The Last Hour

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  Where the hell did he learn to talk to family members? Of course, I wanted to know the details. I wanted to know everything. But the more I thought about it, the more I might have appreciated a less crude way of putting it. It didn’t matter. Whether or not they told me what was happening, whether or not they gave me the details in the bluntest terms or the floweriest language, the fact was, Ray’s injuries couldn’t possibly be worse or more threatening. But it wasn’t going to do him any good at all if I stayed sitting here versus going with my sisters to check on Sarah.

  Schmidt raised her eyebrows and said, “Are the three of you ready?”

  Alexandra said, “Let me text my husband and let him know where we’re going.”

  She did, and the three of us followed Doctor Schmidt down a confusing series of passageways until we reached the ICU. At the door, just as Schmidt was about to slide an access card, Jessica said, “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

  All four of us stopped in place, and I said to Schmidt, “Can you give us just a moment? I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, and I took both Alexandra and Jessica by the hand and we walked a few feet down the hall. The three of us stood in a tight triangle, and I said, “Jessica, I promise you, no matter what happens, we’re here for you. No matter what.”

  Her eyes watered, and she responded, “Carrie ... I’m afraid. What if ... what if she doesn’t make it? The last thing we did was fight over a stupid belt. I don’t care about the belt—she can have it. I want my sister back. It’s ... I don’t understand why she hates me so much.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” Alexandra said. “She never has.”

  “Then why ... why does she pull away so much?”

  Alexandra slid a hand over Jessica’s shoulder and said, “Sarah’s always needed to be ... a little different. I think the biggest mistake Mom ever made was trying to dress you two alike all the time. She’s pulling away because she doesn’t feel like she’s her own person, Jessica. But that’s not because she hates you.”

  “The accident might not have even happened if we weren’t fighting.”

  I shook my head, violently. “No. That guy ran the red light. We never had a chance, Jessica. Do you understand me? This was not your fault. Or anyone’s really, except the guy who hit us.”

  Alexandra gave her gentle smile. “Let’s go. It’s going to be okay.”

  I pulled my sisters in to a hug, and held them tight. I just wish I believed Alexandra’s words were true.

  “Okay. Ready?”

  They both nodded, and we separated. I nodded to Schmidt and said, quietly, “Thank you.”

  She swiped her pass, and the door slid aside.

  Two minutes later we were looking in on Sarah.

  I tried not to gasp when I saw her. She was barely recognizable. The left side of her face was bruised and swollen, much of it deep purple and black. Tubes were tied and taped in her nostrils and mouth, and it looked as if even her eyelids were bruised. What skin we could see that wasn’t bruised looked even more deathly pale than normal.

  Her left arm was splinted and slightly elevated, the fingertips poking out of the splint, swollen, red. And her left leg was huge, bloated and swollen, with bulky dressings attached and tubes running out from under the sheet. I was frightened to even think of what her leg must look like; the surgeon told me before that the wound would be left open for two to three days.

  A nurse met us and said, “You can go in, but only one at a time.”

  Alexandra and I both looked at Jessica, and I said, “You go first, Jessica.”

  Jessica was shaking. She swallowed, whispered, “Thank you,” and then slipped into the room. From outside, I watched as she slumped into a chair near the bed. Her eyes were round and unblinking as she stared at her unconscious, injured twin.

  Alexandra grabbed my hand when Jessica started talking. I don’t know what she was saying; we couldn’t hear her. But as she spoke, tears began running down her face.

  “You okay?” Alexandra asked me at a whisper.

  “For now,” I responded.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. All of it.”

  I nodded, at once grateful my sister was here and, at the same time, wishing desperately I could just go find a dark corner somewhere and curl up into a ball and scream.

  Army Wife (Ray)

  You ever wonder how a ghost can have an insanely powerful craving for a cigarette?

  Yeah, me neither.

  Not until now. Because the minute Dylan told them he was going to go grab a smoke, I wanted one more than you could possibly imagine. Who would have guessed fucking addictions could follow you right into the grave?

