corners. But the fascinating part was that even when he wasn’t smiling-like when he was concentrating on his explanation of the different kinds of wrenches-the lines were still there. I realized that Dad smiled so much that he had permanent little lines embossed in his skin.
Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Gemma, honey, aren’t you going to open Becky’s gift?” She was looking at me with sad eyes, knowing that I wasn’t enjoying this Christmas evening with the family as much as I normally did. I nodded and carefully unrapped the paper on the present. Inside was a tiny little cardboard box filled with rolls of Life Savers. Any other year I would have thanked Becky for her gift, secretly wondering if it was a last-minute re-gift when they remembered they hadn’t gotten me anything. But tonight it was exactly what I needed.
I glanced around the room at Bridget and my cousins, completely absorbed in their gift opening. I overheard my mom telling someone about Caris. I thought about Jess and his mom in the hospital. It seemed like they were in a different world. It was like I had fallen asleep after breakfast and the whole thing was just a bad dream. I felt a twinge of guilt for being so comfort able and warm and surrounded by so many people that loved me when Jess was all alone, on a cot, waiting for his mother to wake up. Why did I get such a great dad when Jess got such a terrible one? Why was his mother in the hospital when mine was two feet away from me filling everyone’s cups with eggnog and apple cider? My life seemed so simple compared to Jess’s. In church they always said that life was a test. If that was true, then why was Jess’s test so much harder than mine when we were both just trying to get to heaven?
I knocked on Carts’s door at eight o’clock the next morning. An unfamiliar nurse opened the door a crack. She was stern. “We don’t allow visitors in the ICU,” she whispered and then looked behind me. “Are you alone?”
Before I could explain that my mother was parking the car, I heard Jess’s voice deep inside the room. “It’s okay, she’s family.”
The nurse hesitantly let me inside the room. Jess was standing next to Caris’s bed; his arms folded tight, his eyes narrow.
I stepped to his side and whispered, “Hi.” It sounded like a stupid thing to say in this place.
Jess took a deep breath and nodded at me. I didn’t blame him for not saying hi back. It seemed as inappropriate as saying “good morning.” I walked toward him but stopped when he jumped. “Nurse!” he spoke directly. “The numbers on this monitor are all over the place. Is that bad?”
The nurse, who had been standing by the door writing something on a clipboard, ran to the monitor almost as immediately as he had spoken. “Everything’s fine. This is actually a good sign. It means that she is starting to breathe on her own. She may wake up soon, and it will be best if there are as few people as possible in the room when she does.” She looked at me when she spoke.
Jess was watching his mother so intently that I wasn’t sure he even heard what the nurse had said.
“I’ll wait out in the hall,” I said.
Jess glanced at me for a moment then whipped his head back to look at the monitor, where his attention stayed until I exited the room.
Four long hours-and a terrible lunch in the hospital cafeteria-later, Mom and I were finally allowed in Caris’s new room on the second floor of the hospital. Caris was awake and sitting up in her bed, but she resembled a corpse with its eyes opened. She looked older and younger at the same time. Older because her hair was matted to the back of her head and large circles appeared under her eyes where the bandages weren’t covering; younger because she seemed so small and fragile-so vulnerable. Caris was born in Ireland, which explained the tint of red in Jess’s brown hair, but lived in Franklin most of her life. For the most part she had the usual American
Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Gemma, honey, aren’t you going to open Becky’s gift?” She was looking at me with sad eyes, knowing that I wasn’t enjoying this Christmas evening with the family as much as I normally did. I nodded and carefully unrapped the paper on the present. Inside was a tiny little cardboard box filled with rolls of Life Savers. Any other year I would have thanked Becky for her gift, secretly wondering if it was a last-minute re-gift when they remembered they hadn’t gotten me anything. But tonight it was exactly what I needed.
I glanced around the room at Bridget and my cousins, completely absorbed in their gift opening. I overheard my mom telling someone about Caris. I thought about Jess and his mom in the hospital. It seemed like they were in a different world. It was like I had fallen asleep after breakfast and the whole thing was just a bad dream. I felt a twinge of guilt for being so comfort able and warm and surrounded by so many people that loved me when Jess was all alone, on a cot, waiting for his mother to wake up. Why did I get such a great dad when Jess got such a terrible one? Why was his mother in the hospital when mine was two feet away from me filling everyone’s cups with eggnog and apple cider? My life seemed so simple compared to Jess’s. In church they always said that life was a test. If that was true, then why was Jess’s test so much harder than mine when we were both just trying to get to heaven?
I knocked on Carts’s door at eight o’clock the next morning. An unfamiliar nurse opened the door a crack. She was stern. “We don’t allow visitors in the ICU,” she whispered and then looked behind me. “Are you alone?”
Before I could explain that my mother was parking the car, I heard Jess’s voice deep inside the room. “It’s okay, she’s family.”
The nurse hesitantly let me inside the room. Jess was standing next to Caris’s bed; his arms folded tight, his eyes narrow.
I stepped to his side and whispered, “Hi.” It sounded like a stupid thing to say in this place.
Jess took a deep breath and nodded at me. I didn’t blame him for not saying hi back. It seemed as inappropriate as saying “good morning.” I walked toward him but stopped when he jumped. “Nurse!” he spoke directly. “The numbers on this monitor are all over the place. Is that bad?”
The nurse, who had been standing by the door writing something on a clipboard, ran to the monitor almost as immediately as he had spoken. “Everything’s fine. This is actually a good sign. It means that she is starting to breathe on her own. She may wake up soon, and it will be best if there are as few people as possible in the room when she does.” She looked at me when she spoke.
Jess was watching his mother so intently that I wasn’t sure he even heard what the nurse had said.
“I’ll wait out in the hall,” I said.
Jess glanced at me for a moment then whipped his head back to look at the monitor, where his attention stayed until I exited the room.
Four long hours-and a terrible lunch in the hospital cafeteria-later, Mom and I were finally allowed in Caris’s new room on the second floor of the hospital. Caris was awake and sitting up in her bed, but she resembled a corpse with its eyes opened. She looked older and younger at the same time. Older because her hair was matted to the back of her head and large circles appeared under her eyes where the bandages weren’t covering; younger because she seemed so small and fragile-so vulnerable. Caris was born in Ireland, which explained the tint of red in Jess’s brown hair, but lived in Franklin most of her life. For the most part she had the usual American
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