Sisters

Chapter 7

The doctors told them that Annie would not wake up that night, she was too heavily sedated, and they needed to keep her that way, to avoid movement of her brain. And there was no point for them to stay in the waiting room all night. Annie was in no imminent danger, and the nurses in the ICU promised to call if there was a problem. They suggested that Sabrina and Tammy go home and come back in the morning. They were exhausted when they walked through the front door of the house. Sabrina hadn't been there since they got the news, and Tammy had been at the hospital for hours. It was hard to believe it was the same day as the one in which they'd left the house, after learning of their mother's death, and going to find Annie. The day had been a thousand years long, and every one of them bad.

“How's Annie?” Candy asked as they walked into the kitchen. She was sitting groggily at the kitchen table with Chris, having just woken up. She had gotten a lot of mileage out of the single pill. Their father had gone back to bed after taking a second one, which Chris gave him, per Tammy's instructions before she left. He had liked talking to Chris, and they had both cried about Jane, and Chris told him how sorry he was.

“She's doing okay,” Sabrina answered. “She came through the surgery very well, so they told us to come home.” She and Tammy had agreed not to say anything about her sight that night. It was just too much to absorb, another huge blow, and this time late at night. They had agreed to wait until the next day to share the news that she was irreparably blind. It was going to be a lot to swallow, and for Annie most of all. She was going to need all of their support.

“How are her eyes?” Candy persisted.

“We don't know yet,” Tammy said quickly. “We'll know more tomorrow.” Chris watched her face and then looked at Sabrina. He didn't like the way Tammy had said it, or the look in Sabrina's eyes, but he didn't question them, nor did Candy, who just nodded, and drank from her water bottle, while the dogs scurried around the kitchen floor. Chris had fed them and let them out several times. There wasn't much else for him to do, since both Jim and Candy had been asleep most of the time. He just sat quietly, thinking, and played with the dogs. He was afraid to call Sabrina and disturb her, so he just waited to hear the news when they got back. Officially, it sounded pretty good. Privately, he was not so sure, but said nothing. He was there to help, not to probe.

He asked no further questions until he and Sabrina were alone in her room with the door closed. Candy was sleeping with Tammy that night. They both needed the comfort. “Is your sister really doing okay?” he asked Sabrina, looking worried, and she stared at him for a long, quiet moment.

“Brain-wise, yes, I think. As well as she can be, after brain surgery.”

“And the rest?” he asked softly, and she met his eyes.

She sat down on her bed and sighed. She didn't even have any tears left. She was totally wrung out, and just grateful Annie was still alive, and hopefully would stay that way. She had a headache from crying all day. “She's blind. They can't fix it or do anything about it. If she lives, she will always be blind.” There was nothing else she could say. She just looked at him with the depths of her sorrow for Annie. It seemed bottomless and without measure. She couldn't imagine any kind of life for Annie without sight, or what would happen to her now. A blind artist? How cruel was that?

“My God…what does one do with that? I guess it's a gift that she's alive, but she may not look at it that way.” He looked as devastated as Sabrina felt.

“I know. It scares me. She's going to need a lot of support.” He nodded. That was an understatement.

“When are you going to tell your dad and Candy?”

“Tomorrow. We just couldn't face it tonight. It was too much, for all of us,” she said sadly. They hadn't even had time to properly mourn their mother, they were too worried about Annie. But maybe that was a blessing in its own way.

“But you know anyway, poor baby,” Chris said about Annie's eyes, and then took Sabrina in his arms and held her. He put her to bed as though she were a child, which was just what she needed. It was as though overnight she and Tammy had become the parents. Her mother was gone, her father was falling apart, and her sister was blind. And she and Tammy were carrying it all on their shoulders. With one single moment and act of fate, their whole family had been struck down, and nothing would ever be the same again. For Annie most of all, if she survived, which wasn't sure yet either. Nothing was anymore.

Sabrina fell asleep in Chris's arms, and had never been so grateful for any human in her life, except her mother. But Chris was a close second, and he cradled her and comforted her all night. She knew she would never forget it, and would be grateful to him forever.

