You saw that, right? Kit, you saw him moving his lips? Like he was trying to talk? Right?”
Kit pauses and carefully considers her answer. “I’m not sure, John. It’s certainly possible. His injuries, at least on the outside, look like they’ve healed really well. I really hope he did move.”
I hold my look, studying her face in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“John, I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking when you were.”
“Fuck. I mean, fuck it.”
“John, I’m not the enemy here.”
Of course, she’s right.
“When did you last get a full night’s sleep?”
I rub my eyes and retreat. “I don’t know. Last week. Linda, the night nurse, the one leaving for maternity leave? She threw me out at 7 p.m. and said not to come back. Said I looked like the one in a coma.”
“Nice.” Kit smiles.
I smile back. “Yeah, and she’s my friend.” I pause and add, “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“It’s just that we—I—need a sign. Something. Anything. Dr. C brought up the Advance Directive again yesterday. I think he’s scared of me.”
“You sometimes have that way with people.” Kit looks at her menu, then up at me. She has invited me—insisted really—for drinks and a proper dinner. “You need a drink. A good meal. And then sleep.”
She’s right. On all counts. I hesitate to ask her what’s been on my mind. If I ask, I’ll get an answer, one I might not like.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think, fish and a salad.”
“No I mean about…”
“I know what you mean. I’ve been dreading this little chat.”
“Me too. Dreading, why? You first.”
Kit motioned our server over and we put in our orders. Including a gin and tonic for me. Double vodka for her.
“A double? Is it that bad?”
“I’ve had to do this before, remember?”
It’s impossible to forget. Two summers ago, Kit’s husband, Jess. The boating accident.
Kit turns her gaze out the window. Leaves are blowing across the parking lot. “You know, John, when they finally let me see him, that first time in the emergency room, I was shocked. Not one bruise, not a cut. No blood. Not a hair out of place. He looked like he’d dozed off, like he sometimes does—did—in the recliner in the den. Turns out all the damage, the really serious stuff, was ‘internal.’”
I nod. It feels familiar. I think, I know how you feel.
Our drinks arrive and we both take a long, first swallow. In my case, a gulp.
“Slow down, John. I promise this won’t be that bad. But we do need to talk about it. I feel some responsibility for this.”
I’m feeling the anger that I was dreading and I’m trying desperately trying to tamp it down. “I’m still not sure why you’ve been named executrix, Kit. Drew and I agreed years ago that we would be each other’s executor. And he gave you medical power of attorney. When, if you don’t mind, did that happen?”
Kit took another long sip and sighed. “I don’t know, about a year ago. You two were going through a rough patch. He didn’t tell me any details. Just that he wanted to take that decision off your plate. And you may not believe me, he’s done you a favor.”
I swallow hard. “So he was afraid I’d pull the plug if I got really mad at him.”
“That’s not at all what he said. Or what he meant. You’re overthinking this, John.”
“Really?”
“He said he knew how hard it would be for you to let him go. And, by the way—he’s right, isn’t he?” She paused and reached for my hand. “He didn’t want you to spend years taking care of him. Especially when there was no hope. He said he wanted you to have a life.”
I shake my head. “So he dumped all this on you.”
“Yeah. If you want to put it that way, he did. And, by the way, let me tell you how much fun it is.” She turned and looked for our server. “Do you think they might at least bring us some bread--or something?”
I melted, realizing what a burden Kit carried. “I’m so sorry. I can be a real asshole sometimes.”
“As Drew often says, “He’s my asshole.”
“That I am.” I issue a small laugh. “He says that, does he?”
“All the time. And John?”
“Yes?”
“Despite the fact that my lovely, wonderful idiot brother saddled me with this, it will be our decision. Ours, not just mine. I promise.” And with a flourish, a French baguette arrived.
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