The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

you to the ICU now. But I need to prepare you. She’s still at significant risk of infection. When you go to visit, we need to limit it to one at a time, and for no more than fifteen minutes. I’ll ask you to disinfect your hands on the way in, and to wear a face mask.”

“That’s all fine. Whatever’s best for her, of course.”

I felt a pit of fear in my stomach. Ray was still in the operating room. “What happens ... I mean ... will they know where to find me? When Ray comes out of surgery?” Or if anything happened? I couldn’t say it.

“I’ll have them page me immediately if there’s any change. My understanding is they expect him to be in surgery at least two or three more hours.”

Two or three more hours. Why did it take so long, what exactly were they doing that could cause this to be a ten hour or longer procedure? I thought about the doctor, Peterson, and what he’d said. Part of the skull driven into his brain.

Where the hell did he learn to talk to family members? Of course, I wanted to know the details. I wanted to know everything. But the more I thought about it, the more I might have appreciated a less crude way of putting it. It didn’t matter. Whether or not they told me what was happening, whether or not they gave me the details in the bluntest terms or the floweriest language, the fact was, Ray’s injuries couldn’t possibly be worse or more threatening. But it wasn’t going to do him any good at all if I stayed sitting here versus going with my sisters to check on Sarah.

Schmidt raised her eyebrows and said, “Are the three of you ready?”

Alexandra said, “Let me text my husband and let him know where we’re going.”

She did, and the three of us followed Doctor Schmidt down a confusing series of passageways until we reached the ICU. At the door, just as Schmidt was about to slide an access card, Jessica said, “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

All four of us stopped in place, and I said to Schmidt, “Can you give us just a moment? I’m sorry.”

She nodded, and I took both Alexandra and Jessica by the hand and we walked a few feet down the hall. The three of us stood in a tight triangle, and I said, “Jessica, I promise you, no matter what happens, we’re here for you. No matter what.”

Her eyes watered, and she responded, “Carrie ... I’m afraid. What if ... what if she doesn’t make it? The last thing we did was fight over a stupid belt. I don’t care about the belt—she can have it. I want my sister back. It’s ... I don’t understand why she hates me so much.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Alexandra said. “She never has.”

“Then why ... why does she pull away so much?”

Alexandra slid a hand over Jessica’s shoulder and said, “Sarah’s always needed to be ... a little different. I think the biggest mistake Mom ever made was trying to dress you two alike all the time. She’s pulling away because she doesn’t feel like she’s her own person, Jessica. But that’s not because she hates you.”

“The accident might not have even happened if we weren’t fighting.”

I shook my head, violently. “No. That guy ran the red light. We never had a chance, Jessica. Do you understand me? This was not your fault. Or anyone’s really, except the guy who hit us.”

Alexandra gave her gentle smile. “Let’s go. It’s going to be okay.”

I pulled my sisters in to a hug, and held them tight. I just wish I believed Alexandra’s words were true.

“Okay. Ready?”

They both nodded, and we separated. I nodded to Schmidt and said, quietly, “Thank you.”

She swiped her pass, and the door slid aside.

Two minutes later we were looking in on Sarah.

I tried not to gasp when I saw her. She was barely recognizable. The left side of her face was bruised and swollen, much of it deep purple and black. Tubes were tied and taped in her nostrils and mouth, and it looked as if even her eyelids were bruised. What skin we could see that wasn’t bruised looked even more deathly pale than normal.

Her left arm was splinted and slightly elevated, the fingertips poking out of the splint, swollen, red. And her left leg was huge, bloated and swollen, with bulky dressings attached and tubes running out from under the sheet. I was frightened to even think of what her leg must look like; the surgeon told me before that the wound would be left open for two to three days.

A nurse met us and said, “You can go in, but only one at a time.”

Alexandra and I both looked at Jessica, and I said, “You go first, Jessica.”

Jessica was shaking. She swallowed, whispered, “Thank you,” and then slipped into the room. From outside, I watched as she slumped into a chair near the bed. Her eyes were round and unblinking as she stared at her unconscious, injured twin.

Alexandra grabbed my hand when Jessica started talking. I don’t know what she was saying; we couldn’t hear her. But as she spoke, tears began running down her face.

“You okay?” Alexandra asked me at a whisper.

“For now,” I responded.

“I’m so sorry this happened. All of it.”

I nodded, at once grateful my sister was here and, at the same time, wishing desperately I could just go find a dark corner somewhere and curl up into a ball and scream.

Army Wife (Ray)

You ever wonder how a ghost can have an insanely powerful craving for a cigarette?

Yeah, me neither.

Not until now. Because the minute Dylan told them he was going to go grab a smoke, I wanted one more than you could possibly imagine. Who would have guessed fucking addictions could follow you right into the grave?

No. Crap. I wasn’t going to think that way. Somehow I was