The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters)

by Sheehan-Miles, Charles

  I swallowed. “Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

  “Nothing to forgive,” she replied. “And … it’s just crazy to pick out schools based on where I might be.”

  “Right now it’s crazy for me to think about where I’ll be in a week. Much less, next year. But I gotta start somewhere. Might as well start somewhere with a friendly face.”

  “What if you turn out to be a crazy stalker?”

  I sighed. “Then you tell Alex, and Alex will tell Dylan, and he’ll hunt me down, and we’ll have an epic battle, destroy some buildings, flip buses around, make a big mess. They’ll call out the Air Force, but those wusses will run away, so then they’ll send in the 82nd Airborne.”

  She chuckled, but I wasn’t done making an ass of myself yet. “Anyway, when the 82nd Airborne fails miserably, as they undoubtedly will, they’ll send over the Marines, and we’ll send them packing for a swim.”

  She snorted, and I thought Carrie might be the only person on earth who can make a snort-laugh sound sexy. “What happens then?”

  “Well, then they send in Chuck Norris.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’ve lived this long, haven’t I? I know what I’m talking about. Chuck will recognize what badasses we are, we’ll all go for a drink, and then Dylan and I will punk him and get back to business. And then finally the President sends in his ultimate weapon, who finally subdues us.”

  “Who? The secret service?”

  I scoffed. “Are you kidding me? No, he sends in the IRS.”

  “That’s it, you’re doomed.”

  “Yeah ... anyway. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she replied. “It’s just….”

  I listened, waiting to see if she’d continue.

  Finally she did. “It’s just ... I’m almost thirty. I’m not looking for a commitment, Ray … it’s too soon. But I am thinking about the future. I mean ... I want to be a mom someday. I don’t want to waste my time if you’re just looking to get laid.”

  Part of me wanted to give her a flippant response. Part of me wanted to say, “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong guy.” But that was a small part. Instead, my thoughts turned to Weber. He would 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 phrased it as one.

  “Okay. First ... your husband ... I need to make it clear up front, I don’t want to give you any false hope. He’s in very grave condition.”

  Her mouth tightened, and she nodded.

  “Ray suffered ... very severe injuries in the accident. Multiple compound fractures in his left arm and leg, several broken ribs, and a punctured lung. But much more serious are the head injuries.”

  Carrie swallowed and said in a whisper, “Go on.”

  “I’m afraid your husband suffered severe skull fractures, and part of his skull was driven into his brain. The surgical team is removing the fragments, but there’s no question he suffered very severe brain injury. Right now we don’t have any way of knowing when ... or if ... he’ll wake up. I expect he’ll be in surgery for at least ten to twelve more hours. And then we wait. His prognosis is very poor.”

  Carrie began to shake, and she opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. Tears ran down her face. “Will he survive?”

  “We don’t know the answer to that, yet. He isn’t breathing on his own, and we’ve had to resuscitate him several times. It’s going to be touch and go.”

  Holy shit. Prognosis very poor. Very severe brain damage. What the hell? I didn’t need anybody to spell it out for me. The doctor had just told Carrie—my wife—that I was going to die, and on the off chance I didn’t, that I was going to be a vegetable.

  Carrie was struggling to hold herself together. I wanted to shake the doctor, shout at him, tell him to shut up until Alex and Dylan arrived and someone was there strong enough to help her.

  And it wasn’t even over yet.

  “What about Sarah?” Carrie asked.

  At that, Sarah, sitting in the corner, swiveled hear head and stared directly at the doctor. She’d been listening all along.

  “Her prognosis is better,” the doctor said, “but she’s not out of danger. Are you familiar with compartment syndrome?”

  Carrie shook her head. “What?”

  “We see it a lot with severe crushing injuries. The muscles in the extremities are in ... pockets, lined with fascia. The fascia isn’t elastic, and swelling inside the compartments is extremely dangerous. Your sister’s left leg was crushed, and we had to perform an immediate fasciotomy.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “Basically ... we had to cut her leg open to relieve the pressure. She’ll need skin grafts, at a minimum.”

  Sarah stood and walked toward us, her face intense.

  “She’s not out of trouble yet, unfortunately. We’ll be observing her closely. I’ve got some paperwork for you to go over. It’s possible we’ll need to amputate.”

  Carrie winced, and Sarah muttered, “Fucking hell you’ll amputate.”

  “How likely is it you’ll need to do that?”

  “I would rate it as not likely, but it is possible. And if it’s necessary to save her life, we may not have time to come looking for your permission.”

  “I see,” Carrie responded.

  “Don’t you do it,” Sarah said, her voice a low growl.

  Carrie shook her head. “Our parents won’t be here for a long time. Do what you have to do ... but please ... do the best you can to save her.”

  “No!” Sarah screamed. “You fucking bitch, tell him no!”

  She ran forward and swung a fist at Carrie. It passed through, but I saw Carrie flinch. Immediately I reached out and grabbed Sarah around her waist and pulled her away. “No,” Sarah groaned. “I don’t care if I die. Don’t let them cut my leg off.”

  “Shut up, Sarah.”

  She tried to twist my hands and pull away from me, and it was all I could do to hold on to her. “Sarah, stop!”

  Finally, she sagged in my arms. I turned her around and pulled her into a hug.

  “You’re going to be all right, Sarah. Do you hear me? You’re going to be all right.”

