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

off just like any other soldier. Unless you give us reason to think otherwise.”

“What kind of job?”

“I don’t know. Can you type?”

Oh, Jesus, I thought. “Yeah, I can type.”

“I’m sure we can find a home for you, then.”

“Oh, well that’s encouraging.”

Coombs responded in a sharp done. “Don’t be a smart-ass to the Major.”

“You know what, Coombs? You guys just spent a long time explaining that I’m not under arrest. Stop treating me like a fucking criminal.”

I didn’t get a response. I didn’t really expect one. But I wasn’t going to just sit there, silent. And that’s how the rest of the ride went: in silence. I stayed in back, staring out the window. Thinking. Remembering. I was a hair’s breadth away from Dega Payan every second of that ride, as if the textures and smells and silence of Afghanistan had come home right alongside me. And then my thoughts would turn to Carrie. How much better off she’d be if she decided this was just too much hassle for a new relationship. How much I wanted her to stay with me, even though I knew she should go.

Coombs stopped the car for gas in Delaware, and I went in search of a pay phone and called Carrie.

She answered right away. “Hello?”

“Carrie, it’s me.”

“Where are you?”

“Rest stop somewhere in Delaware. Battery’s dead on my phone. They’re taking me to Fort Myer, in Virginia.”

“Well, I’m on my way.”

“What?” I asked, stupidly.

She sighed. “I took Dylan and we told your parents what’s going on, and I just dropped him back off. I’m on the New Jersey Turnpike.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.

“Ray,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up. Yes, I did.”

How could I do anything but smile? “All right, then. I’ll try to get a charger for my phone tonight, and give you a call?”

“Okay. Let me know where you end up. And Ray?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t worry about all of this. We’ll get through it together.”

I had closed my eyes and taken a deep breath. There was no way she could have known how much that meant to me. There was no way she could have known that she was becoming a lifeline for me, that my best moments of peace were those moments when our world shrunk down to just the two of us.

I just wished I could bring that peace right now. Make a little bubble where there had been no trial, no scandal at NIH, no reporters or police or pressure or public, no accident, and that we were together, alone in a world of our making. I stared at her as she sat there on one side of the waiting room, her expression grim, and I could see the beauty and wonder of life that was just beneath the surface. I’d have done anything, anything in the world, to get back to her.

I’m waiting for you (Carrie)

Kate Sherman was studiously ignoring me, her eyes looking everywhere in the waiting room but at me. Her arms were crossed over her chest, anger just below the surface. But the longer I looked at her, the more my own anger just drained out. What she’d said was unforgivable, and she deserved that slap. But all the same ... it was her kid in surgery. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d have acted the same if our positions were reversed. I’d like to think I wouldn’t. I’d like to think that under the weight of all that stress and worry, I’d hold up. But I knew better, didn’t I? Ray and I had been through plenty of stress, and both of us had done things, said things, that we ended up regretting.

So when the door opened and I saw Doctor Peterson, I not only stood, but waved Ray’s parents over. And then I stopped breathing, my stomach wound up in knots, the fear suddenly slamming into me like a hammer. And when Kate got close, I grabbed her hand. Her eyes widened in shock.

“Doctor Peterson, this is Kate and Mike Sherman. Ray’s parents.”

Peterson was shaking, swaying a little on his feet.

“Mr. and Mrs. Sherman ... I’m on your son’s surgical team. I came down to let you know he’s out of surgery.”

I gasped for air, and my knees suddenly felt weak. Dylan, who had been standing close-by, rushed to my side and put an arm around my waist.

“How is he?” I asked.

Peterson looked down at the floor. And then he said, his voice quiet, “He’s in a coma. He’s not breathing on his own, and ... there’s very little brain activity.”

Kate let out a moan.

“How long before he recovers?” I asked.

Peterson shook his head. “Carrie ... it’s highly unlikely that he will recover. We’ll continue to monitor him very closely and revisit in the morning. But right now, I suggest you all go get some rest. I’m not telling you to give up hope yet. But ... you need to be prepared for the worst.”

Maybe it was delayed reaction or shock. Because even as Kate fell into hysterics, I just stood there, feeling like a stupid cow, his words running around through my head not making any sense at all. My whole body felt numb, and I tried to form a coherent thought and I couldn’t. I whispered, “That’s ... not possible.”

It wasn’t. Ray was too alive, too vital, too much of everything. Everything about him was real, solid. He couldn’t be what the doctor described. Not breathing on his own. No brain activity. Not Ray.

“I want to see him,” I said.

“That wouldn’t be advisable until morning,” Peterson said. “You need to go home, and get some sleep.”

“I don’t have a home without him,” I said, my voice breaking, knowing I wasn’t making any sense at all. My arms were crossed over my stomach as I said the words, and I wanted him to just take them back. And just like that I went from numb disbelief to rage. I wanted to hit Doctor Peterson for daring to say those words. And without thinking,