by Mandi Lynn
“How have you been feeling, Sam?” he asked. He didn’t look at Sam as he walked across the room. Instead, he walked straight towards the machine that read off her vitals. His lip slipped into a frown for just a moment before he caught himself. “I just want to take your temperature.”
Dr. Ash slipped a thermometer under her tongue and the room waited in silence. His kept his eyes on the handheld device that was reading off her temperature. She wanted him to look at her. She wanted him to see what she was too afraid to say, that something was wrong. She held herself together as best she could, but the shivers wanted to be released. Her skin wanted to sweat, her body wanted to give up. But she dragged herself along, waiting for the moment her grandparents left and she could finally let the masks down. She was too terrified to let them see how much her body was betraying her.
“Nothing has improved, so I’m going to have one of the nurses bring another round of medicine,” Dr. Ash said.
Paul crossed his arms and took a step closer to Dr. Ash. “And how many years of schooling did you need to be able to tell me that? I could have told you that. Look at her!” He pointed to Sam and she closed her eyes in a grimace. It felt like her grandfather had sent an electric shock through her body.
There was another knock at the door, and Sam opened her eyes to see Avery standing at the doorway, her school backpack still on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can come back.” As soon as she saw Sam and her grandparents, she questioned why she had come back. Each time she looked at Sam, she only remembered the fire. Each time she looked at Sam she questioned why Sam was the one who was okay. Avery wondered why she was okay. Why was it their parents were dead but not her? Or not Sam?
“No, sweetie, it’s all right. The doctor is just finishing up. Sam is going to get more medicine.” Shelly stepped towards Avery and wrapped her arms around her back to guide her into the room. She let Avery take the seat by Sam’s bedside, but both Sam and Avery shrunk away at the proximity.
“I’ll let Jamie know to give Sam more medication,” Dr. Ash said. His words were final as he walked out of the room. The air was still after he left.
Paul let out a deep sigh and dragged his fingers down his face. There were deep lines of worry around his eyes that hadn’t been there before the fire. Avery looked at the three people in the room with her and saw how time had changed everyone so quickly. In the last month, each person looked to have aged ten years.
“I think we should go,” Shelly said. “We’ll let Sam and Avery have some time.” Shelly gripped her husband’s hand and looked at Sam who was resting her head against the pillow. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep.
Paul and Shelly left the room with a quick goodbye and frustration still wavering off Paul’s skin. Once they were gone, it was like a weight had shifted, and Avery let herself slump into the chair.
There was a long stretch of silence before either of them spoke.
“I don’t remember what happened,” Sam said. Her voice was hoarse, like she was holding something back.
Avery turned and saw that Sam’s eyes were still closed, but her cheeks were wet like she had been crying. Her body was shaking in small movements under the blankets. Her face was tense like she was holding back.
“What do you mean?”
“Our parents are dead,” Sam said. Her words were flat, matter-of-fact. “I know they’re dead and there was a fire, but I don’t remember why.”
Avery wanted to scream at her. They’d had this conversation before, time and time again and it felt like nothing ever changed. She wanted to yell until Sam did remember so then she wouldn’t have to speak the words herself. It didn’t seem fair that each night she slept, the smell of smoke is what always woke her. It didn’t seem fair that every time she saw a picture of her dad, she could only picture the last time she’d seen him—in a stretcher. It didn’t seem fair that Avery would always have to relive those moments and Sam didn’t.
Sam reached out for Avery’s hand. Sam’s hands were cold when they touched Avery. Sam’s palm felt foreign to Avery. They had once been close, but now Avery could barely be in the same room as her. Her face reminded Avery of everything she lost, everything she continued to lose every day.
“There was a fire,” Avery said. Her voice wavered. It felt like someone was choking her, begging her to stop speaking.
Avery turned her head to look at Sam, but her face never changed. Sam was never known for her poker face, Avery could remember that in every game they played. Sam would always give away the cards in her hands. It was an easy win every time. But Sam’s face was stone.
“They were brought to the hospital,” Avery said. Her voice squeaked on the last word. She didn’t care what she was saying anymore. All she could do was stare at Sam and wait for a response or reaction that never came. “Mom died before the firemen arrived; Dad died at the hospital.”
There were tears streaming down Avery’s face. She was still holding Sam’s hand, but her grip had tightened. If Sam was uncomfortable, she didn’t show it.
Sam was unmoving. Her eyes stared at her fingers, wrapped tightly in Avery’s. She didn’t pull her palm away, though Avery thought of pulling away from the strain on her own hand. Sam was numb. Her soul rattled inside her body, but she was trapped. If it had been up to Sam, she’d be screaming, but she couldn’t find her voice.
“Say something,” Avery said. She tugged on Sam’s hand and released her. Sam pulled her hand back into her lap and stared at her fingers. Avery stood beside her bed, her feet pouncing from side-to-side. “Tell me you miss them!”
Sam picked her head up and looked at Avery. Her hands were balled into fists and her eyes were a bright crimson that rolled with emotion. Sam watched her, this sister of hers, and closed her eyes. Tears rolled in a slow procession down her face. She couldn’t stand to look at Avery. Avery couldn’t stand to look at her.
