Rewrite the Stars by Christina Consolino (classic fiction TXT) 📗

medical cart wheels, and the swish and whisper of the automatic doors. Sniffing, I pulled my sweater around myself, wishing for guidance from somewhere. When I couldn’t stand any longer to be there, I texted my mom.

Gotta run home. Can you come be with Theo? I don’t want him to be alone.

Sure thing. Give me twenty minutes.

The doctor stood near the nurses’ station. “I’m going to head home. Mom’s going to come stay with Theo. I’d like to take care of a few things and speak with the kids. They should all go in and see him before...” I didn’t meet his eyes as I spoke to him. I couldn’t. He’d see the truth behind mine if I did. “You’re right. It is time, as you say, but...please give me a few days.”

On autopilot, I drove home, thoughts swirling in my head, everything I might say to Theo if he woke up. Only after I’d reached my driveway did I give in to the sobs threatening to overtake my body the entire way home. With white knuckles, I gripped the steering wheel and then placed my forehead against the cool, hard leather. It didn’t matter what I said in my head; it was likely Theo would never hear those words. After a few moments, I reached for a tissue, wiped away my tears, and gathered my purse and mug. Charlie and Delia weren’t home from school yet, and Lexie was out with Brooke for the afternoon. If all went well, I’d have a few hours to myself before I shattered the worlds of my children.

As if not to disturb the peace even further, I tiptoed into the house, placed my things in the kitchen, and meandered to the bedroom. The open arms of the rocking chair in the corner of the room gathered me close and helped me fall asleep. Andrew found me there later, and like the gallant man I knew him to be, did nothing but pick me up, hold me tight, and lull me back to sleep.

Chapter 35: Theo

 

Darkness, complete and suffocating, for hours, too many to count. Time could be anything right now. Or nothing. Time. What is time? How much time has passed? And what is darkness, but the absence of light? And then, a single pinprick of white, until the edges of blackness began to recede, and light filtered in, little bursts of color against a backdrop of ink. Flashes like those in Afghanistan, but this...this place...wasn’t it, I couldn’t be back there, right? The noises didn’t match. Instead of a rush of thunder and cacophony of screams, a gentle lull, a steady clack, a swish, and a squeal lingered nearby. Try as I might to open my eyes, they stayed shut. Willing my mind to make connections, everything diffused away.

Later: Time standing still, speeding up, slowing down; long time, no time, did time exist? What was this place, and when would I go back home? Could I go back home? More flashes, red, green, purple, black, twisting in front of me, hammering me from all sides. That damn ink again, pushing at me, my chest, my heart almost exploding inside my body. A shroud overtook me, and I breathed again.

Voices—high-pitched, low-pitched, young, old. Snatches of whispers. If I craned my neck, could I hear them better? Did they know I was awake? What did I look like to them? A jab to the arm, fucking painful, and a milky white shroud flooded my senses. Peace. Quiet.

I sat up, taking in the gray clouds lingering in the air. Mountains hovered in the background; small wisps of smoke curled up, dispersing as they rose. In the distance, people approached. Sadie, Charlie, Delia, and Lexie. “I’m here!” My voice reverberated off the scattered boulders. My family marched forward, faces unseeing, and passed right through me, despite my waving arms. When I turned around, they’d long gone into the mist, dissolving into a million tiny particles.

Then: The fuzzy edges pulled back and he was there. Charlie. In a room with white walls, Christmas cards attached. A framed picture of us—Sadie, the kids, me—stood on the end table. And there I was too, in a bed, covered with white sheets and a blue blanket. Eyes closed, purple circles like twin moons underneath them.

“How’s he doing?” Charlie’s voice, tinny and quiet, lured me in, and my view shifted, as if a lens had been changed. Now Sadie, standing next to Charlie. Me—my soul?—in front of them both. Did they see me?

“There haven’t been any changes, Charlie,” Sadie said as she rubbed the arm of the man—me—who lay in bed.

“He’s not getting worse, is he?”

“No.”

“But he’s not getting any better, either, right?”

I tried to laugh, but no sound came out of my mouth. Charlie had always been so astute.

“You’re old enough for the truth,” Sadie said.

“No, he’s not!” I yelled. Or tried to.

In slow motion, Charlie moved toward me, and I threw my hands in the air, covering my face, ready for the impact. But in a single breath, he walked through me—completely unencumbered—to the cards on the wall.

“Why can’t you feel me, Charlie? I shouted. I’m right here!”

Charlie turned back to Sadie, tears on his lower eyelids. “I thought we’d have a Christmas miracle, but it’s past Christmas. And New Year’s has already happened too. I’ve hoped and prayed for Dad to wake up, but I doubt it’ll happen.”

Sadie crumbled into the chair next to my bed, gasping as she wept, extending a hand to Charlie, who tugged her fingers in his grip.

“When you picked me up from school and said we’d be going to the hospital today, you meant it as a time for me to say goodbye, didn’t you?”

Goodbye? What did he mean?

The scene flickered for a moment, and I tumbled next to Sadie, crouching on the floor, trying to grasp her hand. Like a holograph, points of color shimmered as my essence moved through her body.

“Mom, I’m not sure how to say goodbye to