Christmas, Present Read Online Free PDF Page A

and thinking that this is the last time I will ever see snow. I’m glad it’s now, Ell. Not in summer. I’ve been thinking that the girls would be miserable, with their birthdays in summer . . . though Christmas will always be a problem.”

    A problem, Elliott thought. A problem?
    “Ell?” Laura roused him. He had fallen asleep with his head on her blanket. “It’s okay. I know you’re exhausted. I would sleep myself if I dared . . . miss anything. I’m so tired. But my head. You know, Ell, it feels wonderful. Just having that pain vanish. Free. I want you to do something for me.”
    “The donation forms.”
    “Oh, I did that. While you were talking to the doc- tor.”
    “You did? You didn’t ask me?”
    “Did you want my liver?” Laura smiled, peeking up at him like a pixie and ruffling her short blond fringe. “No, I simply, I just thought we would discuss it.” “Ell, there’s no reason for anything . . . in here to go
    to waste. They can even use a person’s ovaries . . .” “Laura! I can’t think of that.”
    “Well, don’t then. Because that isn’t what I want you to do. I want you to go to the CVS . . .”
    “Laura!” Elliott cried. “We’re in a class A trauma center. What could you possibly need from the CVS drugstore?”

    “Cards,” Laura said. “I want you to get three wed- ding cards for the girls, and three graduation cards, and three blank cards, and a graduation card for my sister Angie. And a pen, a nice color. Maybe purple. And sticky notes. Can you remember that?”
    “Yes, but . . . what if they don’t get married?” “Ell, most people get married.”
    “What if they find it grotesque?”
    “They won’t. It will be a shock. But they’ll find it comforting. You could get a tape recorder, too, and some tapes; but I think that would really be more grotesque, their mother’s voice . . . beyond the grave.” Laura’s smile was watery. “I don’t really think that. I’m lying because I know I’d foul up whatever I had to say, or bawl, and that would break their hearts. Can you give me my makeup kit?”
    “What about me?”
    “I’ve left you a card. Remember? In the nightstand at home.”
    “What about me? Forever?”
    “Well, I’m sorry it has to be you, my love, my dear love, but you’ll be good at this, Elliott. You’re a very

    practical person. You make conscious choices. You think everything over. Everything. And we’ll make notes. Before . . . anything happens. Before I call Mother to bring the girls. I don’t want her to wake them now.”
    “Are you sure you want me to leave you now and go to the CVS?”
    “It’s only a block away. It’s open twenty-four hours, I’m sure.”
    “I mean, leave you?”
    “They said it will be hours, or an hour at least . . . before . . . and then I’ll be . . . pretty okay until the next one. The doctor said.”
    “I don’t want to leave you,” Elliott told her, burying his face in her lap, smelling her skin. He felt a part of himself, below his heart, above his waist, give way like a broken button. That was what they mean, he thought, when they say a part of me died . An organ lapsed into repose, disuse, murdered by disbelief.
    “Well, we don’t have all that much time. Please, Ell. And get me my makeup kit. From my purse. I want to clean up.”

    “Can you get out of bed?”
    “I can do anything I want,” Laura said. “I’m dying.”

    S

    he washed her face carefully with the coarse bar soap provided in the hospital’s tiny steel cubicle
    of a washroom. She hated to use soap on her face. It was a source of pride to her that she had no crow’s-feet and skin as soft as Rory’s. But this was of no conse- quence now. On impulse, she then decided to shower and wash her hair. She rang for a nurse, who, eyes wide with shock, helped her negotiate the IV pole, use a plastic packet of shampoo (Laura refused the offer of conditioner), and slip into a flowered gown, snapped in back. While she was