thought was so odd in fact that at first, she blamed it on having worked seventy-two hours straight due to the short staff. In the past week, she had seen more shootings, stabbings, and suicide attempts than she had since she graduated from Pitt nearly ten years ago. It started when some woman stabbed her husband through the throat. Then, Mary Katherine hit Christopher and his mother with her car. The sheriff had been shot in the chest. A clown shot himself in the temple. Mrs. Collins deliberately inhaled a gallon of house paint. But there were others. Drunk drivers. Bar fights. Car accidents. The worst was the school bus driver, Mr. Miller, who practically impaled himself on a deer’s antlers while driving the bus back to depot after dropping off the last kid for the Christmas Pageant. It had been absolute carnage. But that wasn’t the strangest part. No.
The strangest part was that nobody died.
For the life of her, she couldn’t actually remember the last time somebody had. As a matter of fact, the coroner joked that he felt a little guilty that everyone else was working so hard, because the last dead body he saw was the skeleton of that little boy they found in the woods. What was his name again? David something. When was that? Maybe a month ago. A whole month and no death. Wow.
It’s a Christmas miracle.
Nurse Tammy took three more greedy puffs and went back into the hospital. But not before thanking God that her shift finally ended at midnight. It was a few hours until she could drive home and share a nice glass of merLOT with her father. Only a few hours until Christmas.
Then again. If people just stopped dying, it would mean the end of the world.
Chapter 85
Mary Katherine opened her eyes. Her head throbbing. She looked outside at the sunset, and a horrible sick lodged in her stomach. It was Christmas Eve. But she wasn’t going to Aunt Gerri’s house for mushroom soup. She wasn’t going to church for Father Tom’s midnight mass. She had driven her car at 125 miles an hour. And in that crucial moment when the deer ran in front of her, Mary Katherine thought of nothing but saving herself. In order to stay out of Hell, she turned the wheel and hit a little boy and his mother instead.
You’re selfish, Mary Katherine. You’re so selfish.
The voice ate at her stomach as the memories came back in one large flood. The terrible impact. The violent ripping of metal and explosion of glass. The jaws of life prying both cars open like cans of soup. The EMTs pulling out Christopher and Mrs. Reese. They were such nice people. They were such good people.
You hit a child to stay out of Hell, Mary Katherine.
Mary Katherine would have given anything to trade places with him. But nothing happened to her that sleeping the day away couldn’t fix. She had her seat belt and an airbag. She was fine. She wanted that airbag to kill her. She wanted that seat belt to strangle her. She deserved to die in that accident.
You deserve everything that’s happening to you, Mary Katherine.
Mary Katherine finally forced herself to look down at her body. She saw the hospital gown. The life monitor clipped to her index finger. The heart monitor beeped and beeped and beeped. When they brought her into the hospital, an exhausted Nurse Tammy told her not to worry. Just rest. She would be fine. The doctor might have even sent her right home.
If it hadn’t been for the baby.
The door opened.
“Mary Katherine?”
Her mother walked into the room. She rushed to Mary Katherine, crying and hugging her over and over again.
“Mom, I’m so sorry.”
Mary Katherine had no way of understanding that her mother was not upset at her seventeen-year-old daughter because she was too relieved that the seventeen-week-old daughter that she remembered nursing hadn’t died in that car accident last night. She had no way of knowing that no matter how big children feel, they will always look smaller to their parents.
“Thank God you’re okay,” her mother said. “Praise Jesus.”
Mary Katherine looked up as her father walked into the room. His jaw was tight and clicky from hours of rage. Rage at her disobedience. Rage at her recklessness. Rage at the expense of hospital bills and insurance claims and the Notre Dame tuition that was now going to drown the family in debt.