Sam’s eyes were closed, so she didn’t see when Avery took a gasping breath and fell to her knees, leaning against the side of the bed. Avery shook as she tried to breathe through the tears.
“It’s my fault,” Avery said. Her words were muffled between the sheets of the mattress.
“It’s not your fault,” Same said. She could remember very little from that night. The smoke came in rivers in her mind. She could remember the feeling of not being able to breathe, but beyond that? She couldn’t bring anything to the surface.
“Sam,” Avery said. She picked up her head and looked up. Her eyes were tired, coated in their own layer of sleep. She wanted to curl up into a ball in the corner and cower away until people forgot she was there, but every time she looked at Sam, something sparked in her. A nervousness. It forced her to remember what happened. “I think it was my fault.”
Avery could almost feel Eric’s lips against hers. The moment had been so sweet, so private. It was just the two of them in the kitchen late that night. Sam, her parents, everyone was asleep. When she closed her eyes and kissed Eric, she could imagine there was no other world than theirs.
The thought of him made Avery dizzy. Part of her missed him, and she hated herself for it. How could she miss someone who brought on something so bad? But it wasn’t him, was it? It had been her all along. That kiss on the front porch? It was the calm before the storm.
“Do you remember the date I had with Eric that night?”
Sam’s eyes glazed over for a moment, but once she remembered, Avery could see it on Sam’s face. Her face lit up, like something from the past had taken over her body and she was the same Sam again.
“How did it go?” Sam said. She sat up a little in bed and leaned in towards Avery. The moment was the type Avery had been expecting the morning after her date. The morning was supposed to sisters gossiping about a boy. Instead that morning had turned into a never-ending hospital trip.
Avery wanted so badly to take that moment and pretend like nothing had changed. She wanted to go into detail about everything that had h
appened on their date, from the moment he picked her up, to the final kiss he gave before he disappeared. But each time she thought of that kiss, all she could smell was smoke.
“Sammy,” Avery said. Her voice was shrill, like it used to be when she was a kid and didn’t get her way. “I think I left the oven on.”
Sam’s face dropped. The smile that had eluded to the person she used to be was replaced by one of a girl who was lost. Her body relaxed into the folds of the mattress.
“Sam?” Avery said. She reached out for Sam’s hand. It was hot, almost uncomfortable to the touch. “I left the oven on, and I think it started the fire.”
Sam’s face was blank. Avery looked closer and closer at her, but no matter what, she couldn’t find any emotion there. She watched the corners of Sam’s eyes crease, but she couldn’t find any other change in her face.
She was waiting for Sam to blame her, to yell or scream or to do something so it wasn’t Avery who was doing it anymore. She wanted someone else to be angry. She was too tired to be angry anymore.
“Avery,” Sam said. Her face inched forward and her muscles tensed. A knot formed in her stomach—no, more than a knot. Sam rolled on her side in an attempt to make the pain ago away. Her hands were in fists as they were wrapping around her stomach. It felt like there was something sharp in her abdomen. Like a doctor was taking some sort of implement and twisting it just to what it would do. “Bucket.”
Avery pulled away and stood up.
“Bucket, Avery,” Sam said, her voice louder. Hair was falling into her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself to move her hands away from her stomach.
Avery looked around the room and found the trash can near the door. She pulled it over and pushed it towards Sam, but she didn’t move from her position.
“Sam, I need you to take the bucket so I can go get a nurse,” she said.
Sam’s eyes were closed, the skin on her face tight. If Sam could hear Avery, she didn’t show it.
“Help!” Avery yelled. She held the trash close to Sam’s face and tried to lean her head out to the door of the room. Sam was curling in on herself, like a suction was making her body smaller and smaller.
A nurse Avery had never seen before rushed into the room and took Avery’s place by the bed. Her hands were quick as she assessed Sam’s vitals.
“Get Dr. Ash in here!” she yelled out to the hall. Avery wasn’t sure if anyone heard the command out in the hall, but the nurse still worked.
“Ok, Sweetie, just tell me what hurts.” The nurse tried to coax Sam out of her curled position. “Is it your stomach?” She brushed the hair out of Sam’s face. “If you feel like you need to cough, just let it out. Don’t try to hold it in. You’ll feel better if you let it out.”
Avery could only hear Sam moan at first, but within a few seconds she began to cough, and once she started she couldn’t stop. Avery had to look away.
Another nurse came into the room and the two were talking to each other back and forth. They were moving fast about the room and Avery felt like she was floating farther and farther away until the two figures were moving in a blur around Sam.
Avery was backing up to the door when someone ran into her.
“Sorry,” the voice said.
Avery turned and saw it was Sam’s doctor. His hair, which was normally slicked back, was falling over his ears at the sides, like he had run his hands through his hair one too many times.
“How are her vitals?” he said. His voice was swift but his body moved slow.
She knew she should just walk away. She could feel something inside her, something in her core that was just begging to be released.
“What’s wrong with her?” Avery asked. Her voice was soft at first, much too quiet to be heard in the chaos of the room. “What’s wrong with her?” This time her voice was firm. The first nurse that came into the room to help looked up. Her face was composed, but there was something about her eyes that seemed off. Was it pity she felt? Pity towards Avery?
