“Changed how?”
“The pupils turned sideways, like a lizard’s eyes or something. And then these horrible things started growing out of her neck!” I squeezed my eyes at the memory, clapped my hands over my ears.
“Marin.” Father William’s hand on my shoulder made me jump. “You’ve got to calm down, dear. There are things that can happen to a human body during seizures that are very difficult to explain, let alone witness.” His hand moved in circles between my shoulder blades; it felt irritating and comforting at the same time. “You’ve been through so much this past year. It’s starting to have an effect on you.”
“No!” I squeezed my eyes even tighter. “That’s not it!”
“Listen to me. I know you think you understand what’s happening to this girl, but let me tell you something. Spiritual possession is incredibly rare. From the little I know about it, less than one percent of all cases turn out to be real situations in which a spirit has actually entered the body. Less than one percent! Plus, it takes years to diagnose. There are all sorts of experts who have to come in and examine the person and eliminate every other medical and mental possibility.”
I opened my eyes, staring out at the sea of cars again. Maybe Dominic’s parents weren’t the only people who wouldn’t listen to us. Who wouldn’t hear. “You don’t believe me,” I said. “You just think I’m some dumb kid, getting hysterical.”
“I don’t think you’re a dumb kid at all.” He was somber. “I really don’t. You’re actually one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. And I mean that.”
“Why? Because I can see pain?”
“Well, yes, partly because of that. But also because you’re intelligent. And sensitive. The way you’ve dealt with your particular affliction has been—”
“Affliction?” I interrupted.
He paused, staring down at his hands. “I’m sorry. What do you call it?”
“I don’t call it anything.” I waited. “Nan calls it a blessing.”
He smiled, looking out over the parking lot again. “Yes,” he said. “Of course she would. That’s exactly what it is. A blessing.”
I stayed quiet after that. Now that Nan had been brought up again, I didn’t feel like arguing anymore.
Father William apparently felt the same way. Clutching his cane, he pulled himself to his feet. I stared at the knees of his black pants as he donned his hat and straightened his sweater. “Marin, look at me.” His voice was gentle, soft. I raised my eyes. “You must be very careful about dabbling into anything having to do with spiritual realms. That’s not something to fool around with. In any kind of way. If it turns out this girl is indeed possessed by some kind of spirit or, God forbid, a demon, she’ll have to be cared for by professionals. A real exorcist will have to be brought in, someone who will invoke the name of God through a series of specific prayers and rituals. That’s the only way a spirit can be cast out. It can take weeks. Sometimes even months. And even then sometimes, it doesn’t work.”
My blood ran cold at his words. But I didn’t answer.
“Marin,” he said again, “promise me you won’t get involved.”
“I’m already involved.”
“Then promise me you’ll un-involve yourself.” His eyes were grave. “I mean it. Promise me.”
“Only if you’ll help.” My knees were shaking.
“I am not an exorcist. And even if that’s what that girl needs, I can’t just go out and get one. The bishop has to be alerted first and then he assigns one.”
“Then alert the bishop.” I bit my lip. “You can do that, can’t you?”
“Cassie would have to be examined first. By a priest who has experience with these kinds of situations. Then he would make a request to the bishop.”
“Do you know of any special priests who could do that? Who could come examine her?”
Father William rested a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll look into it,” he said. “But, please, dear, in the meantime, promise me you’ll stay out of it. It’s much, much more complicated than you could ever imagine. Please walk away and don’t look back. For your own sake. And for Nan’s.”
He left me with that, shuffling down the sidewalk without saying goodbye. I sat there for a long time after, still a little stunned that I had told him anything at all. But there was no one else. Literally. And I was scared. For Dominic. And for Cassie too. Had I just created a whole new set of problems by telling Father William? Or would the people who needed to be involved, the ones who should have been involved from the very beginning, finally be brought in?
The moon overhead was as full as a coin. Gauzy clouds moved swiftly behind it, and a constellation of stars seemed to have been flung against the dark sky by an invisible hand. For a brief moment, it seemed that everything was looking down at me, gazing from a great distance, an entire world I did not know about and would not ever comprehend in this lifetime.
