consciousness?”
“No. Nobody’s saying that.”
“What are they saying? That she could be this way forever?”
No, no. That’s not going to happen. Warren, tell her that’s not going to happen.
Silence.
“So, I repeat, what happens now?” Drew pressed.
A long sigh escaped Warren’s lips. “Once Casey is able to breathe without the respirator, I can start thinking about taking her home, hiring the right people—”
“I mean, what happens to me?” Drew interrupted.
Casey might have laughed had she been able to. She found it strangely comforting that some things never changed, no matter what the circumstances. A rose is a rose is a rose, she thought. And Drew was Drew was Drew. She always would be.
Could she blame her?
Her sister had learned from a very early age that the only person who would be there to take care of her was herself. Occasionally, Casey had tried to fill the parental role, but Drew had reminded her vehemently, “You’re not my mother.” And so she’d backed off.
Casey was, however, the trustee of their parents’ estate, the one who made the decisions, the one who signed the checks.
“What happens to you ?” Warren repeated.
“Yes. It’s a reasonable question, under the circumstances.”
“One I’m afraid I can’t answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have any answers.”
“You’re a lawyer. I thought lawyers were supposed to know these things.”
“I’m not an estate lawyer.” Casey could hear the struggle to remain calm in her husband’s voice.
“I’m sure you’ve been speaking to one.”
“Actually I haven’t, no.”
“You haven’t spoken to anyone about what happens to your wife’s fortune should she remain in a persistent vegetative state?”
I am not in a vegetative state. I am not. I am not.
“I find that very hard to believe,” Drew continued.
“I’ve had a few other things on my mind, Drew.”
Casey could feel her sister pacing around the bed. She could hear the click of her heels and tried to imagine what she was wearing. Probably a pair of black leggings and a loose-fitting jersey. Her long, dark blond hair was likely pulled into a high ponytail, a pair of her signature large silver hoops dangling from her ears. No doubt, her dark green eyes were flashing daggers in Warren’s direction.
“I thought that if anything happened to Casey, my father’s estate would automatically transfer to me.”
“Casey isn’t dead, Drew,” Warren reminded her.
“She might as well be.”
Oh, God.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Warren said, as the clicking of Drew’s shoes came to a halt at the foot of the bed. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about money.”
“Maybe if you got a job,” Warren suggested.
“Do I have to remind you I have a child to look after?”
Casey felt a knot beginning to form in the pit of her stomach at the mention of her five-year-old niece, who was her mother’s tiny clone in almost every respect. Casey wondered if Lola would be the beauty her sister predicted she’d be when she got older. She remembered the same predictions having been made about Drew. But while Drew had matured—if the words “mature” and “Drew” could be used in the same sentence—into an undeniably pretty young woman, she stopped short of being beautiful, her features a touch too conventional, her eyes too unfocused, bereft of the essential mystery true beauty requires.
“Where is Lola?” Warren asked.
“Sean took her to the cafeteria for some ice cream.”
“Who is this guy anyway?” Warren asked. “How long have you known him, exactly?”
“What’s that supposed to mean— exactly ?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I was just wondering.”
“What are you wondering, Warren? You wonder if Sean had something to do with this? You wonder if I asked my boyfriend to run over my sister? Is that what you’re wondering?”
Of course he isn’t.
“No. Nobody’s saying that.”
“What are they saying? That she could be this way forever?”
No, no. That’s not going to happen. Warren, tell her that’s not going to happen.
Silence.
“So, I repeat, what happens now?” Drew pressed.
A long sigh escaped Warren’s lips. “Once Casey is able to breathe without the respirator, I can start thinking about taking her home, hiring the right people—”
“I mean, what happens to me?” Drew interrupted.
Casey might have laughed had she been able to. She found it strangely comforting that some things never changed, no matter what the circumstances. A rose is a rose is a rose, she thought. And Drew was Drew was Drew. She always would be.
Could she blame her?
Her sister had learned from a very early age that the only person who would be there to take care of her was herself. Occasionally, Casey had tried to fill the parental role, but Drew had reminded her vehemently, “You’re not my mother.” And so she’d backed off.
Casey was, however, the trustee of their parents’ estate, the one who made the decisions, the one who signed the checks.
“What happens to you ?” Warren repeated.
“Yes. It’s a reasonable question, under the circumstances.”
“One I’m afraid I can’t answer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t have any answers.”
“You’re a lawyer. I thought lawyers were supposed to know these things.”
“I’m not an estate lawyer.” Casey could hear the struggle to remain calm in her husband’s voice.
“I’m sure you’ve been speaking to one.”
“Actually I haven’t, no.”
“You haven’t spoken to anyone about what happens to your wife’s fortune should she remain in a persistent vegetative state?”
I am not in a vegetative state. I am not. I am not.
“I find that very hard to believe,” Drew continued.
“I’ve had a few other things on my mind, Drew.”
Casey could feel her sister pacing around the bed. She could hear the click of her heels and tried to imagine what she was wearing. Probably a pair of black leggings and a loose-fitting jersey. Her long, dark blond hair was likely pulled into a high ponytail, a pair of her signature large silver hoops dangling from her ears. No doubt, her dark green eyes were flashing daggers in Warren’s direction.
“I thought that if anything happened to Casey, my father’s estate would automatically transfer to me.”
“Casey isn’t dead, Drew,” Warren reminded her.
“She might as well be.”
Oh, God.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Warren said, as the clicking of Drew’s shoes came to a halt at the foot of the bed. “I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient.”
“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to worry about money.”
“Maybe if you got a job,” Warren suggested.
“Do I have to remind you I have a child to look after?”
Casey felt a knot beginning to form in the pit of her stomach at the mention of her five-year-old niece, who was her mother’s tiny clone in almost every respect. Casey wondered if Lola would be the beauty her sister predicted she’d be when she got older. She remembered the same predictions having been made about Drew. But while Drew had matured—if the words “mature” and “Drew” could be used in the same sentence—into an undeniably pretty young woman, she stopped short of being beautiful, her features a touch too conventional, her eyes too unfocused, bereft of the essential mystery true beauty requires.
“Where is Lola?” Warren asked.
“Sean took her to the cafeteria for some ice cream.”
“Who is this guy anyway?” Warren asked. “How long have you known him, exactly?”
“What’s that supposed to mean— exactly ?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. I was just wondering.”
“What are you wondering, Warren? You wonder if Sean had something to do with this? You wonder if I asked my boyfriend to run over my sister? Is that what you’re wondering?”
Of course he isn’t.
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