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Authors: Julie Anne Lindsey
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curl.
The landline rang, and I dropped his hand. “I’d better get that. It might be the hospital.”
“You want me to stay?”
Yes. “No. I’m fine.”
I waved good-bye and dashed to the phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Reese? This is Dr. Ashband at Wetzel County Hospital. I’m afraid your grandfather has slipped into a coma.”
Chapter 7
I walked to the hospital early the next morning. Dew and fog clung to the ground. A haze of water thickened the air. The world was silent, save a handful of farmers on tractors and livestock grazing behind stubby fences.
I slipped between the sliding glass doors and made my way to the third floor. The hospital was eerily still. The overpowering stench of cleansers seemed almost normal this time. Was it like that for Mom at the end? Did she live someplace like this before she died? Did she get used to the masked scents of sickness? My stomach churned at the idea of her suffering.
“You’re back.” The nurse from yesterday smiled at me.
“Is he still in a coma?” It was the only thing I’d thought about since I’d climbed into bed at one thirty.
“Yes.” She slid a hand onto my shoulder and turned me in the opposite direction. “He’s right down here.”
I followed her down the hallway to a set of double doors that swung open as we approached. The little sign on the wall said “Coma Ward.”
“Almost there,” she prompted.
A woman in patterned scrubs stacked files on a giant round desk. She glanced our way without speaking.
“This is it.” We stopped outside a room with normal walls and a standard obligatory window.
Mark’s new room wasn’t as scary as the one in recovery.
“Thanks.”
The scene was movie-like. He didn’t look real. He was grayer. Vulnerable. Wires and tubes protruded from him, attached to a bouquet of machines with purposes I didn’t understand.
I gripped my camera bag and planned my retreat. I wouldn’t stay long. How long was long enough? I didn’t want to seem rude to the nurses. Mark wouldn’t care. He didn’t want me there, so why was I compelled to come?
Guilt saddled me to a chair at his bedside. Like it or not, Mark was all I had, and I didn’t want to be alone.
The nurse hung casually in the doorway. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
She sauntered to his bedside and checked the monitors. “You should talk to him. Research suggests coma patients retain sensory perception.” She stoked his arm. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Reese?”
“Um. I don’t think he would want that.”
“I think you’re wrong.” She moved away on silent feet and pulled the door partially shut as she left.
My throat thickened.
I dug into my bag and extricated a picture of Mark and Mom when she was young. Their heads were tilted in on one another, mouths open in laughter. Grandma had probably taken the picture. Whatever they’d been up to that day, they’d been happy. I leaned the snapshot against a lamp on his nightstand. He’d see it if he woke.
Traitorous tears stung my eyes. I shouldn’t care if Mark died. I didn’t even know him. He didn’t want me. So, why did the idea of losing him shred my heart into pieces? Why did I need him so much?
Tears dripped off the end of my nose and onto my lap. I scrubbed a hand over my face, capturing renegade drops on the pads of my fingers. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mark was supposed to get old, retire, and see me make something of myself. I was going to be something he could be proud of, and one day he’d look at me like I mattered.
“Ugh.” I swiped a stiff tissue from the box of generics at his bedside. “What am I supposed to say to you? You’d probably race into the light just to get away from my voice.” I laughed at my morbid joke and grabbed another tissue.
I hated problems I couldn’t fix. I hated not being eighteen. I hated that Mark hadn’t signed the paperwork so I could go to school. I hated being helpless to do it myself. Now, he
The landline rang, and I dropped his hand. “I’d better get that. It might be the hospital.”
“You want me to stay?”
Yes. “No. I’m fine.”
I waved good-bye and dashed to the phone. “Hello?”
“Miss Reese? This is Dr. Ashband at Wetzel County Hospital. I’m afraid your grandfather has slipped into a coma.”
Chapter 7
I walked to the hospital early the next morning. Dew and fog clung to the ground. A haze of water thickened the air. The world was silent, save a handful of farmers on tractors and livestock grazing behind stubby fences.
I slipped between the sliding glass doors and made my way to the third floor. The hospital was eerily still. The overpowering stench of cleansers seemed almost normal this time. Was it like that for Mom at the end? Did she live someplace like this before she died? Did she get used to the masked scents of sickness? My stomach churned at the idea of her suffering.
“You’re back.” The nurse from yesterday smiled at me.
“Is he still in a coma?” It was the only thing I’d thought about since I’d climbed into bed at one thirty.
“Yes.” She slid a hand onto my shoulder and turned me in the opposite direction. “He’s right down here.”
I followed her down the hallway to a set of double doors that swung open as we approached. The little sign on the wall said “Coma Ward.”
“Almost there,” she prompted.
A woman in patterned scrubs stacked files on a giant round desk. She glanced our way without speaking.
“This is it.” We stopped outside a room with normal walls and a standard obligatory window.
Mark’s new room wasn’t as scary as the one in recovery.
“Thanks.”
The scene was movie-like. He didn’t look real. He was grayer. Vulnerable. Wires and tubes protruded from him, attached to a bouquet of machines with purposes I didn’t understand.
I gripped my camera bag and planned my retreat. I wouldn’t stay long. How long was long enough? I didn’t want to seem rude to the nurses. Mark wouldn’t care. He didn’t want me there, so why was I compelled to come?
Guilt saddled me to a chair at his bedside. Like it or not, Mark was all I had, and I didn’t want to be alone.
The nurse hung casually in the doorway. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“No, thank you.”
She sauntered to his bedside and checked the monitors. “You should talk to him. Research suggests coma patients retain sensory perception.” She stoked his arm. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Reese?”
“Um. I don’t think he would want that.”
“I think you’re wrong.” She moved away on silent feet and pulled the door partially shut as she left.
My throat thickened.
I dug into my bag and extricated a picture of Mark and Mom when she was young. Their heads were tilted in on one another, mouths open in laughter. Grandma had probably taken the picture. Whatever they’d been up to that day, they’d been happy. I leaned the snapshot against a lamp on his nightstand. He’d see it if he woke.
Traitorous tears stung my eyes. I shouldn’t care if Mark died. I didn’t even know him. He didn’t want me. So, why did the idea of losing him shred my heart into pieces? Why did I need him so much?
Tears dripped off the end of my nose and onto my lap. I scrubbed a hand over my face, capturing renegade drops on the pads of my fingers. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Mark was supposed to get old, retire, and see me make something of myself. I was going to be something he could be proud of, and one day he’d look at me like I mattered.
“Ugh.” I swiped a stiff tissue from the box of generics at his bedside. “What am I supposed to say to you? You’d probably race into the light just to get away from my voice.” I laughed at my morbid joke and grabbed another tissue.
I hated problems I couldn’t fix. I hated not being eighteen. I hated that Mark hadn’t signed the paperwork so I could go to school. I hated being helpless to do it myself. Now, he
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