Excerpt from Plain Fame by Sarah Price
To be released October 15, 2012
When she awoke in the hospital room, it was dark outside. It took her a minute to place where she was. Slowly, the memories came back to her. The noise of the streets, the blinking light at the crossway, the impact of the car as it hit her. For a moment, she relived that moment, seeing the people staring at her as she was sprawled on the streets. Groaning, she turned her head away from the memory and stared out the dirty window by her bed.
She could see the twinkling lights of New York City from the hospital window. It took her a moment to realize where she was. The white walls, the metal twin bed, the curtain that hung between herself and the plain oak door. There was a large bouquet of flowers on the windowsill, pink and white roses. She frowned when she saw them and tried to count how many roses were in the tall, glass vase with the pretty white bow around its neck. She stopped counting at twenty-four and left it as “a lot”. But she couldn’t begin to realize why there were “a lot” of flowers on a windowsill in a strange room that she imagined was in a hospital.
Amanda shut her eyes and leaned back into the pillow. There was a dull ache in her left leg and her head felt fuzzy. She couldn’t move much more than her eyes and even that hurt. Why wasn’t she home, she wondered as she tried to piece together the events that had led her in this hospital bed when she should be home, helping her mamm cleaning up the dishes from the evening meal.
Her eyes fell onto the flowers. Roses, she thought. Her mother had several rose bushes at the farm. They were tall and bushy with clusters of vibrant red roses. The buds were small and delicate, unlike these roses that were tall and perfectly formed, like a dainty cup, the petals peeling back just slightly to hint at the beauty inside of them. Who on earth would have sent her flowers? And roses at that!
“Hey you,” a deep male voice said from the doorway.
Amanda turned her head around, startled by the familiarity of the voice. A man stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders accentuated by the fact that he wore a crisp, clean black suit. He wasn’t particularly tall but he seemed to fill the room with his presence. His white shirt was perfectly tailored and he had on a thin, black tie. Despite being indoors, he wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. His thick, curly brown hair hung over his forehead, giving him a tousled look that was charmingly handsome and playful. And his voice. It sounded like a song, the words flowing with an odd accent that she had never heard before.