Chapter 4
FOUR
I’ve been sitting with Aunt Melody for a while now, and I need a shower. I smell like hospital, stale pizza, body odor, and breakfast. That’s a disgusting combination, and considering I can smell myself, I don’t want to know how rank I smell to everyone else.
“I should head out. I need to take a shower and make some phone calls, and I’ll come back in a few hours. Do you need anything before I leave?”
Aunt Melody looks as tired as I am. She doesn’t stink, but now I feel selfish because she’s been here longer than I have.
“I’m good, honey. Your uncle will be here shortly to sit with Sunny while I go freshen up and take a nap at your parents’ hotel room.”
Ah, right. The hotel. “Don’t forget to have him bring you a change of clothes. Or if you’ve already told him, don’t forget to remind him.”
Melody chuckles. “Good point. I’ll send him a reminder because he will definitely forget. That man would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.”
“I’ll see you later,” I say, kissing her on the cheek before I grab my purse and phone and head out of the hospital.
Once in my car I take a few minutes to close my eyes and try to process the last seventeen hours. Just yesterday morning I was text bantering back and forth with Belle about a date I went on last weekend.
And now. Now she’s hooked up to machines and may not make it. She may very well die. And she’ll be gone. And I’ll never hear her voice again or wrap my arms around her middle for a hug.
Thoughts about yesterday’s texting conversation, the accident, Alex dying, Belle in limbo, and Sunny’s uncertain future all flood my head at once. I’m going to lose it.
I throw open my driver side door and spew every bit of my breakfast onto the parking garage pavement.
Tears pour out of my eyes as I sob and gag at the same time, trying my best to empty my body of every bit of food and drink in the hope that emptying my stomach will somehow also empty my brain of everything.
I can’t do this. I can’t lose Belle. Thank God nobody seems to be in this part of the parking garage right now because I can’t handle someone checking on me to make sure I’m OK.
No, I’m not fucking OK.
Turning on my seat so the bottom half of my body faces outside the door, I wipe my face with my t-shirt and try to take a deep breath. My stomach is hollow, my throat stings, and my mouth tastes like eggs and stomach bile. Lovely.
I’m starting to hyperventilate from crying. And, dammit, I can’t control my bladder when I puke. Fuck my life. Tears, vomit, and piss. A trifecta.
A few minutes later the sobbing subsides and I’m able to calm myself enough to breathe normally. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four.
Righting myself in my car, I reach into my purse and pull out my phone, turning it on for the first time since I arrived at the hospital last night.
Skye’s probably freaking out that she couldn’t get ahold of me after I left her house.
It’s not that I didn’t want to keep her updated; I just knew feeling my phone vibrate every five minutes would stress me out even more than I already was.
Sure enough, as soon as my phone receives signal it goes off about twenty times.
Skye, 8:12 p.m.: Did you make it to the hospital?
Skye, 8:15 p.m.: Are they OK?
Skye, 8:16 p.m.: I tried calling and it went straight to voicemail. Do you not have signal in the hospital?
Skye, 9:04 p.m.: OMG the accident is on the nine o’clock news.
Skye, 9:04 p.m.: Holy fuck the cars are smashed.
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: The man that hit them was drunk?! What the hell?!
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: The driver died at the scene. Did you know that? OMG the accident was bad enough to kill people.
Skye, 9:05 p.m.: ARE THEY OK?!!!!
Skye, 9:43 p.m.: I’m wondering if I should come up to the hospital and sit with you.
Skye, 9:45 p.m.: I’m assuming since you aren’t answering me that you aren’t reading my texts and if I showed up at the hospital without invitation you wouldn’t be happy about it.
Skye, 9:46 p.m.: I hope they are OK. I hope you are OK.
Skye, 9:46 p.m.: I love you.
Skye, 11:22 p.m.: Are you still at the hospital? Or are you asleep? Or are you asleep at the hospital?
Skye, 11:24 p.m.: Alis I’m worried sick and you aren’t answering my texts!
Skye, 11:24 p.m.: Sorry. Typed before I thought. I’m sorry.
Skye, 11:25 p.m.: Call me in the morning. PLEASE.
Skye, 11:25 p.m.: I love you.
Yep. I’m glad I turned off my phone. Skye is amazing, but I couldn’t have handled her extroverted rapid-fire texting last night.
I open my contacts and tap Skye’s name in my favorites list.
“OH MY GOD ALIS IS EVERYTHING OK?!”
