And if I’d learned anything from Lilah over the years, it was to listen to her advice because she was almost always right. When she wasn’t right, it was usually due to circumstances beyond her control changing the facts without her realizing it.
But we’d made a pact that first night sleeping in that little tent behind our school. We’d stick together, support each other, and always have each other’s backs.
We were now five years out from that. Lilah followed me from our safe haven with Mort and Sara Francese to northern California, where I attended college and she worked a lot of jobs while riding my ass to excel in college and hold on to my scholarship. Two years after we graduated high school, the Franceses retired, sold the restaurant, and now lived in a one-bedroom condo in the Florida Keys. They had flown out for my college graduation and invited Lilah to move back to Florida with them if she wanted to start over down there, but she’d declined.
And now…
Now it felt like I was about to walk a high-wire during a hurricane with no net.
“Look,” she said. “While I’m in, I’ll have three hots and a cot and medical insurance and learn to do… well, something. And probably earn college credits, right? After I’m out, we can live together, if you still want to.”
I grabbed her hands. “Of fucking course I want to!”
She smiled. “Then see? That’ll work out perfectly, right?” Her smile faded. “Sis, I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t have full confidence in your abilities. But we can’t stay attached at the hip forever. You are going to kick ass, girlie. You need to learn to have as much confidence in you as I do.”
I wanted to believe she was right, but life had a funny way of derailing plans.
Four Years Later
When Lilah awakened from her coma, I was running on maybe four hours of sleep over the previous three days.
A “training accident”.
Not a bullet in a desert somewhere overseas, but some dumbass who’d packed his parachute wrong, and then crashed into her mid-air during a routine jump doing an activity that Lilah had once told me she loved, even as it made me sick to contemplate.
When news had reached us, Mort, Sara, and I immediately converged on the hospital despite the travel time, all of us taking turns staying with her, because we didn’t want to leave her alone despite the staff’s insistence that they’d call us.
But I, especially, knew I couldn’t let her awaken without at least one safe face there to greet her.
Confusion filled her eyes as I repeatedly punched the nurse call button while yelling for someone. I was in my first year of my residency and never in my wildest dreams thought I’d almost lose my sister in a stupid fucking accident.
I stepped to the side, doing my best not to get in the way despite knowing what the hell was going on. I also texted Mort and Sara, who were staying at a residence for patients’ families in a building across the street.
Lilah was still intubated but, from the way she responded to the doctors’ questions, it appeared she hadn’t sustained any lasting brain damage, although her military career was officially over.
Six hours later, they’d extubated her. Mort and Sara returned to their room while I sat next to her and held her hand. “You weren’t supposed to scare the crap out of me,” I scolded.
The meds still had her understandably loopy. She’d already undergone three operations to stabilize her injuries and likely would need two or three more over the next few weeks.
“What… happened?”
“You were damned lucky, that’s what happened. No more GI Jane for you, kiddo. Soon as we get you out of here, you’re moving to Bozeman with me.”
Her gaze narrowed in confusion. “What?”
I held up two fingers. “My apartment’s a ground-floor unit, and I’ve got two bedrooms. It’s your home now. Not to mention I’m five minutes from the hospital and we’ve got a great physical therapy department. Don’t fight me on this, either. Remember, I’m listed as your next of kin and you filled out that medical power of attorney for me. I’ll get you moved to a rehab facility there if you can’t be discharged straight home, but once you’re out of there, you’re living with me.”
She closed her eyes. “Okay,” she whispered.
I leaned in and kissed her forehead. It scared me she wasn’t even trying to argue with me, but maybe once she got her wits about her and they cut back on her medication she’d be thinking clearly and back to her normally feisty self.
I hoped.
Three weeks later, I pushed her wheelchair through my front door. She still needed another operation on her leg, which had been severely fractured in several places, but fortunately was able to be saved. They could do further operations here in Bozeman, at my hospital.
Mort and Sara helped carry her things in. Last week I flew out, rented a truck, and emptied her storage unit, driving everything back and putting what wouldn’t fit in my apartmentinto storage here. Some of my coworkers swapped shifts with me so I could make sure I was home with her for the next several days until she got her bearings and decompressed.
Later that evening, after Mort and Sara returned to their hotel, I carefully curled up with Lilah in her bed and held her as she cried. Finally, once she settled, she shnurffled and laughed.