She, Chris, and Tammy got up early the next morning. He cooked breakfast while the girls showered and got ready to go to the funeral parlor. Candy and their father were still asleep. Chris took care of the dogs, and was waiting at the breakfast table with scrambled eggs and bacon and English muffins. He told them they had to eat to stay strong. Sabrina had called the hospital as soon as she got up, and they said that Annie had had a good night and was doing well, though still heavily sedated so she didn't move too much and jostle her brain so soon after the surgery. They were going to start reducing the sedation the next day. She and Tammy were planning to go back and see her, but they had so much to do first, and all the “arrangements” to make. Tammy said she had always hated that word, and all that it implied, and even more so now.

They went to the funeral home and were back in two hours. They had done all the awful things they had expected, chosen a casket, funeral programs, mass cards, a room to hold “visitation” in, where their friends could come to visit the night before the funeral. There was no “viewing” because it was a closed casket, nor a rosary, because their mother was Catholic but not religious. The girls had decided to keep things simple, and their father had been enormously relieved to let them make the decisions. He couldn't bear the thought of doing it himself. They both looked pale and tired when they came back, and by then their father and Candy were at the kitchen table, and Chris was making the same hearty meal he had cooked for them, and he even teased Candy into eating. Much to their amazement, their father cleaned his plate, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, he wasn't crying.

Sabrina and Tammy had agreed, they had to tell them about Annie then. It couldn't be put off. They had a right to know. Sabrina started to tell them after breakfast, and found she couldn't. She turned away, and Tammy stepped into the breach, and explained everything the ophthalmologist had said the night before. The bottom line was that Annie was blind. There was stunned silence in the kitchen after she said it, and her father looked at her as though he didn't believe her or hadn't heard her correctly.

“That's ridiculous,” he said, looking angry. “The man doesn't know what he's talking about. Does he know she's an artist?” They had had the same reaction, so they couldn't fault him. But it didn't change anything. This was going to be a huge adjustment for all of them, but nothing compared to what it would be for Annie. It would be catastrophic for her, a tragedy beyond measure. Telling her would be the worst moment of their lives, other than their mother dying, living with it the worst moments in hers, forever. That was the hard part. Two impossible concepts for any of them to fathom, particularly related to Annie. Blind. Forever. It boggled the mind, and made the heart ache just thinking about it. The only thing worse was their mother gone forever.

“You mean like with a white stick?” Candy said, looking stunned about her sister, and sounding like a five-year-old again. She seemed to have regressed back into adolescence or childhood since the day before when her mother died. In contrast, her two older sisters felt four thousand years old.

“Yes. Maybe. Something like that,” Sabrina said, feeling exhausted. They had shared enough bad news for a lifetime, and Chris reached over and patted her hand. “Maybe a seeing-eye dog, or an attendant. I don't know how all this works yet.” But she was sure they were all going to learn, if they were lucky enough to have the chance. That wasn't sure yet either. But the shock of Annie's blindness kept them from thinking about what would happen if she died.

Their mother's funeral had been scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, after the long weekend. Tammy had contacted caterers to serve the throngs of people who would come to the house afterward. Interment would be private, and both older sisters had decided to have her cremated. Their father had said it was all right with him, and her mother had left no instructions as to her preference.

“Annie hates dogs,” Candy reminded them all. Sabrina hadn't thought of that.

“That's true. Maybe now she'll have to change her mind. Or not. It's up to her.”

Their father said very little, other than that he thought several specialists should look at her. He was convinced that the doctor who had operated on her was out of his mind, and the diagnosis completely wrong. Sabrina and Tammy doubted that was the case since Bridgeport Hospital was a Level I Trauma Center, but agreed to ask their doctor to bring in someone else. But the surgeon had been so specific with them, and so thorough, that it was hard to believe he might be mistaken. It would have been nice if he was, but Sabrina thought her father just wasn't ready to give up hope. She couldn't blame him. Everything about this experience had been excruciating for all of them. And Annie hadn't even started to face the challenge yet, or the rest of her life without her sight.

Candy went upstairs to shower then, and their father to lie down. He didn't look well, his coloring was sort of a greenish gray. And when they had gone upstairs, Sabrina mentioned Annie's boyfriend Charlie in Florence again. This time Tammy agreed that they should call. If he was calling her cell phone, he might be getting worried. It had disappeared somewhere under the truck. Luckily for them, there was an address book in the suitcase in her room, and Charlie's cell phone number was in it. It was all too simple to find him. Sabrina said she'd make the call, as Chris and Tammy sat at the kitchen table with her while she did. He answered on the second ring. By then it was dinnertime in Florence. Sabrina explained who she was, and he knew immediately, and laughed.

