Page 93 of Beach Bodies

No. I’ll go to prison for killing the love of my life.

Chapter Thirty-two

The hospital is mostly sleeping.

It wasn’t hard to get in here. I clipped on an old visitor’s badge that no one looked at too closely to get past the front desk. Then, in the lobby restroom, I pulled the scrubs I brought over my T-shirt and leggings. On the sixth floor, I helped myself to a cleaning cart while the cleaning lady was inside a patient’s room and made my way to the room I haven’t set foot in for five years.

Once inside, I gently close the door, then walk over to the bed.

‘Hi,’ I breathe.

She’s changed. But mostly what I notice is all the ways she’s the same.

The slope of her forehead. The sweep of her hair on the pillow. Her hands are crossed over her chest. Someone has done her nails recently in a blush pink. They look great. She always did have lovely hands.

My hand is shaking as I reach out and make contact, stroking my fingers through her hair. I can almost imagine that she’s sleeping.

But Jessica is not coming back.

Ever since her brain haemorrhage, she’s been in a coma.

The doctors were clear from the start.

‘Her coma is so deep that she will have to be on long-term life support via a mechanical ventilation machine,’ Dr Banerjee explained to Beth Ann, Don and me. It was the morning after Jessica and I had arrived in the screaming ambulance. She’d been through surgery to relieve the pressure of the blood in her brain, and now dawn was shooting its merciless light into the waiting room that smelled like burnt coffee and hand sanitizer.

‘But after she wakes up, she’ll be able to come off it, won’t she?’ said Beth Ann, her eyes red, her voice thin and grating.

‘I have to be completely transparent with you all right now,’ said Dr Banerjee. ‘The damage to Jessica’s brain is so extensive that even if she did wake up, she would suffer from unresponsive wakefulness syndrome for the rest of her life.’

‘Unresponsive… ?’ said Beth Ann.

‘It’s what people used to call a vegetative state. I’m sorry.’ The doctor’s brown eyes were compassionate. ‘I know this must be incredibly hard to process.’

‘So what are you saying? What’s the plan?’ said Don, his voice rough, aggressive, though I could tell he was just trying to sound matter-of-fact.

‘To be honest, she is unlikely to wake up, ever. If she does, her quality of life will be poor. Even if she wakes up, her brain function won’t come back. She will always require life support.’ The doctor placed her hand on Beth Ann’s arm. ‘I would recommend that you say your goodbyes, and we remove her from the machines. There’s no hurry, of course.You can take your time. If there’s any family that would like to come in—’

Beth Ann was already shaking her head. ‘But surely there are… people who just… wake up? Right? She could still be OK, even if it’s a small chance?’

‘If anyone can pull through this and defy statistics, it’s our girl,’ said Don, his face contorted even though I could see the tears winking in his eyes. ‘She’s a fighter.’

‘I have no doubt that she is a very strong person,’ said Dr Banerjee. ‘But with no function in her brain, I’m sorry to say that it’s not a matter of strength any more.’

‘How long can you keep her alive?’ said Beth Ann.

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Technically, we can keep her body alive indefinitely. I’m not sure if you ever spoke with Jessica about her wishes—’

‘I did,’ I interrupted, stepping forward, my arms crossed over my body, my hands tucked into the sleeves of the sweatshirt a nurse had given me to change into. The bloody eggshell blouse was in a small plastic bag now crammed into my purse.

Beth Ann and Don looked shocked to hear me speak, like they’d forgotten I was there. I couldn’t blame them; I’d been mute, a non-entity, wrapped in my shame and guilt, but now we were talking about Jessica’s future, and I had to speak up.

‘She wouldn’t want to be like this.’

‘Are you her sister?’ said Dr Banerjee.

‘Her—’ I wanted so badly to say ‘fiancée’. ‘Girlfriend.’

Don made a dismissive sound. ‘Her mother and I will be deciding what to do.’

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