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

have said: snatch the happiness you can, while you can.

So instead, I said, “Carrie, look ... I like you a lot, okay? We’re still getting to know each other. Let’s give it a chance.”

“Okay,” she responded.

“Good. You defend your dissertation the week after Thanksgiving, right? What are you doing after?”

“Getting a good night’s sleep.”

“No,” I said.

“What?”

“You’re picking me up at the airport.”

“Ray…”

“No arguments. I’m taking you out for a fancy dinner Friday. And dancing. And whatever movie you want to see. Or drinks. Or whatever in the world you want to do. Okay?”

“Okay.” Her voice was quiet.

“I’d come out earlier, but I promised my mom I’d be home for Thanksgiving.”

“It’s all right, I’ll be in San Francisco this weekend anyway.”

“Whole family getting together?”

“Pretty much ... all my sisters except Andrea. She’s in Spain at our grandmother’s, and I don’t think she’s coming home this year.”

“So we’ll see each other soon.”

I could almost hear her smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

And so we clicked off. I stayed there on the roof for a little while longer, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and thought. The thing was, I knew I was on borrowed time. At some point, I didn’t know when, the story was going to break, and I didn’t know what was going to happen. There were a lot of possibilities, and almost all of them were ugly. Was it fair to Carrie to get involved with her with that hanging over my head? When she, as she put it, didn’t want to waste time?

I really didn’t know the answer. Considering that it was just as likely the whole thing would be buried, how could I live my life in complete limbo?

I didn’t know then what the right decision was, and to be honest, I still didn’t know. Looking at her now—huddled with Jessica, in so much pain and worry and fear—I couldn’t help but ask myself if I’d made a mistake, if I should have told her then that my life was just too complicated, that she should stay far away.

When Jessica’s phone rang, they both shifted position. Jessica looked at the phone, saw who was calling, and passed the phone to Carrie. Then she just curled up again. Jesus Christ.

Carrie answered the phone.

“Hello? Alexandra?”

I leaned as close as I could so I could hear.

“Carrie? Oh my God, I’m so glad I reached you. Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” Carrie answered. “Jessica and I are just waiting. Ray and Sarah ... they’re both in emergency surgery.”

“Oh, God. Listen, Dylan and I are at JFK, our flight boards in ten minutes. We’ll be there as soon as we can, okay?”

Carrie swallowed, and her eyes watered a little. “Have you talked to Mom and Dad?”

“Yes. I made them promise not to call. They’re catching a flight, but may not be there until morning.”

“Thanks. Um ... how is Dylan? What about Ray’s parents?”

Alex responded in a no-nonsense tone. “Don’t worry about any of that. I’ve talked to Ray’s parents—they’re on their way. I’ve taken care of everything. You just hang tight, and we’ll be there soon.”

Carrie squeezed Jessica’s hand in hers and whispered into the phone, “Please hurry.”

Then she hung up the phone and passed it back to Jessica.

I sank down on my heels and exhaled. I would have done just about anything to be able to comfort her, to reassure her. And since it looked like there was nothing I could do, at least Alex was coming, and soon.

Jessica stirred a little and said, “I’ll be right back.” She stood and walked to the nurse’s station, and I heard her quietly ask directions to the restrooms. Without Jessica to comfort, Carrie looked out of her element. Her eyes wandered around the room, as if they were looking for something, anything, to fix on. She sighed, crossed her legs, and then uncrossed them.

I’d seen her like this before. This was Carrie needing to do something, needing to fix something. Never one to wallow in her emotions or thoughts, she always preferred action ... even when there was nothing to be done.

Finally, she stood. I glanced at the clock. It had taken approximately three minutes for her patience to break. She marched to the nurses’ desk. I followed.

A glance over my shoulder showed Sarah, still sitting in her chair in the corner, legs folded up under her. She stared into space, her eyes an impossible blue against her black hair. She was too young for this. Too young to be worrying about whether or not she was going to live. Too young to have to worry about saying goodbye to her twin.

I’d been wrong. Life isn’t cheap. Maybe we let it go too quickly. Maybe we take it for granted. But here was a life just at the beginning, with everything ahead of her. And I wanted to find a way for her to make it.

“Excuse me,” Carrie said to the nurse.

“Yes, ma’am?” asked the woman behind the desk, a no-nonsense woman in her late forties.

“Do you have any idea when we’ll get any news at all about my husband or sister?”

The woman said, “It shouldn’t be long now.” She gave Carrie a sympathetic look, but something behind her eyes worried me. She knew something, and it wasn’t good, whatever it was. I’m certain Carrie saw it too, because her expression shifted, not quite angry, but her jaw was set in a way I’d seen before. When she was about to call bullshit on something. Her jaw began to tighten, and her hands clenched into fists at her side. I think she was about to say something, but it was right at that moment when an exhausted looking doctor walked into the room, straight to the desk, and said, “Mrs. Sherman?”

Carrie almost gasped. “Yes,” she answered.

“I’m Doctor Peterson, with the surgical team.”

“How are they?”

“Let’s sit down,” the doctor said.

“I don’t really want to sit. Just tell me what’s going on, please.”

The doctor frowned. I don’t think he was accustomed to taking orders, and she