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But this isn’t an art museum. It’s a hospital. Someone, somewhere, probably slapped a bunch of paint on a canvas, and then it was mass-produced for people to stare at while they waited to hear if their loved ones were still living.
My mom returns from her trip to the coffee maker, a steaming cup in one hand. I’ve already downed two myself despite the fact that it tasted like motor oil.
“Any news?” she asks.
I shake my head. I would have gotten up and found her, if there had been. Which she probably knows. But it’s something to do—asking—and we’ve had nothing to do since we arrived two hours ago. There’s been no sign of Dr. Johnson, and the nurse at the front desk says someone will update us “soon” each time I ask.
The only upside I can think of is that it means there are no updates. That Tripp is still alive, asleep in one of the rooms lining the long hallway past the front desk.
A half hour later, a young woman in scrubs approaches. “Are you here for Tripp Aster?” she asks.
My mom leaps up faster than I can. “How is he?”
The woman’s smile is kind. “I’ll take that as a yes. He’s awake. I’ll take you to see him. Dr. Johnson got pulled into an emergency surgery, but she’s set some time aside later this morning to talk you through some of the rehabilitation…”
After awake, I barely hear a word that’s being said.
He’s awake. Alive. The relief spreading through me is staggering. I’ve never felt so grateful. So humbled.
People say it all the time—that life is short. I’ve said it to justify some of my selfish decisions. But saying something and realizing something are two different things. My brother could have died yesterday, in a split second. Life can change—end—in a split second. It’s as sobering as any thought I’ve ever had, as uncomfortable as sitting in the hard chair, waiting for news, has been.
“I’d recommend going in one at a time,” the woman tells us as we walk down the hallway. “He’s on several different medications, and he will likely be disoriented.”
I nod, stopping when she does. “You go, Mom.”
She surprises me by shaking her head. “He’ll want to see you.”
It doesn’t sound like the you never come home dig I could take it as. My mom and I have gotten along remarkably well since I arrived. Part of it is that we’ve had a mutual focus—worrying about Tripp. But it’s also more time than we’ve spent together—just the two of us—in a long, long time. All it took was a horrific accident.
Horrific doesn’t seem like a horrible enough adjective when I step into Tripp’s hospital room. He’s lying on the narrow, slightly elevated bed, the side railings and blue bedding blocking most of his body. What I can see is bruised or scraped or both.
His head turns slowly toward the sound of the door closing behind me. I fight to hide the shock that wants to appear in response to his appearance, sure it’s the last thing he needs to see.
“Hey, little brother,” I say, walking deeper into the small room.
He has a window at least, and there’s a chair beside the bed that I head toward.
“Will.” My name is a rusty rasp, like he hasn’t spoken in a long time. “You came.”
There’s surprise in his voice, and it hits me differently than my mom’s did. Instead of anger, I feel shame.
We’re close. But we don’t talk every day. Or every week, even. Especially since I’ve been in Germany, our conversations have been sporadic.
“Of course I did.” I keep my tone light as I lean over and kiss the top of his head before sinking down into the chair. It’s the same fucking kind as what’s out in the waiting room, unfortunately. “I’d been wanting a vacation, anyway.”
Tripp rolls his eyes. Even that looks like it might be painful. The surrounding skin of one is swollen and puffy, and the other will turn into a nasty shiner.
“You must be missing stuff,” he tells me. “Practice or even a game?—”
I shake my head. “I’m missing nothing. This is where I want to be.”
Tripp exhales. “How’s Mom?”
“Worried. We both have been. She’s right outside. The nurse thought both of us might be overwhelming.”
“Was the nurse blonde?”
“Uh, maybe?” I can’t come up with any recollection of what she looks like.