  I said the words, but they reminded me too much of how helpless I’d been that night when Dylan was injured. Telling him over and over again that he’d be fine, even though I knew it was a lie.

  Are we doing okay? (Ray)

  My mind was still foggy from the dream I’d had on the plane.

  The flight had left two hours late, and once it was finally in the air, I slowly drifted to sleep, pictures of Carrie flashing through my mind. Pictures I’d committed to memory. I didn’t have to stalk her Facebook page any more, because every single one of those pictures was fresh in my mind. But, as it often did, my sleeping mind drifted off in different directions, directions I rarely wanted to consciously think about.

  In the dream, I was in a valley pockmarked with small rolling hills, bumps and craters, scrub brush and grass all around. A range of rugged, stark mountains capped with snow loomed over us. Somehow I already knew. I already knew that within twenty-four hours my team would be gone. Kowalski and Roberts dead, Dylan medevaced, and me, the only survivor. The guy who was supposed to lead them and keep them alive. The worst I’d gotten was a grazing furrow down my side from a random bullet. Enough to earn a Purple Heart, I suppose, but not enough to evacuate me from hell.

  In my dream, time shifted. We were back near the village, and it was a month later. Even though they were dead, Kowalski and Roberts were with me, Dylan was somewhere in the back, and the fucking new guys were nowhere to be seen. Sergeant Colton had stopped beside the road and was screaming at an eleven or twelve-year-old boy who was leading his sheep God only knows where, and it didn’t really matter, because spit was flying from Colton’s lips. Staff Sergeant Martin, our squad leader, said, “Colton, chill, he’s just a kid,” but Colton started screaming louder. Because that morning, Weber got picked off by a sniper, and we’d stuffed him in a bag. They flew him out while we continued the mission.

  “You fucking threw the grenade, didn’t you?” he screamed. “You’re the one who killed Kowalski? Huh? Huh?”

  He pointed his rifle at the kid, and then one of the other guys in Hicks’ fire team joined in, and now two or three of them were yelling, and I was saying, What the fuck, he’s a kid? Staff Sergeant Martin got right up in Colton’s face and shouted, “Sergeant, stop it!” and next thing I knew Colton had his rifle trained on Martin, and shit was completely out of control. I screamed “Sergeant, don’t do it!”

  “Whoa, soldier. It’s a bad dream, kid. Time to wake up.”

  My eyes had flown open and I wasn’t anywhere. I was on a plane. The old man who’d sat next to me had his hand on my arm, shaking me, but when my eyes opened, he pulled the hand back quickly. “Sorry, son ... you were having a nasty dream, had to wake you up.”

  “Thanks,” I had muttered. The old man had tried to get me to talk about it, but I wasn’t ready for that. Instead, I opened up the in-flight magazine, and sat lazily paging through it as the plane descended into Texas.

  When I walked out of the security gate at Houston’s Bush Intercontinental Airport, my eyes immediately focused in on Carrie. She stood apart from the other people waiting outside the gate, almost as if a space automatically formed around her because of her height or her beauty or maybe just general badassery. This was a lady who handled mountain lions for a living, after all.

  It was cold, and she wore a plum-colored knit sweater-dress over black leggings with high-heeled knee-high boots. A scarf was wrapped around her neck, and she wore a funky grey hat. Everything about her outfit emphasized her long, lean body, the curve of her hips and legs and breasts. When she saw me she gave a tentative smile, and I grinned back and walked toward her. It was the strangest feeling. We’d only known each other in person for a weekend. But I’d spent so many hours on t
he phone with her since, so many hours chatting with her online, that I felt like I’d known her a very long time.

  Awkward moment, then, as we came face to face and I met her eyes, eyes shaded by impossibly long lashes, eyes that sucked me in. We stood closer than we ever had before, and I could see them so clearly, the blue green surrounded by a dark iris. She wore just the barest touch of makeup. She blinked, once. Did we know each other well enough for a hug? A kiss even? I wanted to touch her, so badly that my entire body shook. But I didn’t know if it was too early. Her smile faltered for a second, then came back, and she met my eyes again, and I could tell she was asking herself the same question.

  Well, then, screw it. I reached for her and pulled her to me, wrapped my arms around her and breathed her in. Instantly she melted into my arms. With her heels, she was almost my height, and I could smell the very faint fragrance she used. Her arms, muscular but tiny at the same time, wrapped around my shoulders, and I smiled, pulled back just a little and looked in her eyes. “So are you going to freak if I kiss you?” I asked in a calm, level tone.

  Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly.

  “I….” She stopped.

  Permission enough.

  I leaned in, my lips just barely brushing hers. Christ, I’d wanted that for weeks. She moved, bringing herself closer, pressing her lips against mine, and then her mouth was open slightly, and mine was. I drank in the sensation of her lips against mine, soft, wet. She closed her eyes as we kissed, but I didn’t want to close mine. I wanted to see her.

  Her body fit against mine perfectly, and I felt her tremor just slightly in my arms. The kiss grew longer, and tentatively, her tongue just touched mine, and she gave a very soft moan, barely audible. I was flooded with warmth, a feeling I can’t really describe, as the fingertips of my left hand traced the line of her back down to her waist and my right hand came up to gently touch the side of her face. I ran my thumb along her jawline, and her eyes closed even tighter. My tongue brushed just along her teeth, and she gripped the back of my shirt in her fists, pulling me so close I could feel every inch of her.