Radiant - By Christina Daley Page 0,4
had been on that emergency table in the first place because of her. Pain started growing up her leg and her bruised side. But Mary didn't want to choke down more meds just yet, so she curled up on her good side. And in a way, she felt like she deserved to be in pain for what happened to Carter.
Why had he saved her, she wondered. Why had he risked his life doing it? How many bones had he broken? Would he be able to walk? Did he have brain damage? What if he was a vegetable? Or what if he never woke again?
She felt like crying again. But as usual, tears didn't come.
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- 4 -
Crimson
Mary stayed home from school for the rest of the week. On Saturday morning, Mom finally allowed her to go out. "You want me to come with you?" Mom asked.
"I'll be fine. Just visiting Ba," Mary said. The more she sat around doing nothing, the more she thought about Carter in the hospital, which tempted Mary to iron her own hands from guilt. "Besides, you need sleep. You've just come off a monster shift. Why did you work so long?"
Mom lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table. "It's this new patient, Scotty. He was having some trouble last night and we were short staffed, so I stayed."
Mary's mother worked in the kids' cancer ward. The kids there were the kindest and bravest kids Mary had ever met, and it was always a big deal when some of them got better and were able to go home. The nurses would throw going away parties. But then there were the ones who didn't get to go home. That was always hard.
Mom rubbed her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder what good we're doing. Some live. Some don't. All of them suffer."
Mary didn't know what to say. She never knew what to say in times like this, when she wanted to offer words of comfort and couldn't. Instead, she put her arms around her mother's shoulders.
"Thanks, honey," Mom said.
"Promise you'll rest and eat?" Mary asked.
"Yes, doctor," Mom said. "Now go on. Say hi to Ba for me."
"Will do." Mary kissed her on the cheek. "Oh, I need a new sketch pad and some paint. Can I have some money?"
"Where's your allowance?" Mom asked.
"I bought a brush with it," Mary said.
Mom raised an eyebrow. "All of it? What's this brush made of? Unicorn hair?"
"Well, no," Mary said uneasily. She didn't buy things like clothes and makeup often. But when it came to art supplies, it was hard not to get the good stuff.
Mom shook her head as she opened her wallet and took out some cash. "Here. This is an advance on next week's allowance."
"Thanks." Mary stowed the money in her bag and picked up her wide portfolio carrier before she left. She'd taken art classes in school for years, but she learned how to paint from her grandmother, Ba. Painting was their favorite thing to do whenever Mary came to visit.
Riding the bus again was a little eerie. All the noises—the engine, the creak in the door hinges, and the various beeps and clicks seemed sharper. When the bus came to Fair Avenue, Mary got off and hiked the few blocks toward Anna's Art Supply, which was actually run by a guy named Ben. Anna's wasn't in a great part of town, but since it was still pretty early in the day, Mary felt safer about going there by herself. The store was squished between a crappy pizza joint and a fortune teller/psychic whose windows were covered with purple curtains.
Inside, Mary saw a man at the counter cutting open a cardboard box. He looked up and smiled. "Hey there, Mary."
"Hey Ben," she greeted.
Ben was, for lack of a better description, a beautiful man. He was in his mid-thirties and a bit on the short side. But he had toned arms and great hair. For a while, Mary hadn't understood why his shop wasn't called "Ben's," since he was the only one there. Then once, he told her about his wife, Anna. She used to run the store with him. Their friends jokingly called them "Banana," since that's what their names sounded like when you said them together fast. Ben said that's what he wanted to name the store, but Anna said it was cheesy. So, they stuck with naming it after her.
About seven years ago, Anna went to the bank to make a routine