After the End (22 page)

It was a good mental picture.

When Brady came out, all damp hair in curls and sleepy smiles, I passed my mug to him and went to take my own shower. We got dressed and drank coffee, and by the time the cab got there, some of the pinched lines of worry on Brady’s face had eased. We held hands on the silent ride to the hospital, but I hung back as we walked onto the floor where Beatrice was when Brady went to greet his family with tight hugs.

“She’s not awake yet,” his mother was saying and I wondered if I should stay. If this was too personal. Last night had been a flurry of fear and needing to be close to Brady, but now, perhaps this wasn’t something I should intrude on.

That thought died a quick death when Claire hauled me into a hug as well. “I’m so glad you came,” she told me, and Brittany was next, hugging me tightly, followed by Belinda. Even Bruno shook my hand. I was introduced to George and Clint, and we all huddled down together, Brady sitting with me, holding my hand. Clint brought everyone coffee and then hauled Brittany in close, arms around her while she rested her head wearily on his shoulder. Belinda was holding George’s hand, texting with the other, updating us all on what aunts and cousins and uncles were saying. Bruno and Claire were slumped together, Bruno’s arm around his wife’s shoulders. It was like we needed that. They all needed someone close, someone to hold on to for reassurance.

And I was that person for Brady. It made me feel… good. Needed. Like I was part of this, of this messy, loud, beautiful family.

The hours passed with a numbing slowness. The updates we got were all the same—Beatrice was still not awake, her vitals were stable. We were waiting and hoping for the best. After calling around to figure out where Brady’s car had wound up, I finally tracked it down in a police impound lot across town. Dutifully scribbling notes, I made arrangements for it to be released to a tow truck to take it to a local garage, after which I called Brady’s insurance company and put him on the phone. That conversation was a ten-minute distraction, after which everyone fell into a kind of stupor once again.

Tracy and Anna were texting me back and forth. I’d let them know what was going on that morning, and now the both of them were checking in every half hour or so, wanting to know if Brady was all right, asking after Beatrice. I tilted the screen to let Brady see each one, and there was a flicker of a smile, an acknowledgement, but it was short-lived. What did you say to “are you all right” over and over again? The answer would always be “no” until the Banners knew if Beatrice would recover.

I’d packed a few things to bring. If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was hole up in a hospital. So I had a deck of cards, some books, some magazines, my sketchpad; I offered them to the rest of the group.

“I didn’t even think to bring anything,” Brittany admitted, taking the cards.

“I’ve spent a lot of time in this place,” I shrugged. “You get to know some tricks along the way.”

I could feel the questions they weren’t asking. Belinda picked up a magazine and flipped through it before setting it aside in favor of the game of
Go Fish
Brittany was starting. “Were you sick?” Belinda was the one to finally voice it.

Brady’s arm went around me, and he looked like he was going to shut down that line of conversation. But I answered it, because Brady had a drawer, now, and I was invited to Christmas. They should know. “No. My partner was. He had cancer, and towards the end he got sick a lot. So I kind of learned how to make the time pass a little better.”

They were quiet while I flipped open my sketchpad, trying not to look like a widower or a man who was going to die alone and be eaten by my cat, as Tracy had warned me about so often before she’d set me up with Brady. Brady tugged me a little closer, kissed my temple, and I gave him a slight smile.

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Claire said, and I looked up to find sympathetic expressions all around.

“Thank you,” I told her sincerely.

After another beat of awkward silence, Clint picked up a book of crossword puzzles. “What do you say, Mama Claire?” he asked, waving it around. “I bet I can beat you in these.”

“Those are crosswords, hon,” Brittany told him with a smirk, putting down another card while George pretended not to be stealing a look at her hand. “I don’t think they’re a competitive sport.”

“Oh, just you watch,” Clint informed her with a grin. “Come on, Mama Banner. Best two out of three? Bruno can time us.”

We all settled back in, Brady paging through a magazine, sprawled out on the seats with his back pressed to my side. One of my arms was draped around him, and he played idly with my fingers as he read about the latest celebrity gossip. I drew, slowly at first, absent doodles. But gradually they turned into sketches of the family, of the sadness and worry under their smiles, of the strength each of them wore like a cloak. We hunkered down, this gorgeous family and me, and we waited, as I knew how to do. The waiting I had much experience in.