“Is the big sister checking up on me?” He didn't sound in the least daunted or surprised to be hearing from her, or even worried.

“No, I'm not actually,” Sabrina said cautiously, not sure yet how to tell him. It would have been easier if he'd been worried by the call, and suspected something was wrong. He seemed to have no concerns at all about why she might be calling, which seemed odd to Sabrina.

“How was the Fourth of July? Annie never called,” he said blithely.

“No… that's why I'm calling. There was an accident here yesterday. We never had the party,” she explained. There was silence at the other end of the phone. He was getting it finally, as Sabrina went on. “My mother and Annie were in a head-on collision with two cars and a truck. Our mother was killed instantly, and Annie was very severely injured, but she's alive.” She wanted to give him the good news about Annie first. He sounded stunned.

“How severely? And I'm sorry about your loss.” It was a phrase she was beginning to hate. She had heard it at the funeral parlor, the hospital, the florist. It seemed to be the pat phrase everybody said now, although she was sure he meant well. It was hard to know what to say in the face of such enormous shock. She would have been hard-pressed for words herself, and after all she and Annie's boyfriend were strangers. All they had in common was her sister, which was a lot. Particularly now. Although he didn't sound quite as distraught as Sabrina would have hoped. Mostly surprised.

“Very severely,” Sabrina said honestly. “She's still in critical condition, and she had brain surgery last night. She seems to be doing well, but she's not out of the woods yet. I thought you should know, as I gathered from her that you two are very close, and very much in love. I didn't want you to feel that we didn't let you know, especially if you'd want to come over. She's still heavily sedated and will be for the next few days, if everything goes well. She's on a respirator, but they're hoping to take her off it tomorrow, if we're lucky.”

“Jesus, is she going to be a vegetable or brain dead or something?” The way he said it upset Sabrina. It sounded cruel to her, particularly given what Annie would be facing. But he didn't know that yet.

“There's no reason to think so, and the surgery went well, to reduce the swelling to her brain. She had a good night last night.”

“For a minute you had me worried. I can't imagine Annie suddenly being retarded or a vegetable. If that were the case, she'd be better off dead.” He was remarkably insensitive, particularly for a man who'd just been told that the woman he loved had nearly died. Sabrina already didn't like him, but made no comment. He was after all the man her sister loved, and she owed him some respect for that, or at least some leeway, and the benefit of the doubt, which she gave him.

“I don't agree with you,” Sabrina said quietly. “We don't want to lose her, whatever condition she's in. She's our sister and we love her.” And supposedly he did too.

“Does that mean you won't unplug her if she's brain dead?” Sabrina not only didn't like him, she was beginning to hate him, for the ugly things he said. He had the sensitivity of a rubber duck.

“That's not the issue,” Sabrina said. The rest was coming, and she was curious about his reaction now, particularly as an artist, who shared that world with her. “The impact of the accident caused some other damage. Some pretty important stuff. She had eye surgery last night, which didn't go as well as the brain surgery.” She took a breath and finished it off, as Tammy and Chris watched her. They could read her displeasure on her face. She hated the guy and didn't even know him. “Charlie, if she survives, Annie is going to be blind. She already is. There's nothing they can do to restore her sight. It's going to be a huge adjustment for her, and I thought that you should know so you can support her.”

“Support her? How?” He sounded panicked, although he knew her parents had money. But maybe, he told himself, they didn't want to support a blind kid and wanted to foist her off on him. If that was the case, they had called the wrong number. Sabrina thought she had anyway, in every possible way. She felt deeply sorry for her sister. But not everyone was lucky enough to find a man like Chris. He was a gem.

“She's going to need your love and support. This is going to be a huge life change for her, the biggest she'll ever face. It's not fair and it's awful, and all we can do is be there to help her. If you love her, you're going to be very important to her.” There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.

“Now wait a minute. Let's not go crazy here. We've been dating for six months. I hardly know her. We have a good time, we share a passion for art, she's a fantastic girl, and I love her, but you're talking about a whole new deal here. Art is a piece of history to her now. Her career as a painter is over. Shit, her life could still be over. And she's going to be blind for the rest of her life? What am I supposed to do about that?” He was running scared, and she could hear it.