I got up finally and went back inside to find Dad.
Together, we would continue to wait.
Sixteen
It was 4:37 a.m. when Dr. Andrews came back into the waiting room, cap in hand. I was stretched out on a brown vinyl couch watching a steak knife infomercial while trying to keep my eyes open. Dad was sprawled on the smaller sofa across the room, one leg slung over the arm of it. His eyes were wide open. Neither of us had said another word to each other. However, at the sight of Dr. Andrews, we both sprang to our feet. Without his blue cap, I could make out a bald spot on top. The purple orb behind his ear had diminished somewhat, although the yellow one in his mouth looked bigger.
“How is she?” Dad asked.
“It went as well as it possibly could have,” the doctor said. “But five out of the six arteries were blocked, which, combined with the heart attack, has left her heart severely damaged.” He swept his eyes over me. “Now we wait. As I said before, the next twenty-four hours are critical.”
“Thank you.” Dad stuck his hand out. “For all you’ve done.” His lower lip trembled as they shook. I might have thanked him, too, if I had not caught sight of the blood all over his ridiculous paper shoe coverings, drops and spatters adorning the blue paper like some kind of bizarre painting. Nan’s blood. The sight of it left me mute.
A few minutes later, a nurse led us into the ICU, where Nan lay on a vast stretcher, her body covered with tubes and wires and blankets. For a split second, I thought we were too late, that Nan had breathed her last while we had been out in the waiting room, talking to Dr. Andrews. Her skin was the color of an eggshell, the edges of her lips dry and cracked. Thin tubes snaked out of her nose, and another one ran down the length of her arms. A white bandage had been taped to one side of her head; a dull bruise bloomed on her cheek. Still, nothing prepared me for what I saw beneath her hospital gown, inside her chest cavity. Even ten feet away, the shape of her pain was staggeringly large, the size of an orange, mealy and fibrous-looking, as if the muscle had been dragged against a cheese grater. I pressed my hand against my mouth so that I would not scream.
“Come on,” Dad said in a tight voice. “It’s okay.”
I made my way to the bed, following Dad, holding my breath. The only sound in the room was the steady, faint beeping of a machine hooked to one of Nan’s fingers. On a screen in front, a red digital heart blinked on and off—once, twice, three times—in sync with the beep. There was a pause. Then once, twice, three times again. Dad stared at it for a minute, as if it might start talking to him. Then he put his hands on the bed railing and looked down at his mother. His face was gray, and the backs of his arms trembled.
I stayed to the left of him, motionless except for my fingers, which fluttered at the tips. The blue beads inside Nan’s hands, still running the length of her knuckles, skittered abruptly, as if caught, and then resumed again. Still! Despite everything else! I let out a sob then and ran to her, sinking down against the other side of the bed. I clutched at her hand, pressing my face against it. “Oh, Nan, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!�
��
I wept for a long, long time, until I could not cry anymore, until I was dizzy from it. My eyes and nose were swollen; the inside of my head felt as though it had been packed with cotton. I lifted my head, swaying a little under the bright lights. Dad was gone. I stared at the place he had been—just inches away, across the bed—as if he might rematerialize if I looked hard enough. But he had left.
I lurched as a low moan, barely audible, drifted up from the bed. “Nan,” I whispered. Her eyes were still closed, but another groan came out of her mouth. “I’m here, Nan. I’m right here.” I smoothed her white hair back from her face. It was matted on top, as if someone had put honey in it, and damp around the edges. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “I know you’ll get better. I know it. I’m here, Nan. I’m right here.”
