“Hello, stranger.”
For one shocking second, it was as if Kristin had spoken to him again, but then he turned around and saw her sister Karen, curled up in a chair in the corner.
“Didn't mean to scare you,” she said. She had a ponderous book in her lap, probably one of her law-school texts, and to his sorrow she reminded him, as she always did, of her big sister. They looked a lot alike-same penetrating blue eyes, same straight white teeth and tousled blond hair. They even sounded similar. Everything they uttered had a wry, knowing tone to it.
“Hey, Karen.” He never knew what to say to her; he never really had. While Kristin had always been the boisterous one, the one who was constantly on the go and out of the house, Karen was the quiet, diligent student, the one who was hunkered down over the dining-room table with a scattering of textbooks and papers around her. Michael used to exchange a few words with her when he came by to get Kristin, but he always felt like he was interrupting something more important.
“So, how's she doing?” A stupid question, he knew, but all he could think of.
Karen smiled-Kristin's smile, the right side slightly upturned-and said, ruefully, “The same.” There was a note of resignation in her voice. “My parents just like one of us to be here nearly all the time, so I said I'd sit in while they caught the Early Bird Special at Applebee's.”
Michael nodded, looking down at Kristin's hand, which was lying atop the blanket. The fingers were thinner and more fragile than he recalled, and a little black thimble, a monitor of some kind, had been attached to her ring finger.
“She hasn't had any seizures, or anything like that, all week,” Karen said. “I don't know if that's a good sign or not.”
What would a good sign be? Michael wondered. He knew that Kristin-the real Kristin, the alive Kristin, the Kristin who wanted to scale every peak with him and explore every forest-was never coming back. So what were they hoping for? Signs that she was finally failing? Signs that even the machines would not be able to keep her going, in a limbo state, forever?
“Okay if I sit on the bed?” he asked.
“Be my guest.”
Michael sat gently on the edge of the bed, resting his own hand atop Kristin's. Hers felt like it contained the brittle bones of a bird.
“Law-school stuff?” Michael asked, nodding at the heavy book that was still spread across Karen's lap.
“Federal Tort Legislation and Reform.” She closed the book with a whomp. “They'll be making a movie of it soon.”
“Tom Cruise?”
“I'm thinking Wilford Brimley”
An orderly bustled in, lifted the plastic bag out of the wastebas-ket, and tossed it into the barrel on wheels outside. When he left, Karen said, “It's good to see you again. What have you been up to?”
“Not much.” Truer words, he knew, had not been spoken. Karen knew-who didn't? — that he'd been adrift since the accident.
“But I wanted to come by,” he added, “before I left town, on Friday.”
“Oh. Where to?”
“Antarctica.” Even Michael wasn't used to saying it yet.
“Wow. It's on assignment, I assume?”
“ Eco-Travel. They just got clearance for me to go; I'll be staying for a month at a small base close to the Pole.”
Karen put the book down on the floor beside the chair. “Kristin would be so jealous.”
Michael couldn't help but glance over at Kristin. But her face, of course, betrayed no expression, no life, at all. Whenever he was in this room, he found himself torn-did he speak as if Kristin were somehow present, as if she could hear him and follow what was going on around her (even though he knew she could not), or did he just carry on as if she wasn't there? The first option felt fraudulent, and the second one cruel.
“You know, Krissy had a couple of books on Antarctica,” Karen said. “They're still on the shelves in her room. Ernest Shack-leton's expedition, things like that. If you want them, I'm sure she'd like you to have them.”
And now they were distributing her belongings. With her right there. Or not. Where was she? Michael wondered. Was it possible that there was something, some vestige of consciousness, that they weren't aware of, still floating around out there, somewhere in the cosmic void?
“Thanks. I'll think about it.”
“Just don't mention it in front of my folks. They still think Kristin's coming home and everything's going to be fine again.”
Michael nodded. He and Karen had an understanding on this, unspoken though it generally was. They both knew, and had accepted, the medical diagnosis. Karen had even seen the brain scan that showed-in black, appropriately enough-the vast section of her sister's brain that had already atrophied. She had described it to Michael as “a dark village, with only two or three tiny lights glimmering through the windows.” And even those were dimming. Sooner or later, the darkness would swallow those up, too.
Michael heard her dad's booming voice in the hallway-he was the most successful car dealer in Tacoma, and he treated everyone like a potential customer-greeting the nurses at the reception desk. Michael stood up, exchanging a glance with Karen; they both knew what was coming and saw no way to avoid it.
When he came through the door and saw Michael by the bed, he stopped so abruptly his wife bumped into him from behind. Karen also stood up, ready if necessary to come to Michael's defense.
“I thought I told you not to come here anymore,” he said.
“Michael just came to say good-bye,” Karen interjected, moving into the gap between them. “He's going away.”
Mrs. Nelson maneuvered around her husband, a doggie bag from Applebee's in one hand. Michael was never quite sure where she stood. Mr. Nelson, he knew perfectly well, blamed him for the accident; he'd never liked Michael-but then he'd never have liked any man who stole his daughter's affections from him. But when it came to Mrs. Nelson, she seldom got three words out before her husband started talking over her, so it was tough to know what she really thought about anything.
His only ally, Michael knew, was Karen. “He just got here a few minutes ago,” she was saying now, “and Kristin would have wanted him to come.”
“Nobody knows what Krissy wants-”
Michael noticed how her dad had instinctively returned the conversation about her to the present tense.
“-but I know what I want,” her dad continued. “And what her mother wants. We want her to rest, and recuperate, and not think about what happened. That kind of thinking can only set her back.”
“I'm sorry you feel that way,” Michael did venture, “but I'm not here to upset you. I've said good-bye to Kristin, and I'll just go now.”
Michael turned back to take one last look at Kristin, as still and silent as a statue, then brushed past the burly shoulder of her dad, who refused to budge even an inch to get out of his way. For a split second, he thought he detected a sympathetic glance from the cowed Mrs. Nelson.
He was halfway down the hall when he heard quick footsteps approaching from behind. It was Karen-why did she have to remind him so much of her sister? — and she clutched his sleeve as she spoke. “I know Kristin's not there, you know Kristin's not there, but my parents still think…”
“I know they do.”
“But if you did want to see those books…”
“Thanks, I'll think about it,” he said, knowing he wouldn't. And knowing that it wasn't the books she was talking about, anyway.
The orderly rumbled by with the trash barrel.
“But just in case there is, I don't know, some part of Krissy that's still hanging around,” Karen said, “I know she'd be glad you came.”
There were tears, he could see, starting to well up in her eyes.
“I know you really loved her, and I really loved her, too,” she said, fumbling for the rest, “except maybe once, that time she stole my skates and broke the blade”-she laughed and let go of his coat-”and all I know is she'd want
