Coma Girl: part 2 Read Online Free PDF

the next few days.”
    The car isn’t worth saving, but fixing it seemed important to Dad for some reason… I suppose it gives him something to focus on.
    “I know your mom talked to you about moving back home for a while when you get out of the hospital, and I figure you might like to take some time off to recover fully before you go back to work. So I was thinking… maybe you could go with me on the road for a few days. How does that sound?”
    It sounds as if he’s trying to hit the rewind button… and it’s a sweet gesture. But I’m already wondering what we’d talk about for hours and hours in the car.
    “It wouldn’t be all sales calls,” he said. “We could stop off and see some museums and maybe hit a few flea markets. Do you still collect books?”
    I’m more into eBooks these days, but I still wander into bookstores occasionally. Tabitha and I meet for tutoring sessions at a public library, and it had reignited the luddite in me. Dad isn’t much of a reader, but it’s nice he remembered I am.
    “Maybe stop at a casino to play the slots and see a show? Would you like that?”
    Who wouldn’t?
    “And there are lots of state parks along my route. We could go hiking. How does that sound, sweetheart?”
    It sounds nice, Dad.
    “I said, how does that sound? ”
    It sounds nice, Dad.
    “I said, HOW DOES THAT SOUND?”
    He’s shouting now and banging his fist on something, which, if you know my quiet father, is uncharacteristic and rather terrifying.
    The door burst open and a voice I recognized as Nurse Teddy’s said, “Is everything okay in here?”
    “Yes,” my dad said, sounding more like himself. “I’m sorry. I… don’t know what came over me.”
    “It’s okay,” Teddy said, but his voice was tentative, as if he were scanning my father for signs of another outburst. “Would you like to talk to someone, Mr. Kemp?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “A Chaplin, perhaps, or maybe a family counselor?”
    “You mean a shrink?”
    “Not necessarily, but someone who understands what you must be going through.”
    “No one understands what I’m going through,” my dad said in a low voice. “And we’re not the kind of people who talk about our problems.”
    “Okay,” Teddy said gently. “But visiting hours are over, so maybe you should call it a night. The patients need their rest.”
    “Right,” my dad said, sounding utterly defeated. “I’m not helping. I’ll go.”
    When he left, I wondered how things were at home between him and Mom. They hadn’t visited together in a while—were things strained?
    If their relationship is strained, I’ll never know. We aren’t the kind of people who talk about our problems.
     
     
     
     

August 13, Saturday
     
     
    “IF YOUR MAIL KEEPS ROLLING IN AT THIS RATE, one of us is going to have to sleep with the super.”
    Roberta heaved a sigh as she dropped into the chair next to my bed.
    “And seeing as how you don’t seem inclined to get out of that bed, I guess I’m going to have to take one for the team.”
    Her laugh cheered me considerably. I’d gotten so worked up over not being able to signal anyone about feeling my fingers and toes, every little thing set me off. I was angry at the unending classical music rotation, angry at the useless rosary hanging from my bed rail, angry at the machines beeping around me.
    I totally understood my dad going off when he visited, because inside, I, too, was railing at God. Why did this happen to me?
    And like most of the men in my life, God is leaving me hanging.
    “I brought a brownie cake milkshake for dinner,” she said, slurping. “Brought one for you, too. Want a sip?”
    Since I can smell the rich chocolate, I assume she’s holding the straw near my mouth. I tried to make my lips move, but my brain was like sludge—maybe I’d fried it from all the internal tantrums.
    “No? Okay, more for me.”
    Another hearty slurp sounded, then she tore open an envelope and described the sweet card