“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 wastebasket, 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 Shackleton’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.”