  No. Crap. I wasn’t going to think that way. Somehow I was getting out of that. Maybe they could do some kind of stem cell injection thingy and grow back the parts of my brain that got turned into mush. Or something. But I had to survive. I had to be there for Carrie. That’s what mattered.

  Anyway, I figured having a smoke, even if it was secondhand, couldn’t hurt me while I was in this condition, so I followed Dylan out to the front of the hospital.

  George Washington University Hospital is somewhere in downtown DC, an area I barely know. Carrie knows it like the back of her hand; she’d spent a couple years living here in high school, and had been back for a bunch of conferences and meetings and such. During our few months here together, she’d played the role of tour guide and taken me everywhere in the city.

  Dylan hitched himself up on a four-foot high brick wall, which was quite a feat for a guy as short as he is, and then his phone beeped. He looked at it briefly, reading a text message I suppose, then put it away. I boosted myself up next to him as he fumbled in his pocket, looking for his cigarettes and lighter.

  I wanted to bum one from him, but good luck with that.

  Not a problem, though, for the fortyish-looking lady who asked him for one a moment later. She wore jeans and a t-shirt, and had a tired, stressed look to her face.

  “No problem,” Dylan said, passing one to her.

  She got her cigarette lit, puffing a cloud of smoke, then said, “You visiting someone here?”

  He nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reluctantly.

  “My daughter’s here, in labor and delivery. Stupid bitch got herself knocked up again.”

  Dylan recoiled, wincing at her harsh words and tone. “You don’t sound happy about it.”

  “Do I look happy about it?” the woman said. “No, I’m not happy. I can’t afford to raise another kid, and God knows she won’t take the responsibility to do it.”

  Dylan looked flabbergasted. His mouth opened, then closed, and finally he looked away, taking a drag from his cigarette and not responding.

  I took a deep breath, trying to catch just a whiff of the smoke. Nothing. I don’t think I was even actually breathing. That was not fair.

  “So what are you gonna do?” Dylan asked.

  I was startled. Startled that he asked the question, and more, that he seemed interested. But he looked at her like he knew her.

  The woman shrugged. “I’ll deal with whatever gets handed to me. I’ll pray.”

  He grunted. “My best friend’s in there, and from what it sounds like, he’s gonna die.”

  I jerked as he said it. And he didn’t stop. “There were four of us. Two died in Afghanistan. Ray ... he was my sergeant, and now my brother-in-law. I love that guy. What the hell? Can’t we even catch a break?”

  The woman shook her head. “The Lord don’t go around handing out breaks.”

  Dylan snorted. “Guess not,” he said. He slid off the wall and then stamped out his cigarette on the ground. “Good luck to you and your daughter.”

  “I’ll be praying for your friend.”

  He turned and started walking back toward the entrance to the hospital, and then stopped, a confused expression on his face. He was staring at a parked car, an early 2000s Ford Taurus, and a crease formed between his eyebrows. What the hell was that about? He lit another
cigarette, which was going to make me completely insane, and walked a full circle around the car.

  The car had Virginia plates. Vanity plates, reading ARMY WIFE. Military parking stickers were attached to the rear windshield, for both Fort Stewart and Fort Drum, New York. And the thing was, it was familiar. I couldn’t place it. I’d seen this car before too. But where? Surely not at Fort Drum? I suppose it could have been somewhere in DC, but I’d only been here a few months, and to be honest, I’d been kind of preoccupied most of that time.

  Dylan seemed to shrug it off, and I had bigger things to worry about, like was I going to live, so we moved on. I followed him back into the hospital, and ten minutes later we were in the intensive care unit. At the door, he texted Alex and we waited. A moment later, she came and opened it, letting him in. Us, I guess. Except getting in wasn’t going to be a problem for me, but I didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

  As he slipped in, Alex said, “You really need to quit smoking.”

  Dylan looked at her with a dour expression and said, “Today’s really not the day for that, okay?”

