Still Life

by Joy Fielding

  Oh, Drew.

  “I mean, I’m sorry to have to lay this on you in your condition, but I’m in a bit of a bind here—a bind, I point out, that could easily have been avoided if Dad hadn’t named you sole executor of his estate, or if you hadn’t gone along with it.”

  Please stop.

  “The current problem being,” her sister continued, bouncing none-too-gently along the side of the bed, “that I haven’t received my monthly stipend since you went into hibernation, and what with taking Sean to the Bahamas and shopping for my new spring wardrobe, I’ve maxed out all my credit cards, and pretty soon, I’m not going to be able to feed my kid. And I know how you feel about Lola, that you love her to pieces, even if you weren’t very happy about my pregnancy. And yes, in case you’re wondering, I do know who the father is. Or at least, I’ve narrowed it down to three suspects. Just kidding,” Drew added quickly. “Two,” she said under her breath. “So, what am I supposed to do, huh? I need money, your husband says I have to be patient, and this is all your fault because you’re the one who controls the purse strings. So, you tell me. How do we get out of this mess?”

  I wish I knew.

  “I hate to say it, but this whole situation would have been a lot easier if you’d just died.”

  What?

  “Then I’d have my money. The cops wouldn’t be riding my ass. I wouldn’t have to come begging to Warren….”

  Oh, Drew. Do you really hate me so much?

  Casey felt Drew push herself off the bed. She’d never been able to sit still for more than a minute, Casey thought, picturing her sister at the window. What does she see? Casey wondered, imagining a bright, orange sun being swallowed by a malevolent grouping of ominous black clouds.

  Drew’s current financial situation was her fault, Casey was forced to acknowledge. As trustee of her father’s estate, it had been her decision to put Drew on a monthly allowance. Her sister had chafed under the imposed restrictions, railing against the unfairness of the arrangement, despite the generosity of the amount, even threatening to sue, then backing off when she learned that any challenge to her father’s will could lead to her being disinherited altogether. She’d then tried reasoning with her older sister, arguing persuasively that by putting her on an allowance, Casey was, in effect, not allowing her to grow up. She was infantilizing her, Drew had said, and Casey had been impressed enough by both the word and the argument to transfer several hundred thousand dollars to her account.

  The money was gone within a year, spent on an ill-advised franchise that went quickly bankrupt, a yellow Ferrari, a few island vacations, and a lot of addictive white powder. After that, Casey had put her sister on a strict allowance. Drew subsequently sold the Ferrari, the proceeds quickly disappearing up her nose. It was around this time that Drew found herself pregnant and decided to keep the baby, although she refused to name the father. She did, however, agree to go into rehab, and she’d managed to stay clean and sober until after Lola’s birth.

  The last five years had been more of the same. Casey had moved her sister into a larger apartment in Society Hill, hired a responsible older woman to look after Lola, and paid for Drew’s repeated attempts at rehab. Occasionally it looked as if Drew was about to turn a corner, only to disappear around it altogether, sometimes for weeks at a time. Just before her accident, Casey thought, refusing for the moment to think of it as anything else, she hadn’t spoken to her sister in almost a month.

  Drew was right, she thought again, feeling her sister return to her bedside. She shouldn’t have put her in this position, shouldn’t have forced her to be dependent on her for what was rightfully hers. She should have divided the estate into two equal halves and let the chips fall where they may. What Drew chose to do with her share of the family money was her business. Casey had no right to dictate to her younger sister, or to try to impose her own moral code on her.

  “You can’t protect someone who keeps deliberately putting herself in harm’s way,” Warren had told her more than once. He’d argued vehemently that the best thing Casey could do for her sister was to keep her on a tight rein financially, at least until she’d proven she could handle the responsibility of all that money.

  Maybe Drew had realized that time would never come.

