Beyond The Grave. Mara Purnhagen

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      A timer went off, and Annalise opened the oven to inspect her lasagna. “A couple more minutes, I think.”

      “I’m impressed, you know.” I opened a bag of store-bought rolls. “I never knew you could cook.”

      “Mills and I took a couple’s cooking class together last semester.”

      I liked my sister’s boyfriend. He’d been so kind to me after Mom’s injury, often staying up with me as I’d sat next to her hospital bed. We had talked a lot over the past few months, and he was starting to feel like family.

      Annalise frowned as I arranged the rolls on a plate and shoved them into the microwave. “Maybe we should pop those in the oven,” she suggested.

      “No time.” I pointed to the clock. “Everyone will be here soon.”

      Our guest list for the evening included Shane, Trisha and Noah. It occurred to me that out of the group, Dad would be the only one who had no idea that I had been having panic attacks.

      Four months had passed since I’d witnessed the attack on my parents. Four months, one week and three days. And during that time I’d experienced six panic attacks, each one brought on by the sound of something cracking, each one jamming my mind with the agonizing echo of a metal fire poker smashing my mother’s skull.

      The first one had occurred when I was at home by myself. The second time, I’d been grocery shopping with Noah. A little kid had bumped into a display of canned vegetables, and the sound of the cans crashing had caused me to double over. Noah had practically carried me to the car, leaving our shopping cart behind as he’d whispered, “Please be okay, please be okay.”

      I understood the cause of the panic attacks, but I had no idea how to stop them. Annalise thought it was a classic case of post-traumatic stress syndrome. She consulted her former roommate, a psychology major, through daily emails and forced me to participate in annoying mental health exercises. I complained about it constantly to my best friend.

      “She’s your sister,” Avery said as we sat in her room one day, organizing the things she was going to take with her to college. “She feels helpless and wants to do something for you.

      Let her. She’ll feel better and maybe she’ll find something that helps you, too.”

      “I had to draw a picture of sadness for her.”

      She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, that’s bad. What’d you draw?”

      “A crying clown.”

      We burst into giggles. It felt good to laugh, especially with Avery. She was going to be leaving soon for college, and I couldn’t bear to think about saying goodbye. It would be another absence to adjust to. We planned to call and email and stay in close touch, but I knew it was easy to make promises like that. Once she started school and her busy new life, would she have time for our long-distance friendship?

      Satisfied that my salad was complete, I pulled the steaming rolls from the microwave. Dad walked into the kitchen and clapped his hands together. “Smells great!” I winced at his forced enthusiasm. Without Mom, he was miserable, but he tried to keep up a positive front for everyone. It had to be exhausting to pretend so much.

      “It’s all Annalise,” I said, knowing that I was pretending, too.

      My sister smiled. “Charlotte made the salad.”

      I couldn’t tell if she was trying to warn Dad or give me credit for helping with dinner.

      “Shane called,” Dad said. “They’re running a few minutes behind. Trisha got a call from Ryan as they were leaving.”

      Ryan was Trisha’s oldest son. He was serving in Afghanistan, and a call from him was a big deal. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, but he was finally coming back this summer. So was Jeff, Trisha’s other son, who was also serving in the military. Trisha was planning her wedding to Shane around her sons’ return so that all three of her kids would be there for the big event. “I don’t care if it rains or snows or the reception hall catches fire,” she told us. “As long as I have Shane and my boys there, it will be perfect.”

      Also as long as Mom was there, I wanted to add. It couldn’t be perfect without her. But the doctors had warned us that she might never wake up. Then they spoke to Dad in hushed voices, advising him of the “options.” I knew what that word meant—it meant pulling out the feeding tube and wires that kept Mom alive. It meant giving up and letting her die.

      Dad said no. After Mom was transferred to the long-term care facility, he had to endure more kind yet firm speeches from a new team of doctors. They somehow convinced him that if Mom didn’t show any brain activity within the next six months, they would need to “reevaluate the options.” Six months, and there would be no options left. It was a death sentence, like pleasant words wrapped in shiny paper. Mom had until January to get better, even if it was only minor improvement.

      For now, our lives were on hold, and that included the wedding. Shane had promised me that. “She’ll be there no matter what,” he’d said after the engagement was announced. “We won’t have the ceremony without her.”

      It was a promise I was going to make him keep, although I wondered what he meant by “no matter what.” At first, I thought he meant that she would be there even if we had to push her in a wheelchair. But maybe not. Maybe Shane didn’t think she would come out of the coma. Maybe he thought Mom would be there in spirit, not in person.

      “You haven’t given up on her, have you?” I asked him.

      The question earned me a look of sad shock. “No,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I have not given up. And don’t you give up, either. Keep hoping. It’s all we can do.”

      Maybe it was all he could do, but I had other plans. Despite my fear of accidentally triggering the Watcher, I was determined to help my mom. I was the reason, the main reason why she was lying in a hospital bed, which meant that I had to try my best to get her out of it.

      Annalise checked on her lasagna and turned the heat down on the oven. “I can keep this warm until they get here. Any idea how long that will be?”

      “Soon.” Dad peered at my salad. “This is very colorful, Charlotte.”

      He sounded apprehensive, but I knew he would like it. Annalise had given me a foolproof job. How could I mess up salad?

      “Have you guys given any more thought to your living arrangements?” Annalise asked. She tried to sound casual, but I could hear the worry in her voice.

      “I thought we’d settled all that,” Dad said. “Shane will be staying here with Charlotte while I’m gone. In fact, he’s moving out of his apartment next week.”

      Annalise busied herself with selecting a salad dressing from the fridge. Her lack of response made it clear that she was not happy with Dad’s decision, a decision he had made weeks ago but one my sister was hoping could be reversed through persistent questions.

      It had begun after Mom was transferred to the long-term care facility near Charleston. It was the best place for her to heal and recover, but the distance meant that Dad would СКАЧАТЬ