“Tell him that,” Santiago says.
Mercedes gets up, moves her chair out of the way and pushes the blanket off my thighs. I’m grateful to be wearing a hospital gown and a pair of pajama bottoms.
“Lois brought those for you,” she says. I would have put the top on too but—"
“It’s fine.” I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”
Santiago looks at me disapprovingly but helps me sit up, which is an effort, then helps me into the chair, which he pushes as the nurse clicks her tongue, threatening to tell the doctor. Does she think any of us give a fuck?
Mercedes walks beside me, and I hold her hand, turning her wedding ring around and around, trying to understand what we did to deserve this as our punishment. This horror on our wedding day.
But I can live with that. I think she can too.
At the end of the hall, we turn into the private room where machines beep all around my brother, breathing for him, pumping his heart, monitoring every minuscule shift in him as he lies helpless on the bed, eyes closed, a tube taped to his mouth to give him breath.
I can live with the horror of that wedding day.
But what I can’t live with is my brother dying before I can tell him I forgive him and that I’m sorry I haven’t been the brother he needed for so long.