Chapter 19: Past 2:15

The first thing I knew was a beeping that did not match my breathing.

The second thing was that my chest hurt in a new place, a long straight line down the middle.

I opened my eyes and saw a white ceiling and a window with a gray sky in it.

"There she is," someone said.

Mom's face came into the window.

She had not changed her clothes.

The apron was gone, and there was a hospital blanket around her shoulders, and her eyes were rimmed in red.

"Hi, baby."

"Mom."

My voice came out in a croak.

"Don't talk. You've got a tube out of you and your throat's sore. Just look at me."

I looked.

Then I looked at my hand on the sheet.

My fingernails were pink.

They were ordinary pink, the color of a seashell.

I turned my hand over, and back, and the beeping sped up.

"What day is it?" I whispered.

"Friday."

"The fifth."

"Yes."

"What time?"

Mom turned her head to the clock on the wall.

It said eleven fifteen.

"You have a lot of time," she said.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them, she was leaning over the rail.

She pressed her lips to my forehead and held them there, warm and dry.

"That's six," I said.

"I'm not counting anymore."

"I am."

"Of course you are."

The nurse came in and checked a line and said I was doing beautifully.

She said the repair had gone perfectly, that the surgeon had closed the hole with a patch, and that I would be home in about a week.

A week.

I had never in my life been told I would be anywhere in a week.

Lunch was gelatin and a pudding cup.

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