No one was hungry, but George and I went to get sandwiches at noon anyway. George was a nice guy. We talked in the elevator down to the street. He taught art to kids ranging from fifth graders to high schoolers, and by the time we returned, arms loaded with subs and sodas, I was laughing at his impersonation of a twelve-year-old trying to assure him the reason his sculpture was falling apart was
not
because he had done it the night before and it wasn’t dry, but because he was attempting a homage to Picasso.

George was an easy guy to like. He clearly loved his wife, his family, and his job, and he approached all of them with a steady calm I thought would go well with what I’d seen so far of the Banners. We distributed the sandwiches and I settled back in next to Brady, giving him a sideways look. “Eat,” I commanded him. He grumbled, but obligingly unwrapped the sub and took a bite, shifting so he was back resting against my side.

“So,” I started, hesitantly, “tell me more about Christmas.”

There was a beat and then Brady grinned at me fully, squeezing my hand. “Oh, man, you are in for it,” he decreed and Claire was beaming at me across the room. “Mom goes all out. Tree, lights, the whole thing. And it’s never not snowed. Even if it’s only a dusting, Mom always gets her white Christmas.”

“It’s just not Christmas without snow,” she informed us, looking pleased. “I think Quinn will have a wonderful time with us. Bruno, we’ll have to get him a stocking. Remind me to find a nice pattern once we get back home.”

“Mom knits all our stockings,” Brady explained off of my puzzled look.

“Mine has a fire engine on it,” Clint told me happily. “And a Dalmatian in a Santa hat.”

“We have a whole week of things to do,” Brittany said, stealing a bite of Clint’s sandwich once she’d finished her own. George and I exchanged a grin—he’d told me she’d do that. “Sledding, if we can, or going for a sleigh ride. Sometimes we even carol, if the weather’s good enough. We string popcorn and we bake. It’s kind of like Norman Rockwell, only we drink more.”

“Brittany!” Claire interjected, sounding scandalized.

“Well!” Brittany was laughing, leaning back against her sister. “We do, Mom. Your eggnog is lethal.”

“It’s
Christmas
,” Claire defended. “What’s the point of Christmas if you can’t have a little nip of eggnog?”

“You’ll love it,” George assured me, arm easily looped around Belinda’s waist. “Brady’s Christmas Eve dinners are legends.”

“Then I definitely can’t wait,” I said with a smile, squeezing Brady’s hand.

The swinging doors opened and a woman in scrubs stepped through, going up to Claire and lightly laying a hand on her shoulder. “Claire.” She smiled. “I heard you and your whole clan were here. That’s good.”

“Everyone,” Claire introduced, “this is Sara. She’s the nurse on duty for this floor and she’s been taking care of our Bea.” We all nodded, but no one’s mind was on pleasantries. Sara had news; I could sense the breathless waiting as we watched Sara’s face carefully.

“She’s awake,” Sara said with a smile. “Very groggy, but awake. I was coming out to bring you in to see her.”

Claire clapped both hands to her mouth, closing her eyes and swaying a bit, gratitude and tears tracing across her face. “Oh, thank God,” she whispered, one hand going down to firmly grasp at Bruno’s. “Oh, thank God, our little girl.”

“Follow me,” Sara told them gently. “Probably not all of you at once, but I’ll bring you in in groups, if that’s all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” Brady said, gripping my hand so tightly it ached. His voice cracked a little at the edges. “Mom, Dad, go give her a kiss from us. We’ll come in a minute.”

The rest of the family sagged back into their chairs, watching as Claire and Bruno made their way through the doors and out of sight. Hugs were exchanged, relief so palpable it felt like it’d taken a seat next to us. Brady dragged a hand across his face, and I leaned into him, resting my chin on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” I told him softly.

He smiled at me, taking my hand. “I know.”

I
STAYED
behind in the waiting room while the rest of the family had their moment with Beatrice. Brady had invited me to come, but I felt strange intruding on that. There would be time enough for Beatrice to meet me when she wasn’t groggy from surgery and being embraced by a whole whirlwind of giddy, relieved relatives.