“You tell me,” Sabrina said coldly. “How do you see yourself participating in her life?” Chris winced when he heard the question, and they could both tell it was not going well. Just listening to their end of the conversation, Tammy had decided he was a jerk. Chris was more inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, as Sabrina had, but so far he wasn't impressed. Sabrina had had to say nothing to console him, which said it all to him.

“How do you expect me to participate in her life?” Charlie asked Sabrina. “I'm not a seeing-eye dog, for chrissake. I've never had a blind girlfriend. I don't know what that's about or what it feels like. It sounds pretty heavy to me. And why are you calling me like this? What do you want from me?” He was moving rapidly from scared to angry.

“Nothing, actually.” Sabrina bit the words off at him, trying to hold her temper. She would have liked to give him a piece of her mind, but for Annie's sake, she didn't dare. She didn't want to make things worse, or scare Charlie off forever. It sounded like he was headed that way anyway, but Sabrina didn't want to be the cause of his disappearing into the sunset prematurely. Annie had a right to do that herself, or not if she preferred it. She needed him more than ever now. And it wasn't up to Sabrina to tell him what to feel or how to behave. “I'm calling because my sister is under the impression that you're in love with her. She's in love with you. She had a terrible accident and almost died yesterday. Our mother did. And as a result of the accident, we found out last night that she's going to be blind for the rest of her life. If you love her, I figured you'd want to know. I have no idea what you want to do about it. That's up to you. You can send her a get-well card, come to visit her, be there for her, or walk out on her because it's too much for you. It's your choice to make, and I'm sure it's not easy. I just figured you'd want to know what's going on. She has a lot of very, very hard stuff to face. And as far as I know, you're important to her.”

Charlie sighed as he listened to her, wishing he'd never heard any of it. But he had, thanks to her. And he knew that ultimately, he'd have decisions to make. This wasn't easy for him. He had no money, had taken a year off from a job in New York, and was committed to being an artist. He'd had a good time with Annie, and thought he was in love with her. But a blind girl, whose talent and career as an artist had just gone down the tubes? It sounded like heavy furniture to him. Way too heavy for what he had in mind, or thought he could handle in his life. He decided to be honest with Sabrina, since she had been honest with him.

“I don't know what to say to you.”

“You don't have to say anything. I just called to inform you. I figured you'd want to know, or might be worried if you hadn't heard from her.”

“Actually, I was. But not that worried. I had no idea something this crazy could happen to her. To be honest, Sabrina, I don't know if I can do this, or even if I want to. She's a great woman, and she was a terrific artist. But she's going to need a lot of care and support. She'll probably be depressed out of her mind for the next several years, maybe forever. That's too much for me to carry. I can't. I don't want to be a psych nurse, or a guide dog for the blind. I can hardly keep my shit together myself, I can't take on hers too. Not major stuff like this. I don't want to kid her into thinking I'll be there for her now. She needs people she can count on, and I don't think I'm one of them. I'm sorry. But I just don't think I have it in me.” He sounded sad as he said it, and he was surprisingly open with her. “I think she needs someone a lot stronger and less self-centered than I am.” Sabrina was inclined to think he was right. He knew himself well, and was brave enough to say it. She had to give him a few points for that, but not many. She had expected a whole lot better from him, and from all that Annie had said, Sabrina thought he loved her. As it turned out, he didn't, or not enough to overcome what had happened. “What are you going to say to her?” he asked, sounding worried.

“I can't say anything to her yet. She's not conscious. But if and when she is, what do you want me to say, if anything? I don't have to tell her I called you. You can call her yourself and tell her whatever you want to say, when she's further down the road to recovery, although that's going to be a very hard time for her.” Sabrina dreaded the impact of his leaving her, on top of everything else.

“Yeah, it is.” He thought about it for a long moment, mulling it over. “Maybe I should write her a letter, or tell her I found someone else. That makes me look like a shit, which I am, I guess, but it won't be about her because she's blind, which might spare her a little.” He sounded hopeful, as though he had found a solution that would work for him, although surely not for Annie. Sabrina's heart ached for her, as she listened to him. She thought he was a selfish, cowardly little shit.

“It's going to be a blow either way. I think she was considering moving back to New York for you. So this was a big deal for her,” Sabrina said sadly.

“It was for me too… until this. This is such shit luck for her.” It was the understatement of the century. “I don't know. I guess I'll write to her. I'll send it to you, and you can give it to her whenever you think she's ready.” How about never, Sabrina wanted to say.

