The Art of Losing(36)

I left Dad there. I imagined he would lie beside her after she passed out and stare at the ceiling all night. Not that I blamed him. In the end, I spent most of the night awake, doing the same thing. Mom was the bedrock on which this family was built. If she cracked, where did that leave us?

At midnight, I pulled out my phone to text Raf, but I ended up deleting draft after draft. Most began with “I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t sorry at all. I’d liked kissing him. He was a much gentler, softer kisser than Mike had been. I liked the feel of his unshaven chin against mine. His fingers in my hair. His warm breath on my neck.

But then the guilt came crashing back over me, a wave that dragged me under. I fought against its pull by tossing out rationalizations. Mike had cheated on me. We were broken up. I shouldn’t be feeling guilty. And yet that didn’t change the fact that Audrey was in a coma because I’d abandoned her. I shouldn’t have been kissing Raf. I didn’t deserve to feel happy when she was in peril.

I watched the phone until the backlight turned off and, finally, drifted into an uneasy sleep.

As if Mom had willed it in her stupor, the call came from the hospital around 4 a.m. Audrey had woken up again. Since the accident, I’d begun sleeping with the cordless house phone next to me, so I eavesdropped while Dad talked to Keisha. As soon as he hung up, I ran to my parents’ room and flung open the door.

“It’s just like her, the night owl,” Dad croaked groggily as he swung his legs out from under the sheets. “She would wake up when we were all asleep.”

He shook Mom. “Maureen, honey, Audrey’s awake.”

Mom’s eyes popped open, but she winced at the light from Dad’s bedside table.

“That’s great,” she said quietly. “Let me just . . . go take some ibuprofen and brush my teeth.” She looked over at me. “Go put on something clean.” Even hungover, Mom was still Mom.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, Audrey was unconscious again. Dr. Martinez was waiting for us in her room, so I figured that had to be a good sign. Or a bad one.

“She was more alert this time. And while she was conscious, she was fighting the ventilator,” he said, ushering us into the hall. “She’s trying to breathe on her own. So she’s no longer comatose. She’s too weak for it to be removed, but we’ll do a trial soon to see if we can start trying to wean her off. We’re very hopeful,” he added, seeing Mom’s anxious expression.

“When will you do that?” Dad asked.

“I’d like to try in a day if she’s alert enough.”

I tuned out the conversation and glanced back at her open door. I could just see the two lumps of blanket-covered feet.

I ducked back into the room. I was so nervous, my chest felt like it was full of bees. Or maybe it was hope, trying to lift the leaden feeling of guilt that had been weighing me down. I sat down on the chair closest to her pillow and leaned in, stroking the soft skin between her eyebrows. It used to help her sleep when we were little.

Her eyes blinked open a crack. My heart leapt and I nearly lost control of my hand and dropped it on her face. I pulled back just in time.

“Hey, Audy?” I gasped, trying to contain my excitement.

She made a soft noise in her throat.

“It’s me.” Remembering that she may have memory loss, I added, “Your sister, Harley.”

Audrey moaned again quietly. She moved under the covers, pointing her toes.

My pulse began to race. “I missed you,” I whispered. She blinked at me, her eyes unfocused. “I’ve been talking to you. And reading to you. Watching movies. Do you remember any of that?”

Her expression remained blank. But her stare was fixed now. Fixed on me. This was real. This was happening. I knew I’d start crying if I stopped, so I kept babbling.

“Mom and Dad are right outside, talking to your doctor and Keisha,” I said. As if on cue, the door opened and Mom and Dad rushed in. I jumped out of the chair to hug them.

“Why didn’t you tell us she’d woken up again?” Mom barked at me.

My jaw dropped. I froze mid-step.

“It literally just happened,” I snapped back. But the tide of guilt lapped over me once more. I moved out of her way and mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Mom ignored my response anyway, falling into the chair where I’d been sitting, wrapping her hands around one of Audrey’s.

“It’s Mommy, sweetheart,” she said, her voice quivering. “I’m here. I’m so sorry I left you.”

I glanced over Dad’s shoulder. Keisha and the doctor had followed my parents into the room. Suddenly it was feeling way too cramped.

“She may not remember waking up,” Keisha said to Mom. “So try not to be too hard on yourself. Audrey needs positivity.”

Audrey’s eyes fixed on the sound of Keisha’s voice and she tried to turn her head. Keisha immediately brushed past Dad and me, kneeling beside Mom. Maybe Audrey didn’t remember us, but she recognized the voice that had been there all along.

Mom’s face fell as she watched Keisha interact with Audrey. My heart squeezed. Keisha chattered easily while she checked Audrey’s pupils and took her pulse. Audrey didn’t look away once. Mom’s prayers had been answered, yes, but none of us had expected this.

Audrey’s lips were cracked and dry from the ventilator, so Keisha ran a cotton swab coated with Vaseline across them. Mom’s fingers unconsciously mirrored her actions, so consumed was she with the desire to do it herself. It was almost too painful to watch. Right now, honestly, I wanted to punch something.