“I need someone to tell me what’s wrong with Sam!” She took a step toward them and in that instant, she felt like a small child that wasn’t getting her way. She realized her hand was in a fist at her side and she was one comment away from slamming her foot to the floor. “She’s my sister,” she finally said, gaining at least an ounce of composure.
If the doctor heard her, Avery couldn’t tell. He kept his back to Avery as he worked. She stared into the room, the chaos of figures moving around, blurring her vision until she didn’t know what was happening anymore.
Chapter 35
The blood test results didn’t take long to come back. It was a slow day and Terry helped speed the process along in the lab. It was always strange to handle the health of another co-worker. Willow certainly didn’t appreciate being a coddled, but doctors and nurses always made the worst patients—they’re always too close to the situation to access it properly.
For Willow’s sake, Terry tried not to look at the test results when they came back in, but she couldn’t help but see spikes in her blood content that weren’t normally there. She glanced away before she caught any further information.
“Dr. Ash!” Terry said across the hall. He was walking out of a patient’s room, the lines of his face more pronounced than they usually were. Terry had seen him with more energy after a twelve-hour shift, but she accounted it to the fact his wife was lying in a hospital bed.
Dr. Ash turned when he heard Terry’s voice. When he saw her, he seemed both relieved and frightened at the same time.
“I have Willow’s test results back,” she said, closing the distance between the two of them. “Has your wife been taking any medications?”
He shook his head. “Just the normal ones that she’s beentaking for years.”
Terry held out the paper with Willow’s results printed out. “Looks like your wife has some explaining to do.” She meant it as a joke, but once Dr. Ash looked at the paper his eyebrows cinched. Part of Terry grew curious and regretted not getting a closer look at the paper before she handed it over.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
He shook his head and lowered the paper.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’m going to go talk to Willow, make sure she’s okay.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, it’s fine,” he said, walking away, but keeping the paper pinned close to his body.
— — — — —
Randy was surprised to find Willow asleep when he stepped into her hospital room—he was surprised that she was even still in the room. Willow was sleeping with the bed still inclined, her head tilting off to the side. With her eyes closed, he could picture her the way he always pictured her. She was the beautiful, young and bright women he married. He could stand there in the doorway for hours, just memorizing her. The IV in her hand was the only reminder of what was so terribly wrong.
The paper with Willow’s test results was folded in his breast pocket. He was tempted to shred it, but was afraid that if he did, he wouldn’t believe what he saw. Part of him wanted to shred it to get rid of the evidence. He wondered whether Terry had seen, he supposed she had, but she didn’t know what she saw exactly. He wasn’t even sure what he saw when he looked at the papers. The only thing he knew for sure was that Willow’s and Sam’s blood contents were all too similar.
He wanted to deny the thought that kept surfacing. He wanted to ignore it and to just remember his wife for the women he knew. But he needed some way, no matter how flimsy, to put the accusing thoughts to rest.
Randy walked across the room and pulled a chair up to the side of his bed. He was amazed, because in all their years together, never once had he seen Willow in a hospital bed. How many times had he seen her standing beside a bed, but never in it?
She was too strong for that, yet there she was, the blood pulsing through her veins full of chemicals he couldn’t begin to name off.
He held her hand, strikingly warm against his skin. His e
yes followed her hand, trailing up her arm until he noticed the tone change. Her pink, smooth skin turned to a bright red. Bits of the skin at her elbow looked enflamed. He looked closer, using his second hand to lightly grip her forearm. He turned her arm towards the light and saw the red rash followed all the way up her arm into her arm pit. He pushed the sleeve of Willow’s scrub shirt out of the way only to see that as it grew up her arm it only got redder.
He felt Willow pull her arm away from him in protest as he examined the rash. He brushed the tip of his finger across the skin and Willow pulled harder, bringing her other hand up to itch the skin.
“Stop,” he said. His voice was clear. Randy wrapped his fingers around his wife’s hand as she tried to itch at the reddened skin. Her eyes were still closed but her lids were fluttering awake. “Willow, look at me.” He wanted the words to come out gentler than they had.
She turned in the bed and grimaced as she tried to pull her arm away. Her eyes opened as she tried to focus in on the room. She blinked once, twice, confusion sketched across her face. She looked at her husband holding her hand and relaxed, but her eyes followed his other hand until she noticed it wrapped around the bright red rash coating her skin. For a moment, it felt as if she wasn’t attached to her body anymore. She wished the chaos unfolding in front of her was not her own.
“Do you know what this rash is from?” Randy asked.
Her lip quivered when she looked back at her husband. He was holding in the anger as best he could, but she could still see it seething inside him.
“Willow, do you know what this rash is from?” he said it again, this time his voice shook.
He lightened his grip on her arm and hand, aware of how tense his body was becoming the longer it took for her to answer. Her eyes were darting from her arm back to his face.
“Willow,” he said. His voice broke, and tears rumbled, wanting to cascade, but he wasn’t sure if it was out of anger at Willow or sadness that he felt he had lost his wife.