  And that’s when I heard Sarah let out a piercing scream. I jerked, looking for her, then moved down the hall as quick as I could. Carrie stood outside a room with a glass door and window. Sarah was inside ... both of her, I guess. So was Jessica, sitting in a chair, face buried in her hands.

  I walked right through the door, and immediately caught Jessica’s quiet, half-sobbed words. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s my fault. I wish ... I wish none of this had happened.” After she said it, she leaned her chin on her arms, and just sat, staring at her twin.

  Sarah ... not the Sarah on the bed. Or ... whatever. She was standing there, next to the bed, and her face was red. Daniel was still with her ... either they hadn’t found his parents or ... the other alternatives didn’t bear thinking about.

  Sarah looked up at me as I entered and shouted, “Did you know my sister was a lesbian? My twin?”

  Daniel shrank a little at her shout.

  I stopped in place. “Um ... no….”

  “Neither did I. What the hell, Ray? It’s not like I would have judged her, or even cared. But why is it she wouldn’t tell me until she thought I was dying? Or unconscious or whatever? Can you believe that? I can’t. I can’t believe my own twin wouldn’t tell me something so important.”

  I was speechless, but Sarah was anything but that. “Plus,” she shouted, “She thinks the accident was her fault. Because we were fighting. And if I die, she’s never going to be convinced otherwise. All over this stupid belt.”

  “The one you’re wearing?” I asked. It was a nice belt, made up of gold washed chain links, though the pink heart pendant buckle was extremely out of character for Sarah.

  “Yes, this one. Aren’t you paying any attention? I was wearing it when we left the apartment this morning. That’s what she was so mad about, it’s sort of hers.”

  I shook my head. “You were not wearing that. I would have noticed that buckle. An axe or something I could believe, but a heart?”

  “I kind of replaced the heart with a padlock.”

  I blinked. “Okay,” I said. “That I can buy.”

  “Yeah, if I live, she’ll never let me live it down. But that’s not it. She lost her virginity. Before me. I mean it was with a girl, but what the hell? Why doesn’t she talk to me any more?”

  At this point, Daniel’s eyes had grown wide, and he stared at Sarah with a combination of awe and shock. Somehow I had the feeling he’d never been involved in a conversation before involving teenaged lesbians losing their virginity. Then again, I hadn’t either.

  I shook my head. “I don’t want to hear this. Besides, you aren’t old enough to be having sex anyway.”

  She sneered at me.

  “If I die,” she pointed out, “I’m going to die a virgin. That is so fucking unfair.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “You’re no help at all, Ray.”

  She spun around, facing Jessica, and put her hands on both sides of Jessica’s face, and said, “It’s not your fault. Not the accident, not anything.”

  Jessica, of course, didn’t respond.

  Sarah’s eyebrows lowered, and she leaned close. Really close, noses almost touching. She shouted, “Hello?”

  Christ. “She can’t hear you,” I whispered.

  “Hello!” Sarah screamed. She spun toward me and said, “I am so sick of no one hearing me!” and then she stomped out of the room.

  I swallowed. Why did this worry me? I waved at the kid to come with me and followed her out, anxiety forming a pit in my stomach. Sarah was anything but predictable. In the hallway, Dylan and Alex were leaning against the wall together, while Carrie looked in at Sarah and Jessica.

  Everything would have been normal, except Sarah was leaning on Alex, cupping her hands at Alex’s ears and screaming, “Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?”

  I was pretty sure we’d already established that. I watched her, trying to figure out what was going through her head. She spun toward me and said, “I can’t take this, Ray. I’m going to crack up. I’d almost rather be in there!” she said, pointing in the room where her mangled body lay.

  Then her eyes went wide. “You know what?”

  Uh oh.

  “No one can see me,” she said. “No one can hear me. So I can do whatever. I. Want.”

  She started to stalk off, and as she walked away from me toward the exit, she reached up behind her and began to unzip her dress.

