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“Are John and Dad . . . ?” I begin to say.
Mom just smiles. Her eyes are so incredibly blue, like I can see the entire world inside them—the sky and the clouds and everything beyond.
“Don’t worry,” she replies. “They are well, and they love you very much.”
I feel an overwhelming need to follow my mother wherever she’s going, wherever that might take us. “I miss you guys,” I finally say to her. “It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.”
Mom combs a gentle hand through my hair, the way she used to when I was little. “My darling, there’s no need to miss us. We never left.” She lifts her head and nods at the street, past the crowds of people who have gathered around my body. Now a team of medics is lifting me onto a stretcher. “Go back to Eden. He’s waiting for you.”
“I know,” I whisper. I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of my brother in the crowds, but I don’t see him there.
Mom rises; her hands leave my face, and I find myself struggling to breathe. No. Please don’t leave me. I reach out a hand to her, but some invisible barrier stops it. The light grows brighter. “Where are you going? Can I come with you?”
Mom smiles, but shakes her head. “You still belong on the other side of the looking glass. Someday, when you’re ready to take the step over to our side, I’ll come see you again. Live well, Daniel. Make that final step count.”
FOR THE FIRST THREE WEEKS THAT DAY IS IN THE HOSPITAL, I never leave. The same people come and go—Tess, of course, who’s in the waiting room as much as I am, waiting for Day to come out of his coma; Eden, who stays as long as Lucy allows him to; the other remaining Patriots, especially Pascao; an endless assortment of doctors and medics who I begin to recognize and know by name after the first week; and Anden, who has returned from the warfront with his own scars. Hordes of people continue to stay camped out around the hospital, but Anden doesn’t have the heart to tell them to disperse, even when they continue to stake out the grounds for weeks and then months. Many of them have the familiar scarlet streaks painted into their hair. For the most part, they stay silent. Sometimes they chant. I’ve grown used to their presence now, to the point where it’s comforting. They remind me that Day is still alive. Still fighting.
The war between the Republic and the Colonies, at least for now, is over. The Antarcticans finally came to our rescue, bringing with them their fearsome technology and weapons that intimidated Africa and the Colonies into returning to our ceasefire agreement, bringing both Anden and the Chancellor before the international court, imposing the proper sanctions against us and them and finally, finally beginning the process for a permanent peace treaty. The ashes of our battlegrounds are still here, though, along with a lingering hostility. I know it will take time to close the wounds. I have no idea how long this ceasefire will last, or when the Republic and the Colonies will find true peace. Maybe we never will. But for now, this is good enough.
One of the first things the doctors had to do for Day, after stitching up the horrific bullet wounds, was to operate on his brain. The trauma he’d suffered meant he couldn’t receive the full course of medications needed to properly prep him for the surgery . . . but they went ahead with it. Whether or not he was ready was irrelevant at that point; if they didn’t, he would’ve died anyway. Yet, still. This keeps me awake nights. No one really knows whether he’ll wake up at all, or whether he’ll be an altogether different person if he does.
Two months pass, and then three.
Gradually, we all start to do our waiting at home. The hospital’s crowds finally begin to thin.
Five months. Winter passes.
At 0728 hours on an early spring Thursday in March, I arrive at the hospital’s waiting room for my usual check-in. As expected at this hour, I’m the only one here. Eden’s at home with Lucy, getting some needed sleep. He continues to grow, and if Day were awake to see him now, I know he’d comment on how his brother is starting to lean out, losing the baby fat on his face and taking the early steps into adulthood.
Even Tess isn’t here yet. She tends to come in the late morning to work as a medic assistant, shadowing the doctors, and when I catch her on her breaks, we huddle together and exchange conversation in hushed voices. Sometimes she even makes me laugh. “He loves you, really he does,” she told me yesterday. “He’d love you even if it destroyed him. He matches you. I guess it’s kind of cute.” She said this with a shy, grudging smile on her face. Somehow, she had managed to return to the place where I’d first known her, but now as someone older, taller, and wiser.
I nudged her affectionately. “You guys have a bond I could never touch,” I replied. “Even when we’re at our worst.”
She blushed at that, and I couldn’t help opening my heart to her. A loving Tess is one of the sweetest sights in the world. “Just be good to him,” she whispered. “Promise?”
Now I greet the nurse at the waiting room’s window, then settle down into my usual chair and look around. So empty this morning. I find myself missing Tess’s companionship. I try to distract myself with the news headlines running on the monitor.
ANTARCTICAN PRESIDENT IKARI, UNITED NATIONS, SHOW APPROVAL FOR NEW PEACE TREATY BETWEEN REPUBLIC AND COLONIES
ELECTOR PRIMO ANNOUNCES START OF NEW
RANKING SYSTEM TO REPLACE FORMER TRIALS
NEW BORDER CITIES BETWEEN REPUBLIC AND COLONIES TO BE RENAMED THE UNITED CITIES, TO BEGIN ALLOWING IMMIGRATION FROM BOTH NATIONS STARTING LATE NEXT YEAR
