the phone in my hand and stared at it, realizing as I did that I was too much of a coward to text Carolyn back for clarification. I didn’t want to know. I would find out soon enough whether I wanted to or not, wouldn’t I?
I climbed to my feet and lurched for the door. As I staggered through the house, our house, I knew I should have been replaying all the scenes of Tim’s and my time together, of this life of ours. I should have been telling myself something comforting – like that it didn’t matter that parts of our life weren’t what they should have been. That we’d built something good. That just because it had ended horribly and now tragically, that didn’t erase all that had gone before.
But I didn’t really feel any of that.
I just felt numb. All the way through.
I stood in the corridor outside the ICU waiting room and stared at my sister without comprehension, as if I could somehow make sense of what had just happened through the force of my glare alone.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said again, hearing the strain in my own voice. ‘Why did you text me at all? Why didn’t you just talk to the doctor yourself?’
Carolyn actually rolled her eyes, as if this were a wholly unreasonable question. She leaned back against the wall in the hallway and wrapped her arms around her middle.
‘I really can’t,’ she murmured, her voice hinting at a wealth of untold tragedies, so very much in the style of our mother. It made my shoulders creep up to a place right below my ears. ‘I told you. It gives me horrible anxiety and it certainly can’t be good for the baby.’
‘I just want to make sure I’m fully understanding what happened here,’ I said, aware that my tone was shifting into what my mother called my Lawyer Mode. I didn’t try to modify it. Some things called for a little cross-examination, and this was one of them. ‘You texted me, indicating it was an emergency, because you didn’t feel like having a conversation with a doctor. That can’t be what you’re telling me, Carolyn. Can it?’
‘I can do without the sarcastic tone, Sarah,’ she replied, with another dramatic roll of her eyes.
‘I thought Tim was dead,’ I snapped back at her. ‘Or dying. I drove down here preparing myself for impending widowhood. I was thinking about how to go about setting up his funeral service.’ I forced myself to stop. To inhale. ‘But he’s actually fine. Better, the doctors wanted to tell you, even if he isn’t awake yet – but you couldn’t have that conversation.’ I pressed my fingertips to my temples to keep my head from exploding. ‘When did you become such a delicate, hothouse flower?’
Carolyn pushed herself away from the wall. ‘I’m notgoing to fight with you about this,’ she muttered. She shoved her jet-black hair back from her face. ‘And I’m not going to compete with you for terminology here. Is that why you’re so angry? It’s like you would take some kind of sick pleasure in getting to be Tim’s widow because I’m not – and I get it. I really do.’
‘What are you talking about?’ My voice was absurdly, almost frighteningly calm. I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of the parka I hadn’t had time to do more than unzip, and rocked back on the comfy heels of my winter boots. Anything to keep the drumbeat of potential violence at a low level I could control, rather than expressing it all over Carolyn’s pretty face.
‘I heard the way you said that,’ she said, her voice shaking then, her eyes filling with tears. Crocodile tears, I was almost certain, although with her level of melodrama I could never be sure. ‘Believe me, Sarah, I know you’re still his wife. I know you’re getting off on getting to play the role here. Still, despite everything.
I know
.’
The way she said that made my whole body fill with what felt like some kind of howling wind. Probably because there was that uncomfortable edge of truth to what she was saying, and I couldn’t
I climbed to my feet and lurched for the door. As I staggered through the house, our house, I knew I should have been replaying all the scenes of Tim’s and my time together, of this life of ours. I should have been telling myself something comforting – like that it didn’t matter that parts of our life weren’t what they should have been. That we’d built something good. That just because it had ended horribly and now tragically, that didn’t erase all that had gone before.
But I didn’t really feel any of that.
I just felt numb. All the way through.
I stood in the corridor outside the ICU waiting room and stared at my sister without comprehension, as if I could somehow make sense of what had just happened through the force of my glare alone.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said again, hearing the strain in my own voice. ‘Why did you text me at all? Why didn’t you just talk to the doctor yourself?’
Carolyn actually rolled her eyes, as if this were a wholly unreasonable question. She leaned back against the wall in the hallway and wrapped her arms around her middle.
‘I really can’t,’ she murmured, her voice hinting at a wealth of untold tragedies, so very much in the style of our mother. It made my shoulders creep up to a place right below my ears. ‘I told you. It gives me horrible anxiety and it certainly can’t be good for the baby.’
‘I just want to make sure I’m fully understanding what happened here,’ I said, aware that my tone was shifting into what my mother called my Lawyer Mode. I didn’t try to modify it. Some things called for a little cross-examination, and this was one of them. ‘You texted me, indicating it was an emergency, because you didn’t feel like having a conversation with a doctor. That can’t be what you’re telling me, Carolyn. Can it?’
‘I can do without the sarcastic tone, Sarah,’ she replied, with another dramatic roll of her eyes.
‘I thought Tim was dead,’ I snapped back at her. ‘Or dying. I drove down here preparing myself for impending widowhood. I was thinking about how to go about setting up his funeral service.’ I forced myself to stop. To inhale. ‘But he’s actually fine. Better, the doctors wanted to tell you, even if he isn’t awake yet – but you couldn’t have that conversation.’ I pressed my fingertips to my temples to keep my head from exploding. ‘When did you become such a delicate, hothouse flower?’
Carolyn pushed herself away from the wall. ‘I’m notgoing to fight with you about this,’ she muttered. She shoved her jet-black hair back from her face. ‘And I’m not going to compete with you for terminology here. Is that why you’re so angry? It’s like you would take some kind of sick pleasure in getting to be Tim’s widow because I’m not – and I get it. I really do.’
‘What are you talking about?’ My voice was absurdly, almost frighteningly calm. I shoved my hands deep in the pockets of the parka I hadn’t had time to do more than unzip, and rocked back on the comfy heels of my winter boots. Anything to keep the drumbeat of potential violence at a low level I could control, rather than expressing it all over Carolyn’s pretty face.
‘I heard the way you said that,’ she said, her voice shaking then, her eyes filling with tears. Crocodile tears, I was almost certain, although with her level of melodrama I could never be sure. ‘Believe me, Sarah, I know you’re still his wife. I know you’re getting off on getting to play the role here. Still, despite everything.
I know
.’
The way she said that made my whole body fill with what felt like some kind of howling wind. Probably because there was that uncomfortable edge of truth to what she was saying, and I couldn’t
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