The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

Oh, God. I don’t see how Sarah could remember that. But I was glad all the same.

She turned, away from the ceiling, and her eyes searched my face again. “The doctors say you aren’t in there any more. I wish you were. I wish ... ”

She closed her eyes, and a gentle, tiny smile formed on her face, and she said again, “I wish.”

Me too, babe. Me too.

Tears were still running out of her eyes. She said, “Do you remember when we went skydiving? I was so scared. Right before we stepped out of that plane, I thought I was going to die if I took another step. But ... you smiled at me, and said I could do it. And ... because you believed in me, I did too. And it was amazing. I touched the sky, and you at the same time. I’ll never forget that. I’ll never forget flying, with our hands touching. And when she’s old enough, I’ll take our little girl, or boy or whatever. I’ll teach them to touch the sky too. I promise.”

I’m not the best person on the world at expressing my emotions. But seriously that was too much. I was crying too, and without thinking I reached out and touched her arm and said, “God, I love you, Carrie.”

She froze, her eyes huge.

There was no way she could hear me.

I didn’t care. I leaned forward, putting my lips to her ears, and I said, “Do what you have to do, babe. I know. I know this is hard, it’s harder for you. But I love you. I’ll always love you. I’ll be thinking about you wherever I am. But you’ve got to make me one more promise. You need to go on with your life. Don’t you dare give up. Don’t fall apart. I want you to be happy, to live a decent, real, happy life. I want you to make it matter, okay? Please? And you tell that little boy or little girl that I love them and I’ll always be watching from wherever I am.”

I know she couldn’t hear me. But she nodded, just once, all the same. And so I leaned close, and I kissed her on the lips, one last time, one last kiss, and I could feel her, right there. I could feel her. Her eyes were closed, and maybe, just maybe, she felt me too.

Then, with a quiet sob, she slipped away.

I closed my eyes. I could feel the sun washing over me, right through the building. I shuddered a little.

I heard the doctors talking, then a click, and another click, and for the first time since I’d come in this room the respirator stopped its sound. Then there was a low tone, a long electronic beep, and then someone switched that off too. Then they were gone, and Carrie was back with me. She was holding my hand, tears pouring from her eyes, as she leaned forward and kissed me goodbye.

The thing I’d been waiting for (Ray)

Stephanie Hicks came to the funeral.

My funeral.

I’m not sure I expected that. I’m not sure what I expected. But when Carrie saw her, and they met each other’s eyes, they both burst into tears. And then they were hugging each other and weeping. And I don’t care what anyone thinks, I’m grateful Carrie forgave her and treated her like what she was: just another victim of the war. I’m hoping the two of them will be friends. I think they both need it, and there’s not going to be anyone else under the sun who will understand them the way they’ll understand each other.

My mom and Carrie made some peace with each other. I think Carrie understands Mom was crazy with fear and grief. After my funeral, they sat together for hours, talking and crying. I won’t lie … it was awful to watch it. And I doubt they’ll ever get along well. But they’re tied to each other now, by me, and by the baby growing in Carrie’s body.

My son or daughter. Who I’ll never meet, or hold in my arms. Sometimes I watch Carrie, and even though I know she’s going to be a great mom, it makes me want to break down that I can’t be there for her, with her. That I can’t take some of the load off her shoulders, that I can’t whisper in her ear that it’s all going to be okay.

I’ve been fading away, trying to preserve my strength, because I wanted to have time to see what happened with Carrie. But I don’t think I’m going to have time. I can feel it, every minute. The pressure to close my eyes, and ... move on. To what, I don’t know. But the warmth I feel, every minute or every day, emanating from the sky ... somehow I don’t think it’s going to be so bad.

Being a ghost has its advantages. Once my body died, I was freed a little bit. The pain stopped, and I found myself able to get around a little better. I got to watch as Daniel recovered. Miraculous, his doctors said. When he first woke up, they were predicting brain damage, mobility problems for years. But he seemed to be recovering far better than anyone had anticipated. And I guess if I had to try to balance things out and decide if it was worth it, I’d have to say yes. Because he was smiling and joking with his dad when he left the hospital. And talking about Spiderman.

It was almost four weeks before Sarah got out of the hospital. They closed up her wounds on the fourth day, but a bad staph infection forced them to reopen the leg. They finally got it under control. I was hanging out in her room about a week later when the EMT she molested, Eddie Vasquez, walked in. Sarah’s eyes went wide when he introduced himself. I still don’t know if she remembers anything. But