary Read Free Page A

shook his warm, dry hand. He was barrel-chested and balding. He looked like a coach, Bryce thought. “I’m the head of research for neurology at Cornell.”
    Bryce just smiled thinly, tuning him out. She had already answered a million questions from researchers at Columbia and Johns Hopkins. At this point, doctors across the country knew her brain better than she did. Apparently not only was her waking up after five years a miracle, her ability to talk and scoot around made her some sort of medical phenomenon.
    Bryce had a hard time feeling miraculous when most of the conversations she had in the past month revolved around who was going to cut her toenails or walk her to physical therapy twice a day. She envied Sydney, breezing in and out for her obligatory five minutes a day at the hospital, wearing short skirts, smelling like the outside. Bryce did not feel like a miracle. She felt like a freak of nature. She felt bored.
    The doctor was still talking. “…so I was hoping we could schedule a further evaluation at our facility, once you’re up for travel.”
    Bryce just shrugged. “We’ll see,” she said, gesturing to her wheelchair, as if it might make the decision for her.
    “So, Bryce.” He took a seat on the chair next to her, taking out a notepad. “What was it like to wake up?”
    “Like being dipped in a bucket of ice water,” she began. This was her go-to response.
    “Could you hear and see right away, then?”
    Bryce recalled the lights pooling above her, the sounds of machines kicking in. “I could. It took a little bit—”
    “Unbelievable,” Dr. Felding interrupted in awe. “According to your charts, you are recovering more rapidly than any other documented case. And your journal mentions that you’ve even stood up a couple of times?”
    “You have my journal?” Bryce’s stomach twisted. It was just a notebook in her now scratchy, second-grade handwriting that Dr. Warren told her to keep, so she could remember new skills that came each day, or side effects of certain medicines. But still. It was hers.
    Bryce tried to glance behind the doctor, hoping Jane might come back.
    Dr. Felding waved a hand. “Just a copy.”
    “Excuse me,” a young man’s voice said from the doorway.
    Bryce’s eyes were drawn to a pair of worn New Balance sneakers. The shoes were attached to a pair of khakis, followed by an untucked button-down shirt. They belonged to a handsome, dark-haired young man. The doctor’s coat he wore seemed out of place.
    He said sternly, “Are you authorized to be in here?”
    “Hi. Liam Felding, Cornell University.” Dr. Felding stood up and took the young man’s hand. “I’m just asking Bryce a few questions.”
    “That’s nice,” the guy said dismissively, crossing his arms. “But visiting hours are over. She needs to eat lunch.”
    “The receptionist said until three o’clock,” Dr. Felding protested.
    “Blood relations only during lunch,” he replied. Bryce thought she could see a hint of a smile on his face, but she wasn’t sure.
    “But—” Dr. Felding began.
    “Are you her uncle?”
    “No, but—”
    “Her distant cousin?”
    “No.” Dr. Felding stood awkwardly.
    “Kindly leave until she finishes lunch.”
    “How long will lunch last?”
    The young man shrugged. “Could be forever, who knows?” This time, he glanced at Bryce, his eyes glinting.
    Dr. Felding stared. The guy in the doctor’s coat stared back. Finally, Dr. Felding closed his notepad and left.
    “Thanks,” Bryce said, as soon as he was out of earshot.
    “I’m Carter.” He crossed over to her; she took his outstretched hand. His eyes were a familiar blue-gray. Bryce felt the room drop away around her. They could have been shaking hands anywhere. In a park, in an elevator. Had they met before?
    “Bryce,” she said, and they let go.
    “Bryce Graham, I am aware.” He smiled. Then he said slowly, “I have to say, it’s a trip to see you up and about.” He turned to retrieve a