Page 44 of Thicker Than Water
“I have to go,” I say again, forcing myself to sound insistent this time.
Wyatt nods, eyes returning to the ceiling as if resigned to my departure. And as I exit his room, his house, his sun-soaked street, I do everything I can to keep from looking back.
At the hospital, my vision wavers, warping my brother into an unfamiliar shape, an eely, slippery thing inside his bed.
Julia stands at the window, staring at the street below. As soon as she arrived today, I could tell she didn’t sleep last night. Her eyelids were so puffy they looked like pillows. Lines fissured her forehead. And as I held her hand, watched her work so hard to keep her gaze away from Jason, it was as if I could feel her heart, clawed-up and mauled, inside my own body. Now she runs one finger over the windowsill, pushing dust back and forth.
As usual, there isn’t much for us to do. I’ve already called Lou to let him know about the alibi, and though he paused after hearing about it—absorbing, no doubt, that his old friend’s son is a cheater—he didn’t so much as tsk or sigh in response. Instead, he promised to hop on the phone with the Hillstead PD to see if they’ve dropped Jason as a suspect.If?I asked, voice screechy with indignance, and Lou floated an idea that hadn’t occurred to me yet: the cops could think it isn’t enough, having only one woman’s word that Jason’s time was accounted for.
And not just any woman, I thought but didn’t add.The woman he slept with.
Someone’s changed Jason’s bandages again. They’re bright white against his bruises, almost garish, and I’m inspecting them, scrutinizing each fiber of the fabric instead of Jason’s face, when a pair of footsteps shuffles into the room.
“Good morning,” Dr. Brighton says.
I stand to greet her. At the window, Julia pivots, but doesn’t come closer.
“I have some positive news for you both.”
I slingshot my gaze back to Jason, as if I might find him blinking awake.
“Not yet,” Dr. Brighton says, reading my thoughts. “But we’re thinking it’ll be soon. This morning, during rounds, Jason responded a little to the spontaneous breathing trial.”
“Responded? Did he say something?” I ask.
Dr. Brighton shakes her head. “Not that kind of responding. He’s unable to speak with the breathing tube. And we don’t think he’s ready to breathe on his own just yet, so we’re continuing to sedate him. We don’t want to get into a situation where we remove the tube, only to have to reinsert it, so we generally err on the side of caution. We’ll try again tomorrow, and it’s very possible that at that point we’ll be able to take him off the sedative.”
“And take out the tube?” I ask.
I flash her a hopeful smile. Without the tube, Jason will look more like himself, less like a part of a machine. I have a fleeting image of our reunion, giving him shit about how his bruises look like a toddler did his makeup.Most dramatic nap ever, I can tease.
“And take out the tube,” Dr. Brighton confirms.
But my smile stutters a little, twisting toward a grimace. Because now I’m seeing the rest of our reunion, the moment when the relief sours, when I remember that something’s changed, that we can’t just jump back to normal. The moment when I ask him,How could you,Jason?The moment, without the tube, when he opens his mouth to answer.
I look at Julia, alarm widening her eyes, and I see her picturing it too.
“It’s good news,” Dr. Brighton says to our silence. “It’s what we’ve been waiting for.”
“Right,” I say. “Thanks.”
As the doctor leaves, Julia steadies herself with a hand on the windowsill.
“I’m not ready,” she tells me. “I want Jason to be okay, but I’m not ready to talk to him about it. I don’t know how to—”
I rush to her side before she can finish her sentence. “It’s okay, I get it.”
“He lied to me. About Maeve. About themoney.”
In her agonized emphasis, I feel it again: Jason’s lie about the money hurts her almost as much as his infidelity. It’s certainly baffling—distressing, even—that he used the savings from their vacation account, but if it devastated her this much, why didn’t she ever tell me about it? Her answer last night was a little insulting—I didn’t want you to think he and I were having problems—as if I’m some child who can’t handle hearing their parents fight. I could tell it wasn’t the full story, too; there was something she was holding back. And now it hurtsme, knowing she didn’t trust me with the truth. Not when I asked her in the car. Not when she first noticed the money was gone.
“I’m not ready,” she says again, and the pain on her face makes me shove my own aside.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be.”
But my assurance doesn’t soothe her. Julia’s gaze flits around the room like the walls are creeping closer, like we’re both about to be crushed. I weave my fingers through hers, anchoring her to me.From the corner of my eye, I see my silenced phone light up with a call, the screen glowing from where I left it on one of the chairs, but I don’t move to answer it. Right now, Julia needs me more than anyone who might be calling.
“And remember, it’s good,” I try, “that these pieces are falling into place. The alibi, Jason’s recovery. It means that when youareready, he’ll be here to listen.”
