Page 8 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“I’m sure.”

She slightly nods and delivers a sympathetic look. “Okay.”

There’s a knock on the door. It opens slowly and my older sister appears in the doorway. Although Beth’s face is expressionless, her bloodshot, swollen eyes tell me she’s been crying.Mom’s dead.She doesn’t even need to say it. The nurse greets her before slipping out of the room to get the doctor.

Beth stands awkwardly at the foot of my bed, uncomfortably adjusting her oversized navy green raincoat. Her dirty-blond hair is damp and hangs past her shoulders. She wears no makeup except a cherry-colored lip balm. Beth’s always been pretty in an unassuming way. Her eyes skim over me, carefully noting each injury. It’s how she always looks at me now, like a claims adjuster appraising the damage and deciding whether or not I’m salvageable. A year ago, she determined I wasn’t worth saving. I can still hear her words. They cut deep, deeper than any physical injury I had ever endured.

I can’t have you in my life, Nicole. I’ve tried to help you, but every time I do, I get burned worse than the last. I don’t even know who you are anymore, because you sure as hell aren’t my sister.

I remember Beth was calm when she said it. There was no emotion in her voice. No tears in her eyes. It was like she had already grieved the loss and was delivering the message to my ghost.

“How ya feeling?” she asks.

“Like a million bucks.”

She nods, cracking a small smile. She’s always liked my humor, but I think she’s just humoring me right now because she feels bad for me.

“Money must have lost all value then,” she quips.

I chuckle but stop myself when I feel a sharp pain in my ribs. I wince, holding my breath for a moment while pressing a hand against my abdomen.

Beth takes a step toward me. “You good?”

I blow the air out of my lungs. “Yeah. I’m surprised you came.”

Her eyes are laser-focused on mine, the way Mom used to look at me when I came home late for curfew. “Yeah, I am too. So, what happened?” she asks.

I look away, focusing on the white wall behind her. I’ve never been fond of eye contact. It feels too intimate. It’s a way to establish trust—but no one should trust me. I don’t even trust myself.

When I don’t answer, Beth continues, “Police said you got beat up pretty bad. Do you owe someone money?”

“No,” I lie. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She cocks her head. “Are you using?”

Even if I tell her no, she won’t believe me. You can’t trust people with an addiction because in many cases, like mine, their addiction is stronger than their word.

“Hello.” Dr. Cline raps his knuckles against the partially open door. He’s an older man with graying hair and a bulbous nose that keeps his glasses perfectly in place, despite his slick, oily skin.

He gives a routine smile and picks up the clipboard. “Pain level is down to three.” He looks to me for confirmation.

I nod, and he continues. “Vitals look good. The radiologist reviewed your MRI scan and that came back normal as well.”

I tried to refuse the MRI, but I was in and out of it when they brought me in, and they must have decided it was necessary. Now, I’ll have pretty pictures of my brain, all for a whopping two thousand dollars. I should frame them like they’re valuable pieces of artwork.

“Sounds like I’m good as new,” I say.

“Not exactly. I want to see you back in two weeks so I can look at that cast. You have a mild concussion and several bruised ribs. So, no heavy lifting or strenuous exercise. Ice, ibuprofen, and rest. Just take it easy and keep up with your methadone treatments.” Dr. Cline tilts his head.

I glance over at Beth. The whites of her eyes show at the mention of treatment. She’s probably thinking she finally has her sister back. But I know that’s not entirely true. Only part of me is here.

“Any questions?” he asks, slipping the clipboard back into its place.

“If you had to live with one leg or one arm, which would you choose, Doc?” I keep a straight face.

Beth stifles a laugh.

Dr. Cline raises an eyebrow. “I meant medical questions, but I suppose one arm,” he says, cracking a smile. “I’ll have the nurse get you checked out. Take care of yourself, Nicole.” He nods and backs out of the room.

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