That night, and every night after it for the following two weeks, I visited Kaylee in the hospital. The first night, she still remembered me. But seeing her was much more painful than I ever could have prepared myself for.
When I first stepped into that drafty hospital room, my heart racing a marathon, I lost it. Even before I saw the scrapes and bruises covering more than half of her exposed skin, and the purple and blue shadows circling her eyes, like eye patches, I burst into tears. You know . . . those messy, uncontrollable ones that only leave you with a mind-eating headache and congested nose. I rushed over to her with shaky limbs, then collapsed on the floor beside her bed and pulled her hands into mine. With my head buried in the scratchy sheet draped over her, I almost missed her whisper my name.
Never had I been more relieved or excited to hear someone say my name before.
"Oh, Kaylee," I whispered, squeezing her delicate, bony hands, "I'm so, so sorry. I can't believe I let this happen to you. I can't believe I put you here. I'm so sorry." I kissed the backs of her hands, clinging to her as if my life depended on it.
She squeezed my hands in return, and I looked up at her still beautiful face, catching the small smile that crept over her lips. Even her glossy eyes smiled at me. I tried to catch my breath, stop the waterworks. For her, for my unbelievably strong, joyful little sis who, even in the worst of times (as she lay bruised and battered, fighting for her own life in a hospital room haunted by illness and death), still had a smile on her face. Being strong for her was the least I could do now.
"Stop it, Avie," she said, her voice hoarse. "You're not responsible for any of this. I promise you're not." Her smile grew, but she closed her eyes, and I could tell it was getting increasingly harder for her to stay awake and alert. "You're my sister, and I love you, no matter what. So please don't blame yourself for all this."
My lips trembled. "But you . . . you could die, Kay," I cried, as my entire body shuddered. "And it's all because I wanted to play that stupid game . . . on that stupid street . . . how can you not blame me?" My heart picked up its pace, which, at that point, I hadn't thought possible, as I waited for her reply.
Her eyelids fluttered open, dreamily. But then she looked at me—really looked at me, as if the next thing she had to say was the most important information in the world and she needed me to understand it—and her eyes were forgiving, her smile confident, as she gave my hand another squeeze and said, "Because you didn't tell me to wait in the car or hit me with that semi-truck, sissy. And no matter what you did, or no matter what happens to me—and I know I could die, Ava, I know what the doctors say—I will always love you with all my heart, to infinity and beyond. Because you're my sister, my best friend, and nothing can change that."
A flicker of relief tickled my belly, and something between a laugh and a sob slipped out of my mouth. To infinity and beyond, I thought, just like old times.
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