“I’m sorry, my sister isn’t really in the right frame of mind to talk about this right now.” Delilah reaches toward Afton’s phone and stops the recording. “I’m not sure what you want her to say anyway? She’s falling apart. Clearly. Look at her. She’s dealing with a lot of things right now that you couldn’t even begin to imagine, and the last thing she wants to do is spill her guts to some reporter who clearly doesn’t even want to be here.”
“Delilah.” I clear my throat.
“Sorry.” She turns to me. “It’s just that every second in here is a second away from Brooks. You should be where you want to be right now, Dem. Every minute is precious.”
Afton rises, running her hands down her pencil skirt and pulling her shoulders tight.
“My apologies, Ms. Rosewood,” she says. She meets my gaze, then my sister’s. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Or your family. I hope you understand I was only doing my job.”
“Do you have a card?” Delilah asks. “She can call you when she’s ready to talk. Until then, we ask that you give the family some space right now.”
Afton unclasps her black patent clutch and slides a business card across the table. Delilah swipes it and shoves it in her back jeans pocket before placing a hand on my shoulder and leading me out.
“You don’t always have to do that, you know,” I say when we’re halfway back to Brooks’s room. “You don’t always have to come to my rescue.”
“That girl was annoying.” Delilah huffs. “She was so fidgety and unprofessional. She wasn’t even interested in what you had to say. And her questions? How are you feeling? Puh-lease. It was rude of her to waste your time like that.”
When we return to Brooks’s room, Brenda is at his side, chatting his ear off like he’s not in a coma. She spins in her seat when we walk in, lifting her hand to her cheek like she’s embarrassed.
“My goodness. The doctors said maybe he could hear me.” She chuckles. “I suppose it sounds silly, sitting here talking to him about what I’m fixing for Thanksgiving dinner, but I thought maybe if I reminded him how much he loves my sage stuffing, it might give him some incentive to wake up.”
Delilah and I exchange pointed looks.
Brenda slips her hands around Brooks’s and pats the top.
“Well, Brooks,” she says. “Your beautiful bride-to-be is back, so I’m going to sneak out and make some phone calls. Think I’ll grab a coffee too. Would you ladies like anything?”
“No, thank you,” I say.
Even in the face of tragedy, Brenda Abbott can’t shut off the side of her programmed to tend to everyone else. Dressed to the nines, you wouldn’t look at that woman and guess that her ninety-year-old husband is bed-ridden in their country estate and that her sole child is fighting for his life. I can only hope to be half as strong as that woman when I’m older.
Brenda steps out, her kitten heels gently scuffing the tile.
“He’ll wake up by Thanksgiving,” Delilah says.
“And you know that how?”
She shrugs. “If you believe something hard enough, sometimes it comes true.”
I point to Brooks’s machines. “I don’t think this works that way.”
One of Brooks’s many doctors walks in, followed by a nurse rattling off stats. They hover next to a computer in the corner and then move to his bedside.
“How’s he doing today?” I ask as they examine him.
“We’re seeing a little bit of improvement.” The doctor’s hair is the color of pure snow and his nametag reads Ed Sanderson, MD. He seems no muss, no fuss, and he’s clearly not a fan of small talk. I could give two shits about bedside manner as long as the man knows what he’s doing. “We’re going to do another CT and EEG this week.”
“Oh, good,” I say, moving away from Brooks’s bed so they have better access.
Delilah perches in a chair by the window, typing frantically into her phone. If this were any other situation, I’d razz her for it. I’d tease her about texting boys or ask if she has a hot date coming up. An ounce of something normal would be nice right about now. More than likely, she’s updating Daphne in Paris, keeping her abreast of every little thing going on.
The steady beeping from the machines supporting Brooks’s life pulls me smack dab into the center of this new reality.
“You don’t have to stay here all day,” I say to my sister. “If you want to go home after a bit, that’s okay.”
Her eyes squint, and she wrinkles her nose. “I came all the way here from Chicago to be here, and you want me to go already?”