Melissa Good - Thicker Than Water

Dar squeezed her hand in return and took a step closer, bringing a welcome sense of security totally at odds with the chill, dis-approving atmosphere in the room, and managing to carry off an air of somber, yet potent intimidation.

Just when the tension was almost unbearable, Cynthia sighed and turned towards the door. “Please, let’s all go now.”

The hallway was quiet, save for the scuffs and squeaks of their shoes as they walked towards the critical care unit. As they entered, a nurse looked up and pressed her lips together in sympathy before she intercepted them.

“We’ve just taken him off the machines. You can stay as long as you want to,” she told them with professional gentleness, and waited for them to move past her before she pulled the privacy curtain around them and left.

Kerry was surprised at how quiet it was. They’d turned off all the alarms and all the pumps—machines stood mutely dark in the corner, save for one single monitor that showed an already irregular heartbeat.

She focused on the still figure in the bed, watching the hesitant breaths with a surreal sense of distance. It was almost like Thicker Than Water 83

this was happening to a stranger. In a way, her mother had been right, she realized. Yesterday she’d said her goodbye, an inner part of her knowing there would be no recovery from this. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the end.

Kerry felt a warm touch on her back and she looked up at Dar, then glanced around the room. Everyone was solemn, leaving their differences outside for a brief time while they gave death its due dignity. Even Dar’s presence was accepted, however grudgingly.

Pastor Charles held Cynthia’s hand, his head bowed in prayer. Kerry pensively studied his profile, remembering long hours spent in Bible study and his uncompromising view of the world and all their places in it.

“Go with God, Roger,” the pastor said softly as he finished his prayer. “Knowing the Lord will watch over your family and keep them safe until you meet again.”

A shiver passed over Kerry, and she grasped the railings of the bed. The reality of the situation came clear as she watched her father’s chest move more slowly, more erratically.

She glanced at the slack face, its half open, glazed eyes staring off into a strange realm none of them could yet see. There was no expression there, no familiarity.

The green line on the monitor rippled, its bumps jerking and hesitating.

Kerry found it hard to breathe herself, and she focused on the railing between her hands, its faintly reflective surface showing a flash of blue green from her sweater. Dar’s hand settled on her shoulder, feeling warm and incredibly real in all that cold silence, and she only just resisted turning and hiding her face against her lover’s chest.

No. She forced her eyes up, forced herself to watch that damn green line as it pulsed, the ridges and valleys becoming more and more indistinct.

If she turned her head, she wondered if she would sense Death’s presence, yet another silent, patient watcher in the room.

It was a creepy feeling, and suddenly Kerry felt afraid. As if sensing that, Dar moved closer, her body a wall of solid warmth behind Kerry, so close she could almost hear Dar’s heartbeat.

Kerry drew in a breath and released it, steadying her nerves.

Then she fixed her eyes on her father, only blinking a few times when the chest jerked, moved, then finally, gently, fell for the last time. It was accompanied by a soft, almost inaudible gasp.

The green line rippled, and went still. There was no alarm, no rush of nurses, just an eerie silence as everyone in the room seemed to hold their breaths.

84 Melissa Good And then it was over. Cynthia drew in a shuddering breath and started to cry.

“MS. STUART?”

Kerry looked up at the voice, surprised to find the doctor standing next to her. She was outside the CCU waiting room, taking a moment to settle herself before she went back inside. “Yes?”

“I’m very sorry.” Dr. Bridges put a hand on her shoulder. “If it’s any comfort to you at all, he had no awareness of what was going on.”

Kerry studied his face. “I know. Thank you. I’m glad. He’d have hated being like that.”

The doctor nodded. “So your mother said.” He paused. “Do you have…ah…plans yet, as to…”

Dar returned from her walk down to the water fountain at that moment and joined them. She glanced questioningly at the doctor, then at Kerry, who reached a hand out for her in reflex.

“There’s something being planned, yes,” Kerry said. “The family counsel is arranging things and taking care of the press.”

“Good.” Dr. Bridges exhaled. “Well, you take care, Ms. Stuart. I’m sorry I couldn’t have done more.”

“Thank you,” Kerry replied and watched him walk away. She turned and looked at Dar, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Ugh.”

Dar put an arm around her and pulled her into hug.

“C’mere.”

Kerry went willingly and abandoned herself into a dark, warm haven that smelled of wool and Dar and blocked out the reality of the coldly lit hospital corridor. She suspected she was still in shock, because it hadn’t even occurred to her to cry or feel sad, a mixture of regret and relief filled her instead. “You know something?”

“Mm?” Dar murmured very close to her ear.

“Now the hard part starts.”

Dar sighed. “Yeah.” She glanced into the waiting room, where she could see the pastor with his arm around a distraught Mrs. Stuart, next to Angie and Michael. Dealing with all the family now that the immediate crisis was over was shaping up to be a tough ride. “Sorry.”

Kerry exhaled, warming Dar’s skin right through her pullover. “Thank God you’re here,” she whispered. “But I’m sorry I’m putting you through this.”

Dar rested her cheek against Kerry’s hair. “I’m not sorry at all. So don’t you be either, Kerrison.”

Kerry tipped her head back and gazed up at Dar. “Do you Thicker Than Water 85

know, you’re the only person who has ever said that name in a way that makes me want to hear it more often?”

A tiny smirk appeared as Dar gracefully inclined her head.

“You do the same to me with mine. But don’t tell anyone, all right? It’ll wreck a lifetime of conditioning people not to use it.”

“No problem, Paladar.” Kerry found reason to smile, which felt strange after the past two days. “We’re going to have to go back to my parents’ house, you realize.”

Dar nodded. “I know.”

Kerry sighed and put her head back down on Dar’s shoulder.

“I don’t even know what to feel, Dar. Should I be crying?”

Dar was silent for a moment. “When they came and told us that Dad had died,” her voice was soft and reflective, “I didn’t cry at all.”

Kerry’s brows contracted. “Really?”

“Yes. Not for days. Then, I was at work and I was at my desk and…” A flash of that memory surfaced, twisting Dar’s guts. “It just hit me.” She paused. “That I was never going to see him again. And I lost it.”

“Mm.”

Even now, Dar felt the tears all over again. “I went into the Xerox room and locked the door and went to pieces for hours.”

Kerry thought about that. “Knowing how you feel about him, I’m not surprised. I don’t think that’s going to happen to me, though.”

Dar hugged her. “Maybe not. But give yourself a little time, okay?”

“Okay.” Kerry closed her eyes and wished it was over. “Dar?”

“Let me guess.” Dar gently scratched the back of Kerry’s neck and got a contented murmur. “You love me, right?”

“No,” Kerry said. “I love that you love me.” She gave Dar a big hug, then slipped an arm around her waist. “Let’s go get this started.”