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

spit it out into the toilet. Julia flushed it, then sat down on the floor across from me.

This was the first good look I’d had of her. She’d let her hair go natural again earlier this year, something I approved of wholeheartedly because she had lush, wavy hair I would have killed for. She looked tired, but not exhausted, and wore casual jeans and a black t-shirt.

“You okay?” she asked. “Think you’re all done?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I think so.” I took another sip of the water, this time swallowing it. My head was splitting. I rested it against a knee.

“When did you get in?” I asked.

“About 1 a.m.”

I nodded. “And what time is it now?”

“A few minutes after five. We’re going to grab some breakfast before we go to the hospital. And no arguments from you. You look like death, have you even been checked out by a doctor?”

I swallowed. “Just a preliminary exam.”

“And they didn’t do a CT scan or anything? You need to get checked out, you might have a concussion. How many times have you vomited?”

I shook my head then whispered, “I’ve been too busy. Ray, and Sarah…”

“Carrie, you can’t help them if you aren’t taking care of yourself.”

I held a hand out, shaking my head. “I don’t want a CT scan, Julia, I’m fine.”

“That’s enough. Stop acting like a child, Carrie. When we get back to the hospital you’re getting checked out.”

I felt my lip curling toward my chin, and was horrified to discover tears suddenly running down my face, uncontrollably, and then I sobbed and said, “I can’t get a CT scan, Julia. I think I might be pregnant.”

I buried my face in my knees and wrapped my arms around my legs, and suddenly her arms were around me. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. I’d avoided even thinking about this since yesterday morning. But I’d been feeling sick, nauseous, for a couple weeks. That wasn’t from a concussion. I didn’t get sick often, either. I had planned to tell Ray Saturday night, and go get a stupid home pregnancy test. But then the accident, and there was no Saturday night, no Ray, no nothing.

I couldn’t be pregnant. Not now. Not if I was going to lose Ray. Please, I thought, please don’t let me lose him. And then I was crying again, sobbing uncontrollably, snot and tears running everywhere. Julia just held me and crooned in my ear like I was a little girl and rocked me back and forth.

Just ignore them (Carrie)

Julia was kind enough to fend off everyone else while I cried myself out. But I couldn’t stay like that all day. I made her promise not to say anything to anyone else. Then I finally got up, washed my mouth out again and took a steaming hot shower in hopes of clearing my foggy head. All I could think about was the strange, troubling dreams I’d had, dreams where Ray was there, but wasn’t. Now that I’d acknowledged ... to myself, to someone else ... the possibility that I might be pregnant—it changed everything.

I was terrified to go back into that hospital. I was terrified to leave this room. I was terrified I was going to start the day married and end it a widow, and all I could see was darkness ahead. And so I stayed in the shower longer than normal, just letting the hot water run through my hair, down my face, down my body. As if staying in here could put off the reality I was going to find outside.

Finally, I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel, then wandered into the room.

I blinked. Someone, probably Dylan, had gone out to the condo and packed a bag for me. My clothes, which had been covered in broken glass and snot and blood and vomit ... were gone. And I never, ever wanted to see them again.

So I got dressed and walked out into the living room.

The first thing that happened when I walked into the living room was everyone went silent. An awkward silence, the kind where no one had any clue what to say, what to do. What was there to say? Sarah and Ray were still in a great deal of danger, and there was no doubt that everyone on this entire floor had heard me wailing in there. I’ve never been one to fall apart, to let my emotions get out of control.

My parents were sitting together on a couch at the coffee table, my mother leaning against my father. They both looked exhausted, worn out, frayed, old. Julia had told me they’d spent much of the night after their arrival from the airport taking turns watching Sarah. Across from them, Dylan and Alexandra were drinking coffee. Crank was outside on the balcony, staring into space. Sitting at the bar, as far as she could get from my parents, was my sister Andrea. Julia was with her.

Jessica was out of sight, maybe still in the shower.

My parents stood when I walked into the room, and they approached me slowly. My father put his arms out and hugged me.

“It’s good to see you, Carrie. I’m so sorry about ... all of this,” he said. His voice was rough.

I returned the hug, then the same with my mother. What else could I do? All I really wanted at this point was to be left alone, for once to not have to calculate and navigate my parents’ emotional minefield. This was a good start. We separated, and I walked over to the bar where Andrea and Julia sat.

Except for Alexandra’s wedding, I hadn’t seen Andrea in almost three years. She was sixteen years old now. She’d grown very tall, almost my height, and wore a knee-length lavender dress with large black panels, a vaguely European cut, with nearly knee-high black boots. Her hair was lush, wavy like Julia’s, but with deep red undertones, and she wore pink lipstick, too