From a Distant Star by Karen McQuestion Read Free Book Online

Lucas wanted me there. Out of all the people in the world, I was the one he’d called by name.
    At some point, Eric brought his laptop in to watch a movie. When Lucas seemed interested in the sound, Eric moved the side table around and set up the laptop there so his brother could see it too. All afternoon Eric and Lucas watched continuously: first, an old western, then
Mean Girls
(little did I know it was one of Eric’s favorite movies), and then reruns of some of their favorite shows from when they were kids. Later, they watched some funny video clips. Lucas focused on the screen with an incredible intensity, like he was going to be tested on it later or something. At one point, Mrs. Walker said, “Eric, don’t you think this is enough? Lucas must be getting tired.”
    I waited for Eric to shut it off, but he just shrugged and said, “No, he likes it. You like it, don’t you, Lucas?” As if to prompt him, Eric nodded and in response, Lucas’s head bobbed up and down in the same way.
    Lucas seemed to be back, but he still wasn’t interacting much, besides a few nods and saying two words (one of which was my name!). Mrs. Kokesh’s warning about possible brain damagecrossed my mind, but I didn’t let it bother me. I had said I wanted Lucas back no matter how it ended up and I meant it.
    In the afternoon, he started eating and drinking on his own, which I took as a good sign. I watched Mr. and Mrs. Walker exchange looks of amazement as he devoured a ham and cheese sandwich, and I nearly clapped when he finished the last crumb and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He was making progress, even if it was slow. It was unreasonable to expect much more at this point. I’d pulled him back from the brink of death. His recovery, I reasoned, wasn’t going to be instantaneous. I wished he’d show more interest in me than the laptop, but I figured we’d have the rest of our lives to be together. All in good time. Right now, I was willing to let Eric have him. The poor kid had been living in fear of his brother’s impending death for months and months; he was due for something good. I would have loved to have Lucas all to myself, but I wasn’t completely selfish.
    When the doorbell rang that evening, we all knew it was Nancy, the visiting nurse, arriving at her scheduled time. Mr. Walker went to let her in and Mrs. Walker followed, leaving me and Eric and Lucas alone in the dining room. I listened as Nancy bustled in as usual, depositing her laptop on the kitchen table while asking how the previous day had gone. I could picture the way she stood, hand on hip, always the authority. Lucas’s parents were telling her about the recent, unexpected developments. Their voices were subdued, but I edged closer to the doorway and caught some of what they were saying.
    Nancy never missed an opportunity to say she’d been a hospice nurse for sixteen years and she was telling them now that she’d seen
everything
. No two patients were alike, but there were definite patterns. And then she started talking about how some patients rally (oh, how I was beginning to hate that word) and how family members and other loved ones project their hope for a recovery and sometimes see more than is really there. “My job is really hardsometimes,” Nancy said. “Besides providing medical care, I sometimes find families rely on me for emotional support too. They see a little thing and make more of it than it is and then I have to be the one to bring them down to earth.”
    She was so full of herself, and until recently, I seemed to be the only one who noticed this fact. But now Mrs. Walker was growing wise to her. “I understand all of that, Nancy, but believe me, that’s not what’s happening. You have to see him,” she said sternly. “He ate a sandwich and a full bowl of pudding. He spent all afternoon watching movies with his brother. His urine is
yellow
.”
    “Oh.” From the tone of Nancy’s voice, I could tell she was taken aback, but she