I stayed there for the rest of the night, sitting in a chair pulled close to the bed, resting my head on the only available inch of mattress space, Nan’s soft hand in mine. Dad came back after a while, settling into the soft blue chair in the corner, but I did not lift my head, did not acknowledge him. I dozed off and on, waking when another one of Nan’s unconscious moans sounded, a gasp here, a low, wet rumble there. Then I would stare at the purple wound of her heart, my eyes boring into the ripped mass under the bandage, unable to look away. I fastened my gaze on it in a way I never had before, in a way I knew I might not ever do again, all the while holding her hand, pressing my lips, the side of my cheek against it. There was no reason for someone like Nan, who had done nothing but good things all her life, to have to bear this kind of pain. Life was hugely, breathtakingly unfair. And the worst part was that there was nothing I, or anyone else for that matter, could do about it.
We would just have to wait.
Again.
I squinted as a shaft of light gazed in from between the hospital curtains and then opened my eyes all the way. Morning.
Morning!
I sat up and looked at Nan. Her eyes were still closed, but a little bit of pink was back in her face, as if someone had pinched her cheeks, and her breathing didn’t seem quite as shallow. The machine behind her bed was still beeping, but faster now and without any hesitations. Most shocking of all was the shape inside her chest cavity; it was half the size of the one that had been there last night, the once-tattered material now a smooth, slick band of muscle.
I stared at it for a moment, as if I might be imagining things, but no. It was better. I could see it. It was better. I rubbed my eyes and got up out of my chair. My back was stiff, and my neck hurt. I could hear water running in the bathroom. “Dad?” I whispered.
He opened the door, wiping his hands on a piece of paper towel. His eyes were bright, but the circles underneath said otherwise. “She made it. She made it through the worst part, Marin.” His voice shook. “She’s gonna be all right.”
I nodded, willing it to be true. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He threw the wad of paper into a wastebasket. “The woman’s an ox. Always has been. I wouldn’t be surprised if she sits up in the next ten minutes and asks for breakfast.”
“No bacon and eggs for a while!” A nurse with curly red hair appeared in the doorway. A tiny blue disk wedged itself along her thumb where the cuticle was bleeding. “I’m Sharon,” she said, shaking Dad’s hand. “The day nurse. I’ll be taking care of things in here today.”
I tried to keep quiet as the nurse examined Nan’s tubes, pressing a button on the heart monitor, inserting a thermometer into one of Nan’s ears. Then: “She’s doing okay, right?” I couldn’t help myself, still didn’t trust what I saw beneath her hospital gown. “Even though she’s not awake yet? She’s still doing all right?”
“She’s doing very well.” Sharon smiled and folded back the edge of Nan’s blanket. “Much better than expected, actually. She’s a fighter, this one.”
“When do you think she’ll wake up?”
“It’s hard to say.” Sharon took a chart off the wall behind Nan’s bed and opened it. “It’s different for everyone. Sometimes the older folks need a little extra time to come out of it.” She wrote something inside the chart and then closed it again. This time, she looked at Dad. “You know, the night shift told me you’ve been here all night. Why don’t you two go home and shower? Try to get a few hours sleep, if you can. We can call you when she wakes up.”
Dad hesitated.
But my reaction was immediate. “No,” I said. “I want to be here when she opens her eyes. I want to be right here.”
“Okay.” Sharon’s tunic was dotted with a horde of multicolored balloons, each one dangling a string. Clown shoes. Balloon shirts. This place was a circus. “Your decision, of course. But it might be a while.”
“Come on, Marin.” Dad moved his head, gesturing toward the door. “She’s right. At the very least we can get cleaned up, have something to eat. Then we’ll come right back.”
“I’m not hungry. And I don’t care about being clean right now.”
“Marin.” He looked defeated, exhausted. Was it because he’d barely slept? Because he’d waited up all night, waiting for his mother to live or die? Or was it from this constant back-and-forth between us? I felt drained, too, just thinking about it.
“All right,” I said. “But not too long.”
“An hour,” Dad said. “I promise. Tops.”
Seventeen
Neither of us spoke on the ride home, the momentary exhilaration replaced by the usual awkwardness. Some things never changed. I sat close to my door inside Dad’s truck, as if I might disappear through the other side, and watched the inside of town as we passed through it. People rushed here and there, their faces pinched with anxiety and distraction, different colored orbs glowing out from under their skin. I looked at them carefully, trying to gauge whether their pain looked unusual, but nothing stood out. Nothing seemed different than what I saw on any other day.