  “My feet are killing me,” Drew said now, and Casey heard her dragging a chair along the floor toward the bed. “Don’t let anybody tell you Manolos are so comfortable they’re like walking in bare feet. Who said that anyway? Probably Carrie from Sex and the City. Did you ever watch that show? I used to love it. I still watch it in reruns. They’re on all the time. I probably know all the episodes by heart, I’ve seen them so many times. Hey, maybe it’s on now.” She clicked on the remote and began flipping through the channels, continuing to talk over the parade of ever-shifting voices emanating from the TV. “Anyway, you have to admit these are pretty great-looking shoes.” Casey pictured her sister lifting her feet into the air to show off her footwear. “Yes, I realize that seven hundred dollars is an outrageous amount to pay for a strap of brown leather and a three-inch heel, but they’re really a work of art, and when was the last time you paid only seven hundred dollars for a genuine work of art?” She took another deep breath. “Too bad you can’t see them,” she continued. “Too bad you can’t see how good they look on my feet. Too bad you can’t see how good I look, period.” She laughed, again with no real mirth. “I actually am looking pretty great these days. I’m nice and tanned, and I started exercising. Not running. That’s your thing. No, I’ve been taking dance classes, and I’ve even started spinning. I’m now officially one of those loony ladies sweating up a storm on those bicycles that go nowhere, which you’d probably say is a metaphor for the way I live my life.”

  Would she? Casey wondered, feeling instantly guilty. Would she say that? Was she really so judgmental?

  “Anyway, I really am looking pretty good. Not as good as Sleeping Beauty here, of course. Even in a coma, you’re still the sister to beat. Although I’m seeing a few lines around the mouth I never noticed before. You might want to consider Botox when you wake up, even if the whole idea of deliberately injecting a poison into your system kind of freaks me out. And I know what you’re thinking, even if, technically, you’re not thinking. But you’re wrong. That’s one thing I’ve never done. I’ve never used needles. You know I’ve always hated needles. Remember that time they were scheduled to give us those shots at school, and we all had to line up, and I started screaming and ran away, and they had to drag you out of class to help find me. Remember that? You were, what—twelve? I was eight or nine.” She chuckled. “Those were the days, huh?”

  The good old days.

  “Anyway, don’t do it. Botox scares me, even though I know it’s FDA approved, and everybody uses it. But it paralyzes the muscle, and that’s kind of scary. I mean, what if something goes wrong, and your whole body gets paralyzed? Shit,” Drew muttered immediately. “What the hell am I saying? I’m sorry. That wasn’t too swift. I’m pretty sure it isn’t what the doctors had in mind when they said to talk to you as much as possible. Anyway, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean … What am I doing apologizing? It’s not like you can hear me. Can you? Can you hear me? I get this feeling sometimes like you can.”

  Yes. You’re right. You’re right.

  “No. I guess it’s too ridiculous,” Drew said with a sigh. “So, what do you think of Sean?” she asked in the next breath.

  Sean?

  “The guy who was just in here,” she answered, as if they were having an actual conversation.

  Had Drew heard her? Casey wondered. Could she have spoken his name out loud?

  “I can’t remember if you two ever met. Wavy blond hair, little pug nose, nice brown eyes. Shorter than I normally like them, but what he lacks in length, he makes up for in width, if you know what I mean.” She giggled. “Yeah, I know. I’m talking trash. Daddy wouldn’t approve. Although he had a taste for trash himself, our daddy did,” she mused aloud. “Anyway,
Sean’s okay. Not too bright. I kind of like that. But he’s definitely not a keeper, so you don’t have to worry. You have more than enough to worry about right now.”

  Casey felt Drew lean in closer. “Casey?” she heard her ask, her voice lowering, filling with concern. “Casey, what’s going on in there? Why do I think you can hear me?”

  Because you know me better than anyone. Because you’re my sister, and despite everything, there’s a connection between us, an unbreakable bond.

  “She can’t hear you,” a male voice said gently.

  Who’s that?

  “I know,” Drew concurred. “There was just something about her expression all of a sudden. I thought for a minute that maybe … I don’t know. Are you her doctor?”

  “No. I’m her physical therapist. Jeremy Ross.”

