“How is he?”
“Stable.”
“Did the tests show
anything?”
“The doctor will discuss the results with the family tomorrow.”
I almost pointed out that I was his family now.
The words felt too strange to say.
“Can I sit with him?”
The nurse hesitated.
“Of course.”
I took the chair beside the bed.
For nearly twenty minutes, I said nothing.
The nurse returned to her reading.
The river beyond the windows reflected the moonlight in broken silver lines.
Finally, I leaned closer.
“I know you’re awake.”
No movement.
“I saw you close your eyes when the nurse came in.”
His breathing remained even.
“You told me not to call anyone.”
Nothing.
I glanced toward the nurse. Her attention was on the tablet.
“If you’re pretending, you’re making this very difficult.”
Ethan’s little finger moved.
Once.
Relief and fear struck me at the same time.
I lowered my voice.
