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The accident had ripped away Ava’s voice. It took her a few days to speak in full sentences. She responded ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the questions Teddy asked about her comfort level until eventually she was wheeled out of intensive care and into a rehabilitation ward.
This wing of the hospital was bright and sterile, and the rubberized floor cheeped against the nurses’ sneakers. Hospital equipment lined the edges of the room, leaving a wide-open space in the middle for rehabilitation exercises. Someone had tried to warm the space with categorically pleasing art: photographs of meadows, young animals, the smiling elderly. A bulletin board documenting patient milestones was framed with pink and purple streamers.
Ava’s physical therapist, Diane, was short and thin, with light hair that she part