Did the phone even ring? Cheese and rice, she’s loud.
“Hey. Sorry my phone was off.”
“YOU TURNED OFF YOUR PHONE?! WHILE I WAS HERE FRE—”
I cut her off. “Skye. Stop yelling. Gah.”
“Sorry. I’ve just been freaking out all night and haven’t heard a peep from you.
You bolted right after that call from your mom saying Belle was in an accident and I didn’t know anything else until the news showed the wreckage and said the drunk fuck died.
You had your phone off and so I have no idea what’s happened to Belle and I just want to make sure everything and everyone are ok. ”
“I know. Too much is happening right now. A lot is still uncertain. I just tried to process some of it and ended up vomiting next to my car.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. I — I —” My eyes fill with tears and I choke out the horrifying truth of last night.
“Alex and Sunny were in the car, too.”
“WHAT?!”
“Yeah. They were coming home from dinner and the guy crossed over into their lane and hit them head on.”
“Oh my gosh.”
“Sunny is fine. She got banged up a bit and they kept her overnight, but she seems ok.”
“Thank God. And Belle and Alex?”
I swallow. “Alex — Alex didn’t make it. And Belle is in a coma and hooked up to a bunch of machines.”
Skye lets out a deep breath. “I am so, so sorry, Alis.”
We’re quiet for the next minute. I can’t respond.
“Hey, I’m sorry but I need to go. I need to head home and take a shower and then get back up here.”
“Yeah. Ok. Can I do anything? Do you want me to meet you up there? What about Tori?”
“No. Not right now. And no, I haven’t called Tori. I’ll let you fill her in. The entire situation is overwhelming and I don’t think it’d help anything for you to be here with us. Thanks, though.”
“Definitely.”
“I’ll keep my phone on, but do me a favor?”
“Slow my roll.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. And tell Tori not to text me either. I promise I’ll update you as soon as I know something, OK?”
“Yeah. OK. Love you.”
“Love you.”
The call ends and I sit there for another few minutes, staring blankly out my windshield.
Too bad showers can’t wash off emotional turmoil.
My body is clean and the hot water worked wonders on my headache, but as I step foot back into the hospital every ounce of despair settles right back onto my shoulders.
If this nightmare doesn’t end soon I’m going to become a permanent emotional Quasimodo.
It’s nearly 7 p.m. and I haven’t eaten since emptying my stomach in the parking garage around noon, so I swing by the hospital cafeteria to grab sustenance before returning to my sister’s room.
I’m not actually hungry but I’m afraid if I don’t eat something I’ll pass out — either from happiness or grief — when we meet with the doctor about Belle’s brain activity.
Chicken? Soup? Burger? Sandwich? Apple? Oreos? Ugh. None of this sounds appealing. Instead I walk over to the coffee shop and order the largest latte available and a croissant. Pastry never hurt anyone after puking. I’m playing it safe.
As I leave the cafeteria and head toward the elevators, I spot my dad waiting in the hall for a lift.
“Hey, dad.” He turns to me as I enter the waiting area and offers me a warm, exhausted smile and a squeeze on my arm.
“Hey kiddo. You look refreshed. Did you take advantage of the hotel shower?”
“Nah. I drove to my apartment so I could change clothes and grab my laptop and books. I figure if we’re going to spend another night here I could use a productive distraction.” I shrug my shoulders, only then remembering the backpack weighing down my shoulders.
“I wish your mother had something to occupy her while we wait. She’s still sitting next to Belle’s bed, holding her hand and watching her sleep.”
“Well, hopefully the doctor will have good news for us in the next few hours, yeah?”
“I hope so, kiddo. I really hope so.”
When we walk through the door to my sister’s room, my mother is exactly where dad said she’d be, but thankfully with her head laid on the bed, sound asleep. I’m glad she’s resting — I’m pretty sure she’s cried enough for the entire family these last twenty-four hours.
Just as I’m about to set my pack down, the doctor knocks on the doorframe quietly and steps inside.
Thankfully, he sees mom’s sleeping figure and keeps his voice to a whisper.
“We’re at the twenty-four hour mark since the accident, and now is the time for her second brain scan.
We won’t need to relocate her for the scan; the machine is brought into this room to avoid complications that can arise when moving an intensive care patient. ”
“Alright.” Dad rubs his chin as he speaks with the doctor. “Do we stay in the room or do we need to leave for the testing?”
