Dark Moon, A Work In Progress, Chapter Eighteen

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah slept fitfully and was up by 9 to slip into comfortable gray yoga pants and a white t-shirt for her coming day of watching over Alexa. She put some work into her briefcase and headed for the hospital to relieve Jim at 10 as promised. She found him dozing in the chair next to Alexa’s bed, a never-before-seen growth of stubble on his chin. She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder to let him know she had arrived. A stray, wicked thought asked what would it be like to wake him up every morning.
Her touch startled him, and for a moment he looked around blankly, apparently having forgotten why he was there. His eyes went from the laboring machine to Sarah’s face, and then he gave her a small smile.
“Didn’t mean to go to sleep.”
“I’d say that was unavoidable. Looks as if nothing’s changed.”
“The doctor came by this morning before I dozed. He hadn’t expected her to make it through the night. But even though she’s still hanging on, he wasn’t optimistic about her future.”
“What do you mean?”
“He thinks she’ll have some sort of brain damage if she does wake up. At the very least, memory loss.”
“So she may never be able to tell us why she went to Brigman’s that night?”
“Exactly. The brain throws out the most traumatic memories first.”
“You need some sleep. Go home and rest.”
“I’ll be back at six.”
* * *
Sarah grew used to the hiss and whir of the ventilator as it pumped air into Alex’s lungs. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically, driven by the machine. The bright September sun streaming in through the windows had banished the sickly green glow from the walls, and now the room was pristine white again. Nurses came and went and gave her polite but puzzled looks as they checked Alexa’s vital signs and made notes in her chart.
Around noon, a man in a priest’s collar came in. He was in his early fifties with thinning gray hair, and a round open face.
“I’m Father Bennett,” he said. “I’m the Episcopal chaplain. Father Morley told me he’d been here last night. Were you the one who summoned him?”
Sarah nodded. “She seemed near death.”
“Any improvement?” Father Bennett looked at the lifeless form on the bed as he spoke.
“Nothing I can see.”
“You look tired. Have you had time to get anything to eat?”
Sarah hadn’t taken time for breakfast and hadn’t thought about food during her bedside vigil. But suddenly she realized she was hungry. “No, but I can’t leave her.”
“I’ll stay for a bit. Go down to the cafeteria and have lunch.”
* * *
When she came back, thirty minutes later, she found Father Bennet quietly reciting the Episcopalian version of the rosary as he sat next to Alexa. He turned at the swish of the door’s opening, and his excited eyes met hers.
“What happened?” Sarah asked.
“She opened her eyes. Only for a second or two. But she opened them. I told the nurse.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much. But it’s a good sign. We have to keep praying.”
“I don’t pray.”
His kind brown eyes looked puzzled. “But you summoned Father Morley last night.”
“Only because I respected Alexa’s beliefs. I have no use for God.”
He remained unperturbed. She had the feeling he’d had this conversation dozens of times. “Well, He has plenty of use for you.”
“No – He – does – not.” She spoke each word slowly and distinctly as if passing judgement for all eternity. “Didn’t they tell you why they’re trying to keep this woman alive? So they can legally murder her in twenty years.”
Again the priest was unmoved by her bitterness. “All the more reason to keep praying for God to spare her life. Were you raised in any particular faith?”
Sarah wanted to bite back a scathing “no,” but for some reason his kindness in the face of her anger made her tell the truth. “Yours.”
“Well, then, here.” He handed her the rosary. “You can put it to good use. And call me if anything changes.” He pressed his card with his cell number into her hand along with the beads, gave her a smile, and left.
Sarah slipped the business card into her brief case and sat down again by the bed. She stared at onyx beads with the silver cross at the center in her left hand and wondered what to do with them. She was suddenly sorry her connection to Alexa had brought the sore subject of religion back into her life.
Her parents had given her a blue crystal rosary after her confirmation when she was twelve. And she’d prayed it over and over and over through all those dark years until the day she’d thrown it into the Pacific, officially telling God she didn’t buy the myth of Him any more. So why now was she tempted to try to remember the prayers?
She held the large bead above the cross and tried to recall the words she was supposed to say. No clue. The Lord be with you. No, that was the priest’s invitation to the congregation, not the beginning of the rosary. And there was some sort of answer the congregation chanted back, but she couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t remember the rosary prayers. What had Jim said? The most traumatic memories are the first to go.
She studied the beads again and wondered what to do with them. As she was about to slip them into her brief case to be carted to the Pacific for disposal later, she looked over at Alexa’s lifeless hand, the one she’d freed from the handcuff. Sarah looped the beads over the thin wrist like a bracelet and laid the silver cross against her palm.
“Wake up,” she heard herself say. “For Meggie and Sam. Wake up.”