He sighed, and looked away, then back at me, and his eyes were red. He struggled to find words, his jaw working in frustration.
“Damn it, Ray. They said you’re …” his face tightened, as he struggled to say the words.
“Brain dead,” he finally burst out. “And ... that this is it. I just needed you to know, that we’ll take care of Carrie for you. I promise you that. If Alex and I have to quit school and move to Washington, we’ll do it. No matter what it takes.”
I tried to say something. To reach out to him. To let him know that it was okay. But I just didn’t have the energy. There was nothing left.
He stood up, abruptly, and said, “Ah, shit!” He savagely wiped his sleeve across his face, and his voice broke as he said, “I love you, Weed. Christ, I wish it hadn’t ended like this.”
And then he staggered out.
I stared up at the ceiling. That went well, I guess. Jesus Christ.
A while later my parents came by. It was a fucking mess, and I was tired. And then the doctors came, and ran a bunch of tests, and muttered amongst themselves, and wrote on notebooks, and I don’t know what all. But I heard one of them loud and clear say, “Brain death is confirmed.”
Well, shit.
It wasn’t long after that, a nurse led Carrie into the room.
She had dark circles under her eyes, and somehow looked both younger and older than she’d ever been. Like a little girl who had lost everything in the world. I wanted to touch her, and tell her I was sorry. I wanted to make everything all right for her. But I couldn’t. That was a choice I guess I’d made too.
She slid over to the bed, and then I almost gasped, because she climbed right up on it, resting her head on my body’s shoulder. And she closed her eyes, and tears started pouring out of them.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t fall apart in here with you,” she said.
I took a deep breath. You don’t have to promise that, babe.
She wiped her face, then said, “I don’t know how to say goodbye, Ray. I don’t know how to go on from here. But ... there’s some things I need to tell you.”
She opened her eyes, and I looked closely at them. They were bloodshot, but they were her eyes, so swimmingly beautiful it almost hurt.
“So … you weren’t there… but the court-martial ended yesterday. And you were acquitted.” She sniffed. “Which is good because… we’re going to have a baby, Ray. I was going to tell you Saturday. I wasn’t for sure yet, and wanted to go with you and get a test ... but you know what happened. So we’re going to have a little boy, or a little girl, and they’re going to grow up without you and I don’t know how to deal with that.”
I shuddered and closed my eyes. Oh, Jesus that made me want to cry. Not for me. But for her. For the life that was in her. I’d have done almost anything ... almost ... to be able to be there for that child and for her. I was going to be a father. It was ... an amazing thought. A terrifying thought. And ... it broke my heart. Because I wasn’t going to be there for that kid, or for Carrie.
She sobbed. “I want to tell you a story. When I was younger, in high school and college, I used to fantasize that one day I’d meet someone who would be ... perfect for me. A soul mate. Someone who treated me like I mattered to them more than anything else. Someone who was a hero, who told the truth, and did the right thing, and who I could live with forever. Someone I loved.”
She sniffed and said, “But it was just that. It was a fantasy. I know life is a struggle. I know ... we don’t always get what we want. And in some ways I had everything I could ask for. A career I love. The best sisters in the world. And then I met you ... and everything was ... perfect. I thought I had my happy ending.”
She closed her eyes, and put her arms around what was left of me, and said, “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I just found you and I have to lose you. It’s not fair at all. But I’m going to make a couple of promises, Ray. Promises to you, and promises to me.”
She started to shake, hard, her whole body shuddering, and she said, “I promise I’ll be a good mother to our child. I’ll be there for her, and tell her the right things. I’ll listen to her problems and sing her songs at night and I’ll teach her to be strong. I’ll tell her about you. I’ll tell her that her father did the right thing, always. That when it really counted, you told the truth, and you inspired other people to do the right thing too.”
She sobbed and said, “And I promise I won’t be like ... I won’t make her miserable either. I’ll teach her to love you and remember you but not to let it overshadow her life. Because ... I know you wouldn’t do that. You’d want her to be strong.”
She stared up at the ceiling for a minute. “Sarah says she refuses to go back to San Francisco. She’s got this crazy idea in her head that she promised you she’d take care of me, and so she’s staying here when she gets out of the hospital, and Mom is too.” She shook her head. “I almost believe her. About the promise. Because I can almost feel you here. Not in your body, but somehow ... all
