The Ables by Scott Jeremy

Author:Scott, Jeremy [Scott, Jeremy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Clovercroft Publishing
Published: 2015-04-30T16:00:00+00:00

The Ables – Part Three: Winter

Chapter 17: Moving On

Winter came suddenly, with a week-long chill that went straight to the bone. One day it was fifty degrees and the next, twenty. One day we were playing in the yard outside—or pretending to, at least—the next we were lighting a fire in the fireplace.

Dad had always been good about going out early to warm up the car, and I had always been thankful for it. The vents on the dash blew warm gusts of air over my face as we drove. I wasn’t used to riding in the front seat for family outings. In the back seat, the vents are down on the floor, so the air comes up at you from below. In the front seat, though, there are vents everywhere. On the dashboard, under the seat, in the center console. You’re surrounded by a constant blanket of heat from head to toe.

The comforting heat did little to take away the sting of why I was able to ride in the front seat in the first place. We were going to visit Mom.

It had been several weeks since the incident in the cornfield, and though the three of us had managed to form some measure of a new routine, we were far from ready to live without her.

It was hard on Patrick, I could tell. He didn’t speak much at all anymore, and his hyperactivity had totally vanished. He was on autopilot, and it was obvious that Dad was getting worried about him too. If only Patrick knew what had really happened—his shock would be even worse.

Dad seemed to be driving slowly, but it could have just been the traffic. After making this trip several times now, I had the route down cold, but I could never account for other cars on the road. I wondered if maybe it just seemed slower, you know … because.

I mean, all three of us wanted to go, on some level. But none of us really enjoyed it. It’s not easy seeing your mother in a coma.

There’s no way to say this without looking like a jerk, but I can’t tell you how hard it was to go into that room. Every single time. No matter how many times we visited, it never got any easier. I wanted to visit my mother for certain, but it was just … hard.

Henry had accompanied me on an early visit—so that I’d be able to actually see her—and those images would pop up again in my head again every time we went. I had insisted he come, against my father’s advice, because I wanted to be brave. I wish I’d never done that.

Mom lay on her bed as always, motionless and silent. Machines stood guard all around the head of the bed, beeping and whirring. The breathing machine was the worst one, and the sound it made would appear in my nightmares for years. In … and out. In … and out. It was mechanical, droning, and awful.

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