“She'll figure it out anyway, when you never call and don't show up.”

“Yeah. I guess. Maybe that's the best way then. Just disappear out of her life.” Sabrina couldn't believe what she was hearing. He sounded relieved.

“That doesn't sound very noble to me,” Sabrina said clearly. In fact, it sounded chickenshit to her, the cowardly way out, but it no longer surprised her. Annie's Prince Charming in Florence was a total lemon.

“I never said I was noble. I'm going to Greece next week anyway. Maybe I'll just write to her after that, and tell her I met someone else, or hooked up with an old flame.”

“I'm sure you'll think of something. Thanks for your time,” Sabrina said, wanting to get off. She'd had enough of him. All she wanted was to drive a stake through his heart, on her sister's behalf. Maybe two stakes, to be sure. He deserved worse than that, for what he was about to do to her sister, whatever his excuse.

“Thanks for calling. Sorry I can't do better than that.”

“So am I,” Sabrina said, “for Annie's sake. You're missing out on one of the great women of our time, blind or not.”

“I'm sure she'll find someone else.”

“Thanks,” Sabrina said, and hung up on him, before he could say another word. She was steaming when she hung up, and Tammy and Chris had gotten the gist.

“What a sonofabitch,” Chris muttered under his breath, and Tammy looked devastated for her sister, as did Sabrina. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

They visited Annie in the hospital that afternoon. She was still unconscious, and would remain that way for another day or two, from the sedation. As it turned out, she was going to sleep through their mother's funeral on Tuesday, which the others thought was a blessing for her.

They had dinner together at the house that night, and Sabrina and Chris cooked. They were tired and depressed, and their father hardly said two words all night and went back to bed. Candy stuck around at least, and the four of them sat and talked long into the night, about their childhoods, their hopes and dreams, the crazy memories that surfaced at hard times like this.

On Monday the doctors took Annie off the respirator. Tammy and Sabrina were with her, and Candy and Chris were in the waiting room, in case anything went wrong. It was a tense moment, but they got through it. The two older sisters clutched each other's hands and cried when she took her first breath on her own. Sabrina looked at Tammy afterward and said that she felt as though she had just given birth to her herself. They reduced the sedation after that and expected her to wake up gently on her own in the next few days.

The visitation at the funeral parlor was that night, and was beyond awful. Hundreds of their parents' friends came, childhood friends of theirs, people Jane had been on committees with, others whom none of them even knew. They spent three hours shaking hands and accepting condolences. The girls had placed beautiful photographs of their mother around the room. They were all drained when they got home, and that night everyone went straight to bed. They were too tired to talk, think, or move. It was hard to believe that their mother had still been alive only two days before. Everyone at the visitation asked for Annie, and they had to explain what had happened to her as well, although they hadn't told anyone yet that she was blind. For the sake of her dignity, and out of respect for her, her sisters had decided that Annie ought to know first.

The funeral was the next day, at three in the afternoon. Tammy and Sabrina went to visit Annie in the morning, and she was still peacefully asleep. In some ways, they were both relieved. It would have been too much having Annie discover her blindness that day too. They had gotten a reprieve for another day.

The funeral itself was exquisite agony. It was simple, beautiful, elegant, and in perfect taste. There were lilies of the valley and white orchids everywhere. It looked more like a wedding in some ways, and the church was full, as was their house afterward. Three hundred people came to the house to remember her, drink, and eat from the buffet. Sabrina said to Chris afterward that she had never been so tired in her life. They were just about to sit down in the living room, when the hospital called. Tammy's heart stopped as she answered. All she could think of when the chief resident identified himself was that if Annie died now, it would kill them all. They had already been through so much more than they could take.

“I wanted to give you the good news myself,” the resident said to Tammy as she held her breath. Was it possible? Was there still such a thing? Was there any good news left? It seemed hard to believe. She had made it off the respirator and was no longer listed in critical condition, which was a huge step, but she had made another leap that night. “I thought you might like to come over,” he said quietly, as Tammy was about to tell him there was no way any of them could muster the energy after the emotions of the past few days and her mother's funeral that afternoon, but she never got to say the words. “She's awake,” he said victoriously, as Tammy closed her eyes, and tears of grief and gratitude rolled down her cheeks.

“We'll be there in half an hour,” she promised, thanking him for the call. And she knew as she hung up that for Annie, the hard part had only just begun.