“It’d be best if you stepped out for the time being, simply because we’ll need to move her bed some to accommodate the fMRI. You won’t need to go far, though. Just into the ICU waiting room on this floor. We’ll let you know when the testing is complete.”
“Thanks, doctor.” My dad rubs mom’s shoulder to wake her, and whispers in her ear that it’s time for testing and we need to relocate for a bit.
Nearly an hour passes before a nurse comes to retrieve us, and I don’t know why but I’m nauseated at the thought of hearing Belle’s test results.
What if she has no brain activity? Will we really let my sister die? What happens to Sunny if she loses both of her parents? Too many questions flood my brain as worry grips my heart tighter and tighter by the second.
Once we’ve resettled in Belle’s room, the doctor enters with a soft smile on his face. Seriously, this guy has the best poker face I’ve ever seen. His demeanor gives nothing away. Come on dude. Give me something. Another doctor enters behind him, and she’s just as calm.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gilmore, Miss Gilmore. After studying the results from Isabelle’s fMRI scans, I’m so sorry to report that she is not showing any signs of improvement.
She shows no signs of brain activity, and without any activity after twenty-four hours, I do believe now is the time for you all to say your final goodbyes. ”
I’m suddenly underwater. Or at least that’s what this feels like.
Sounds around me are muffled at best, distant.
I know my eyes are still open but all I see is my sister’s face, laughing at something I’ve said while trying not to shoot soda out of her nose.
I can’t hear her, and the memory runs in slow motion, but her face is clear as day.
I have no peripheral memory — the room around us is a blur, as is the bed we’re sitting on.
Belle rubs her eyes to prevent tears from falling as she continues to laugh uncontrollably.
Why is this the vision I see when I’ve just learned my sister is never coming back?
This is no laughing matter. What the heck, brain?
“Miss Gilmore, can I get you anything?” I shake out of my stupor as a hand grips my shoulder and suddenly I’m looking into the face of the unknown second doctor.
“Um, what?” I blink a few times to clear my vision, coming back to the present.
“Can I get you anything? Some water, perhaps? Why don’t you have a seat.” The doctor tries to lead me to a chair but I shake her hand off my shoulder.
“Um, no, thank you. I’ll be alright.” I try to give her a reassuring smile but I’m sure she can sense every bit of effort it takes for me to force that one facial expression.
I see my dad continues to provide strength to mom as she falls apart in his arms. How does he do it? This entire time he’s been so calm, collected, acting as our rock while blow after blow smashes against us. The doctor is talking with them but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
“I’ll leave you all to talk through your next steps, and I’ll return shortly to answer any more questions you have.” Both doctors nod politely and sympathetically toward my parents and then me, and turn to leave my family to the most difficult conversation we’ll ever experience.
The smell of the hospital room wraps around me like a heavy cloak, the lights above burning too bright as they flicker against the sterile white surroundings.
The mechanical hum of the machines tethered to Belle, to my sister, is deafening in the somber silence that follows the doctor's departure.
The empty chair next to her bed seems so forlorn, silently begging for someone to occupy it and hold Belle's hand once again, to whisper words of love, to hope, to pray.
But as I gaze upon my sister's pale, inert form, I know deep down in that abyss of despair curling in the pit of my stomach that all the prayers in the world can't undo this reality.
I want to scream, to rage against the unfairness of it all, to shake Belle until she wakes up, until she laughs and jokes and lights up the room just like she always used to.
Yet I find myself moving mechanically, inching closer to the bed, drawn to her silent presence as though pulled by some invisible thread of sisterhood that refuses to be severed, even now.
My hands tremble as I reach out, hovering over her still form before finally settling down to take her cool hand in mine.
She's so still. Not the lively, vibrant force of nature that I know and love, but a quiet echo of herself, lying motionless beneath the crisp hospital sheets.
Her face, usually animated with emotion, is tranquil now, a peacefulness that belies the turmoil surging like a tempest in the hearts of those left behind.
The tears come unbidden, a torrent of grief cascading down my face as I squeeze her hand, my other hand reaching out to touch her hair, her face, tracing the familiar yet unfamiliar lines and contours with a sort of detached wonder.
My parents stand there, a pair of statues carved from pain and loss, their faces crumpled, their bodies shaking with silent sobs. I can see the questions in their eyes, the shattered dreams and crushed hopes reflecting in their tears as they clutch onto each other, their grasp a lifeline.
I keep waiting to feel Belle's presence in the room, grasping at any gentle reminder that her spirit, the joyous, irrepressible force of nature that was my sister, is still here.