  Casey tried to imagine what he looked like. She pictured him tall and fair-haired, with a square jaw and deep-set eyes. Maybe a nose that had been broken in his youth. He was probably in his midthirties, she thought, wondering if he was offering Drew his hand to shake.

  “Drew Lerner,” Drew said. “Casey’s sister.”

  “Yes, I can see the family resemblance. Nice to meet you, Drew. How’s our patient doing today?”

  Casey felt Drew shrug.

  “She’s coming along very well,” the therapist remarked, approaching the bed and taking Casey’s hand in his, squeezing it gently.

  Was he? Or was she just imagining it? Could she actually feel him manipulating her fingers up and down?

  “I can definitely feel an improvement.”

  “You can?”

  “She’s getting a lot stronger. I can feel a difference in her fingers from even a few days ago. And once the doctors get rid of this thing,” he said, obviously referring to the ventilator that was controlling Casey’s breathing, “we can start moving her around a lot more.”

  “What if she’s not able to breathe on her own?”

  “The doctors won’t remove the ventilator until they’re sure it’s safe.”

  “Do you think she’ll regain consciousness?”

  “Hard to say.” Jeremy let go of one hand, then lifted the other one into the air. “Some do. Some don’t.”

  “What are the odds?”

  “Don’t know.” He began manipulating Casey’s wrist, rotating it in tiny circles. “Generally, the longer the coma, the worse the chances for a complete recovery. But you never know. You can’t give up hope.”

  Casey felt the strength in his fingers as they applied gentle pressure to her own. She felt a pleasant tingle working its way up her arm and experienced a surge of excitement. Were her senses coming back to her, a little at a time? Or was her brain simply projecting her desire to feel these things? She had to be careful not to get her hopes up before she knew for sure.

  Although, why not? she wondered. What difference would it make if her hopes were raised only to be dashed? Could things be any worse than they were now?

  “Thatta girl, Casey. You’re doing great,” Jeremy told her.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Drew asked.

  “No, that’s all right. I don’t mind you being here. What are you watching?”

  “Huh? Oh, nothing. There’s nothing worth watching anymore.”

  The voices on the television were abruptly silenced.

  “In that case, you can watch me,” Jeremy said. “Learn how to do some of these things yourself, so you can do them with her the next time you come to visit.”

  “Oh, no. I’d be too afraid. I wouldn’t want to hurt her.”

  “You won’t hurt her. Here, let me show you. Go on, take her hand.”

  “No, I can’t. Really.”

  “Sure you can. Go on. I promise you won’t hurt her.”

  Casey felt her right hand being passed from Jeremy’s sure grip to Drew’s less steady palm. I can feel that, she thought giddily. I can feel that.

  “That’s good. Now, slowly and carefully, start moving her fingers up and down, one at a time, real slow, real gentle. That’s right. See? You got it. And now rotate the wrist, just like I’m doing. Good. Good. See? You’re a natural.”

  Drew scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

  “I know so. Don’t sell yourself short. Casey needs you right now.”

  “Trust me. I’m the last thing she needs.” She quickly returned Casey’s hand to the therapist.

  “And why is that?” Jeremy’s hands began massaging Casey’s forearms.

  This isn’t my imagination. I can really feel that.

  “Does the phrase ‘black sheep of the family’ ring any bells?” Drew asked.

  Jeremy chuckled. “I understand there are quite a few black sheep in this particular family.”

  Drew laughed along with him. “You’ve been doing your homework.”

  “I like to acquaint myself as best I can with my patients’ histories.”

  “Yeah, well, good luck with this family. We’re a pretty screwed—up bunch. Except for Casey. She was always perfect.”

  “I guess it’s hard trying to compete with perfection,” Jeremy stated, manipulating Casey’s arm at the elbow.

  “Oh, I stopped competing early.”

  “Probably a good idea.”

  “What about you?” Drew asked. “Any brothers and sisters?”

  “Two of each.”

  “Wow. Big family. Any children of your own?”