  “Ray!” she shouted. “You ever wanted to streak down a busy street?”

  “Sarah! Are you nuts? Stop!”

  I ran after her, but she’d already passed through the sliding doors. As I burst through them, I found her red dress bunched on the floor. Daniel burst through the door beside me. Without thought, I reached over and wrapped my arm around his head, covering his eyes with my hand.

  “Come on, Ray!” she called.

  I averted my eyes, even as Daniel started to struggle out of my grip. She was my sister-in-law. I really didn’t need to see this.

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. “Put your clothes back on!”

  “Whatever!” she called out, and then I heard her shoes as she went running down the hall, heels echoing off the floor. She started to sing as she ran, what sounded like a silly kid’s song. Her voice faded as she ran down the hallway away from me.

  I let my arm drop, letting Daniel go. “Is she always like that?” he asked, eyes round.

  I sighed. Okay. I could stay with Carrie. I could go back to the general vicinity of my body. I could chase Sarah.

  I really didn’t want to chase Sarah. She’d come back, hopefully sane and fully clothed. And I really didn’t want to be anywhere near where my body was going through that surgery. So I returned to Carrie. Silent. Because she couldn’t hear me anyway.

  I leaned against the wall and watched as my wife traded places with Jessica. I took a breath, except it wasn’t really a breath, and sighed, but it wasn’t a sigh, and maybe I understood just a little of why Sarah felt the need to scream, throw off her clothes and go running.

  Not everybody gets a second chance (Carrie)

  When I was a senior in high school, I was lost at first. I’d spent two years of high school in Bethesda, Maryland, another in a tiny, private English-speaking school in Moscow, and my final year in San Francisco. I’d been a nomad all my life. Three years, then on to a new place, at least until my high school years. Thanks to some ugly politics, Dad’s appointment as Ambassador to Russia was held up almost two years.

  Mostly, I adjusted well. I made friends easily, and I didn’t have the traumatic experience that my older sister Julia went through in China. So arriving in San Francisco for my senior year and having to start all over again wasn’t exactly an entirely new experience for me.

  Except for one piece. For whatever reason, I’d never really run afoul of the queen bees, the girls who knew how to make o
ther girls’ lives miserable. It had never been a problem. But my very first day at Abraham Lincoln High School, I did something unforgivable.

  First, I bumped into Michelle Weatherford on the stairs accidentally, not realizing she required a three-foot bubble around her at all times. Second, when she said something nasty, I called her a bitch and told her exactly where she could go.

  From that point on it was war, but on the whole, I made it through the year unscathed.

  The only reason I mention this is that I never really had to deal with a lot of the petty jealousies and fights in high school or undergrad, and I guess, by the time I entered the PhD program at Rice, I assumed I’d left all that behind. I assumed from that point on, I was dealing with rational thinking adults.

  It’s always dangerous to make assumptions.

  It was late December, almost Christmas, when I stopped in the tiny office I shared with two other graduate assistants to clean out my desk. I was starting my fellowship at NIH after the New Year, and most of my apartment was already packed and shipped to Bethesda. I had a few keepsakes in the office, and a couple of people I wanted to say goodbye to.

  My last stop was Professor Ayers’ office.

  After our last meeting, I was tense as I approached the office. I still didn’t know if I’d misjudged him, though the implication of his words had been unmistakable. And I didn’t like to think about that. We’d been friends for two years. We’d spent literally months out in the field together, in the mountains. It was unavoidable that more than once I’d felt attraction to him, and he had to me. But neither of us had ever acted on those moments, neither of us had ever said a word, neither of us had ever implied it. I was his student. He was married. No possibility of any relationship was there, nor did I want one.

  That said: I’d trusted him. You had to trust, when you’re going off in the mountains alone with someone. We’d slept in the same tent. When one of the cougars didn’t get properly sedated and went after him, I’d stepped in the way to protect him, and I had the scars to show it. And he’d taken the cougar down after it hit me and then half-carried me down five miles of trail.