Settling back into my chair, I returned to my sketching. The soft drag of pencil lead against paper was soothing, and I relaxed into it, legs hooked up over the arm of the uncomfortable bench seat, head pillowed on mine and Brady’s jackets. It was only when I felt a dry kiss to my forehead that I realized the family had all filtered back in, sharing smiles and clinging to each other’s hands like children after a long storm had passed.

“She’s talking,” Brittany told me, smile beautiful in her relief. “Cracking jokes, the jerk. We’re all going to grab some dinner and then take shifts tonight.”

“I signed us up for the late night watch,” Brady told me, a question in his eyes. Unsure if he should have. I just nodded.

“Sounds great. I’ll show you the best place to steal coffee. The answer is always ‘bribe the nurses’.”

Brady chuckled and held out his hand to help me up. We shrugged on coats and he wound the scarf around me, the blue soft against my cheek. It had been his, been a part of him I kept close. Now it was just mine. Like he was. Like I was to him. We belonged, in a way that hadn’t been simple or easy at all to navigate through, but it had been right. It had fit, even when it hurt. We fit together now, his arm draped across my shoulders while we walked, his family bumping around us, surrounding us completely.

There was a little diner across the street and we all filed in and helped the waitress push tables together until we had enough room for us all. I wound up sandwiched between Brady and Belinda, and the two of them play fought over the basket of bread we were brought until I stole the last roll with a triumphant grin.

We ordered soups and salads, huddling together over our coffee mugs and talking about absolutely nothing. George’s class stories and Clint’s news from the firehouse mingled into Claire and Brady discussing the perfect way to cook a turkey and Bruno insisting his clam and sausage stuffing was the real star of the show. They’d relaxed, some of that tense, horrible worry fading into familiar smiles and old stories dragged out again to remind them they were still whole. The family was still as it once was; bigger, now, in fact, instead of smaller.

Loaded up with to-go cups of coffee, kissing and hugging everyone good-bye, Brady and I went back to the hospital. “Mom wanted first watch,” he told me, gloved hand curled around mine as we watched the floors ding past in the elevator. “But she and Dad look so tired.”

“It’s good,” I told him. “I’m glad we’re staying.”

He smiled at me then, softly, and we kissed before the doors slid open. He kissed me and I felt like I was coming home. Or finding my way to someplace new, someplace I was learning to feel comfortable in. It was different from Aaron and me. Not better, not worse. It was Brady’s, and I couldn’t begin to compare the two.

Beatrice was asleep when we crept in. There was a long sofa that folded out into a bed; we climbed in under the sheets, curling up together. By some unspoken agreement, we got ready for sleep in silence, winding up with my arms around Brady, our heads resting on the same pillow.

“She looks like you,” I whispered after a long moment watching as Beatrice slept. She had the same cupid-bow mouth, the same golden curls spilled out around her.

“We look like Mom,” Brady murmured back. “Britt and Bel look like Dad.”

“It must be nice. Having siblings.” I sighed and shifted a bit, resting my hand across his stomach. “I like your family.”

“I’m glad.” His voice sounded exhausted; I could see the tense weariness in his shoulders, in the set of his jaw. “They like you too.” Pausing, he turned in my arms to face me, a crease in his forehead. “You didn’t have to say yes to Christmas, if you didn’t want to.”

“I know.” Kissing the tip of his nose, I smiled at him. “I wanted to.”

He smiled at me. I loved it when he smiled. Brady’s face seemed made for it, and it eased something inside of me, some tense, ragged edge smoothing away at the sight of it. “I think you’ll really like it,” he assured me, fingertips tracing a path across my cheek. “It’s peaceful and we’ll take over the attic. Dad installed huge windows up there, you’ll have loads of light to paint by.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“And there’s cranberries.” The creaky voice broke in and Brady sat up, immediately climbing out of the bed to go to his sister. Beatrice was smiling wearily at both of us, lids heavy as she blinked, trying to keep her eyes open. “The cranberries are the best part.”

“I wouldn’t know.
Someone
hogs them every year.” Brady sat on the edge of the bed, fingers combing through his sister’s hair. “Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she responded, but she managed to stick her tongue out at Brady, patting his knee clumsily. “And like I can feel you fretting from here. Don’t worry, Brady, ’m just fine.”