  “No. My wife and I were thinking about it, then she thought she’d rather have them with somebody else, so we’re divorced now. You?”

  “I have a daughter. No husband,” Drew added quickly.

  “Hello, Jeremy,” Warren said from the doorway. “Drew, maybe you should leave and let the therapist do his job.”

  “That’s all right. She’s not bothering—”

  “Sean and Lola are waiting for you downstairs.”

  “We need to talk,” Drew protested.

  “Not now.”

  “That’s all right,” Jeremy interjected. “I can come back in a few minutes. Nice meeting you, Drew.”

  “You too.”

  “Please tell me you weren’t flirting with your sister’s therapist,” Warren said as soon as Jeremy was gone.

  “What’s the big deal? It’s not like she can see me.”

  “I’m not having this discussion.”

  “He looks a bit like Tiger Woods, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not having that discussion either. Look, your boyfriend’s downstairs with Lola. You probably shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer. Here’s some money to tide you over.”

  “What am I supposed to do with five hundred lousy dollars?”

  “It’s all the money I have on me.”

  “I don’t want your money. I want my money.”

  “It’s the best I can do for the time being.”

  “How long does this go on?”

  “I don’t know, Drew. It’s a complicated situation.”

  “Then simplify it.”

  “My hands are tied.”

  “Untie them.”

  “Don’t you understand? It’s not up to me.”

  Please. I can’t listen to any more of this.

  “Oh, God, look at her,” Drew said suddenly. “Look at her face.”

  “What’s wrong with her face?”

  “She can hear us.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She can hear us, Warren. I know she can.”

  Casey felt Warren inch closer, his breath brushing against her lips as his eyes scanned hers.

  “You’re crazy, Drew,” he said after a long pause. “Now please. Do us all a favor and go home.” There was another pause, followed by a deep, weary sigh. When Warren spoke again, his voice was softer, more conciliatory. “Look. I’ll talk to someone in my firm about your situation. Hopefully, we’ll be able to work something out.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Sorry if I said anything to upset you,” Warren said.

&nbs
p; “Apology accepted. So you’ll call me after you speak to your associate?”

  “I’ll call.”

  Casey listened to the click of her sister’s Manolos as she walked briskly from the room without saying good-bye.

  NINE

  “Okay, are you ready, Casey?” Dr. Ein asked.

  What? Did you say something?

  “This is a pretty big step we’re taking.”

  What are you talking about? What big step?

  Casey felt herself slipping back and forth between the cracks of consciousness and sleep. She’d been dreaming about Janine, the years they’d spent rooming together at college. She wasn’t ready to wake up, to leave her younger, more carefree—careless?—self behind. She wasn’t ready for any big steps.

  “Once we disconnect this last wire, you’ll be officially breathing on your own,” the doctor announced.

  I’m sorry. Did you say something?

  Casey saw herself sitting on Janine’s bed in the small two-bedroom apartment they once shared. The apartment was on the top floor of a three-story brownstone, located half a mile off the Brown University campus, on a tree-lined street full of once-stately old homes that now functioned as extended university residences, housing a steady succession of undergraduate and graduate students.

  “What’s he saying?” Janine was asking impatiently from beside her. “Casey, what’s he saying?”

  I think he said something about breathing on my own.

  “Casey, come on,” Janine urged, as Casey surrendered to the pull of the past. “You’re not doing it right. Let me try.”

  “What do you mean I’m not doing it right? How can I be doing it wrong?” Casey watched the young woman she used to be surrender the glass she’d been holding between her ear and the wall to Janine’s eager hands. “He’s not saying anything.”

  “Impossible,” Janine said. “They’re talking about me. I can feel it.”

  Casey had met Janine three months earlier, when she’d answered an ad for a roommate Janine had placed in the campus newspaper. “I don’t know,” Janine had said when she opened her door, looking Casey up and down and skipping such pleasantries as “Hello. How are you?” She’d stepped back to allow Casey inside, not even trying to hide the once and then twice-over she was giving Casey. “You’re way too pretty. Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t prom queen.”