Page 78 of That Birthday in Barbados
I wish I could say yes, wish for any sign, however small, that Nicole is getting better. “No.” I draw in a deep breath and say, “What are the chances, Dr. Lewis, that Nicole will wake up from this?”
He lifts the sheet from the bottom of the bed and traces a pen-like instrument down the sole of each of her feet. There is no response. He pulls the sheet back down, looks at me with a resignation I wish I did not see in his eyes. “A true coma usually doesn’t last more than three to four weeks. We’re at two and a half for Nicole, so I haven’t given up hope yet.”
My heart flutters, settles. “What happens after four weeks?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then in a matter-of-fact voice, says, “The patient dies. Or transitions into what we call a vegetative state or the patient regains varying degrees of consciousness.”
I absorb his honest explanation, trying to picture Nicole remaining this way for the rest of her life, and I can’t bear the thought of it. My voice is shaky when I ask, “Do you think it is still possible she will regain consciousness?”
“Anything is possible, dear,” he answers kindly. “I’ve been in practice long enough to know that we doctors do not have all the answers. The human body is resilient, but I have to be honest with you. Your sister’s overdose would have killed her if she hadn’t been found when she was. She meant for her effort to succeed.”
The words slice through me with their obvious truth. It is impossible to deny.
“And here’s something to think about,” he says in a somber voice. “If she does pull through, her will to live will have to be different than it was when she made the decision to take her life. I have seen families devastated when their loved one survives only to succeed at a later date.”
The revelation is a sobering one. Somehow, I’ve been thinking only of her pulling through. And that if she does, it would mean everything is better. I realize that isn’t true at all.
Dr. Lewis places a hand on my shoulder, squeezes once, and then he leaves the room. I sit in somber silence, staring at my sister’s face, barely recognizable with the tubes in her mouth and nose. I take her hand in mine again, drop my forehead onto the mattress of the bed, sobs shaking through me. I try to stifle their sound, but I cannot. My grief is unbearable because not only am I mourning the loss of the sister who was once my best friend, I cannot deny my culpability in the desperate place Nicole must have been in that last night.
“Nic.” Her name breaks from my lips, and suddenly, I am pleading with her. “Please come back. Please give me another chance. Please don’t go like this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have forgiven you. I do forgive you. Come back to us. We’ll find our way. Just. Come. Back.”
My tears fall onto our hands, mine clasped tight with hers. All of a sudden, I go completely still, raising my head to stare at Nicole. I felt something. Not a complete squeeze of my hand, but something. My heart races with hope. I know, somehow, I know, my sister has understood me.
Chapter Forty-four
“To die, to sleep –
To sleep, perchance to dream – ay, there’s the rub,
For in this sleep of death what dreams may come…”
?William Shakespeare
Nicole
SHE SEES HERSELF from above.
She is terrified because it’s as if she’s seen someone who looks just like her, and she is obviously not well. There is no denying that the woman lying on the bed with all the tubes protruding from her body is her. The sobbing woman next to the bed is Catherine.
She sees all of this from above the bed, as if she is suspended in the air or has a peephole in the ceiling. Her heart feels like someone is squeezing it hard enough to take her breath away. She wants to reach out, reassure her sister she is here with her. But is she?
She tries to speak, but she can’t hear her voice. She wants to go to Catherine, comfort her. Her feet are in quicksand, and even as she tries to pull them out, she sinks lower. With every effort, she feels more of her body disappear into the depths below. She calls for her sister, but she isn’t sure whether her voice is audible. She knows she is sinking deeper and deeper. In a moment, she will be under. If she can just keep her head up long enough to let Catherine know how sorry she is. “Catherine!”
She hears her own scream, but her sister hasn’t heard her at all. She continues to cry, heartbroken.Then the quicksand takes her under altogether, and her chance melts to ether.
Chapter Forty-five
“Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.”
?Emily Dickinson
Anders
IT’S ALMOST SEVEN P.M. The sky is turning dark with just a hint of pink sunlight tinting its edges. I slide out of the Defender in the parking area just off Needham’s Point Beach. A few other vehicles are parked nearby. Hannah Brathwaite texted earlier this afternoon to ask if I wanted to help with a baby turtle release. It’s something I always enjoy being a part of, but something in me had resisted the thought of going. I knew being here would remind me of Catherine, and it does.
Hannah waves from farther down the beach, and I walk toward her, determined to see this amazing miracle with the same appreciation with which I have always seen it.
