Page 21 of Mirror Image

They were shaking their heads before he’d even finished the question.

“No, we’re not—”

“No, they’re not,” I jumped in, cutting them off. “But I’m . . . I’m her sister . . .” I couldn’t decide which felt stranger, saying the words or hearing them.

I had a sister. And I was all she had.

“Oh, yes, of course! You’re twins, then,” the doctor noted, taking a good look at me. “Right, well, Samantha is going to be fine, but she’s pretty banged up. The worst of it is a broken arm, bruised spleen, and broken pelvis. There are some very nasty abrasions on her body—road rash, as the bikers like to call it. Those will need some special wound care for a while to prevent infection.”

“Oh, thank you, Jesus!” I murmured a relieved exhalation.

How horrible would it have been to find my twin, only to then lose her hours later?

“That being said, it could have been much worse. I’m keeping her here for a few days, but then you can take her home. She’s going to have to take it easy for a while. It’ll be two or three months before she fully bounces back from this. Maybe as long as six months to heal.”

“What about school?” I asked. “We start our freshman year at college next week.”

The doctor shook his head grimly. “No, I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Next semester, perhaps, but not right now. What Samantha needs is to rest and recuperate for a while.”

I looked at my parents just in time to see something unspoken pass between them.

“We’ll see to it she has everything she needs,” my mother replied for them both, and my heart swelled with gratitude, pushing out any lingering remnants of my earlier anger.

“Excellent,” the doctor said with a small smile, oblivious to the volumes of subtext unspooling right under his nose. “Well, she’s in recovery now, and it’ll be a bit before she’s got a room of her own . . .”

“Can I see her?” I asked. He looked as if he wanted to say no. “Please?” I added for good measure.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly, raising a finger at me. “But just for a few minutes. She needs to rest. And she’ll be groggy from the anesthesia.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, yeah. Of course,” I promised.

Back in the recovery room, Sam lay flat, her left arm in a cast and draped across her chest. I wasn’t prepared for the extent of the “road rash” the doctor had mentioned. A large bandage was swaddled around her head, and her eyes were closed.

“Just a few minutes,” the doctor reminded me with a finger wag.

I nodded and smiled, waiting until he was out of earshot before leaning over the bed.

“Sam?” I murmured softly. When she didn’t stir, I tried again. “Sam? Can you hear me?”

One of her eyes fluttered open slowly, the other swollen shut. She squinted at the fluorescents overhead.

“When did you get here?” she rasped.

“I’ve been here. We’ve been worried sick about you.”

“We?” A faint frown. “We who?”

“Me and my parents,” I said.

She let out a weak scoff—more breath than sound—then winced. “Ow. Okay, note to self: no facial expressions.”

“You really need to stay still. They’re going to move you upstairs soon.”

“Just go.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Go. Go home to your . . . whatever. McMansion with ponies.” The line would’ve landed sharper if she hadn’t swallowed between every other word.