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. Had Nan’s heart really looked different just now? Or was I imagining things? There was no way I could bring it up to Dad; my uncertainty was bound to upset him even further—especially if I was wrong. And what if I was wrong? What if I just wanted to be right so badly that I was overlooking all the other stuff that said I was wrong? I wondered if the sudden urge to laugh was the result of exhaustion, or if the absurdness of the situation had started to get the best of me after all.
I took a long, hot shower at home and tilted my face up against the stream of water, letting it run down my face, my chest, all the way down to my toes. God, it felt good. On days like this, water could feel like a salve, or a cocoon, enveloping all the aches and bruises, holding them tight inside the warmth. I wondered when Cassie had last showered; was such a routine thing even possible for her now? And what about food? When had she eaten last? Could she even swallow anymore?
The kitchen was full of morning light. It settled over everything like an invisible film, illuminating the copper teakettle, brightening the handles on the cupboards. Dad was at the stove, cracking eggs into a frying pan. His hair was wet, and he had changed into jeans and a white collared shirt. On the counter, the coffeepot gurgled.
I opened one of the cupboards, took out a mug.
“You want some eggs?” Dad asked, not turning around.
“No, thanks.” I filled the mug almost to the brim, added a splash of cream, three sugars. “I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat something.” He lifted the pan and slid the eggs onto a blue plate. “Even if it’s just a piece of toast.”
I leaned against the counter, sipping my coffee as Dad sat down at the table and began to eat. He stabbed one of the soft yolks with the corner of his toast, and I stared at the yellow blood as it began to spread against the plate, ooze along the edges. I looked away. “You think she’s awake yet?”
Dad withdrew his phone from his front shirt pocket and checked the screen. “No one’s called.”
I nodded, picking at the chipped rim of my mug. “Where�
�d you go last night for so long? I mean, when you left Nan’s room?”
He didn’t answer right away, chewing with a new ferocity, the muscles in his neck straining. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said.
“I just went outside. Sat on a bench for a while. Got some air.”
He nodded. “Me too.”
Something rose inside at his words. Maybe we were not so different after all, not so far apart. I sat down, arranging my hands over the top of the mug. “You see the moon?” I asked. “It was full.”
He glanced up, exhaustion etched on his face. “I don’t remember.”
I looked down again.
“I was kind of in a daze, I guess,” he said. “I’m pretty sure people were walking in and out; cars were pulling up and driving away.” He shook his head. “But I can’t remember what any of them looked like. It was like I was in a tunnel or something. I don’t even know how long I was out there.”
Eleven months and twenty-six days, I thought to myself. Since the day Mom jumped. That’s how long you’ve been out there.
He got up to refill his coffee cup. When had his jeans started hanging around his waist? And why hadn’t I noticed? “Dad.”
“Hmmm?” The sound of liquid pouring sounded in his mug. He set the coffeepot back.
“It hurts.”
His eyes creased. “What hurts?”
I stared into my cup, blinked back tears. Just say it. Out loud. Just let each other know when it hurts. I’d just done that. So why did I have to explain it? Didn’t he know that it hurt even more when I had to go into details, that it felt like something was ripping inside when I had to say the words? Out loud? “My head.” I rubbed my temples. “I’m just tired, I guess.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you stay up all night running around town.”
“Yeah.” I got up from my chair and walked across the kitchen, then stood for a moment against the counter. Dad’s dirty frying pan was sitting in the sink next to me, the edges already crusty with dried egg. I put my coffee cup down and curled my fingers around the plastic handle of the pan. For a moment I just left it there, feeling the blood course through my arm and under the thin skin of my wrist, down into each of my fingers until they tightened their hold and squeezed, and then I lifted the pan and hurled it with all my might across the kitchen. It bounced off the wall, leaving a wide, scalloped dent, and then slid across the floor, scuttling like a large insect before coming to rest again under the table.
Be Not Afraid Page 17
