Under the Light - By Laura Whitcomb Page 0,72
doctor. I moved a step closer and in the bed I saw a woman, sleeping or worse, with two nurses gently removing wires and tubes from her wrists and chest.
Billy had tracked the miraculous awakenings of coma patients across the globe, but it looked like his own mother would not be one of them. I stared at her lovely white hand on the blanket.
I was an outsider—I wanted to sneak away without a word, but Billy glanced over just then and caught sight of me. He looked more curious than angry, so I opened my mouth to speak. One of the nurses blocked the door as she wheeled out a rolling monitor and the other nurse closed the door, leaving me in the hall.
I backed into the corridor wall and leaned there. I wasn’t welcome, I knew that. But I had to wait for him. I went to the lobby and sat. I wished I had not sent Helen away—the waiting room was too quiet. I felt caved in, breathing in little reluctant hitches. I wanted someone to hold me up and convince me everything would be all right.
But then I remembered, I used to fly like a bird. And I’d escaped an exorcism—I could do anything. I sat up straight and waited.
Billy and Mitch came down the hall—I stood up and moved toward them with no idea what to say.
Mitch put a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “Not a good time,” he told me. But Billy came to meet me in the hall beside a little shelf with a courtesy phone.
“Is your mom okay?” I asked. My heart was beating so hard, I felt dizzy.
“No.” Billy put his hands in his pockets. “I thought it would kill me if she died,” he said, “but I feel sort of relieved. Is that sick?”
“No,” I told him. “Not at all.” My tongue was dry and my throat was tight. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, finally realizing I had invaded his family’s privacy.
I opened my mouth but couldn’t decide how to start.
“I can’t believe you’re speaking to me after yesterday,” he said.
There was nothing to do but jump right in. “I remember what happened while I was away from my body,” I said. “I remember landing in an open field.” I swallowed, but my throat was still stiff. “Do you remember that?”
“Do I remember what?” he asked.
“I saw you.” I whispered it, as if it was a secret. “You were there.” I searched his eyes for recognition. “We played a game to see if we could fly to the same place together. You made the stars move.”
“Jennifer?”
A chill came over me like a wave of icy water. My father was standing at the front desk with a single white rose in his hand. He walked calmly up to me and lay a heavy hand on the back of my neck. He handed Billy the flower and said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Billy took the rose, confused. “Thank you,” he muttered. As my father guided me toward the exit, Billy followed.
“Let her go,” Mitch told his brother.
“Say goodbye, dear,” my father told me.
But when I turned back to Billy, I didn’t say goodbye—I said, “Don’t you remember? You stopped time.”
Billy stood at the sliding glass doors like he was in a trance and watched us get into my father’s van. Before I closed my door I pointed to the sky and swept my hand across it. Billy let the rose fall from his hand, and Mitch picked it up.
“Put your seat belt on, please.” My father was trying to control his temper. I could tell by the way he clenched his jaw.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“You’re not as clever as you think,” he said. “I called Billy’s house and a gentleman there told me you had called and where you’d gone.”
My father had gotten more information than I had—the idea that he had heard that Billy’s mother was dying and then bought a rose on the way to pick me up should have seemed touching, but it actually felt creepy.
“I would’ve come home,” I told him.
“I got us an earlier flight,” he said. “Your mother is finishing packing for you. We’ll drop by the house for the bags and so you can make your farewells.”
“We’re leaving now?” I asked.
“The sooner we get you away from here, the better.”
This morning I would have gone quietly. But after remembering what happened to me when I was out of body,