Read In the Middle of the Night for Free Online

Denehan wept together, clutching each other while I roamed the rooms, not knowing what to do, where to go, unable to sit or lie down, unable to eat or drink. On the prowl through the rooms, looking for something but not knowing what. I was afraid to close my eyes because I knew what would happen: I would see Lulu’s eyes, open and staring and seeing nothing.
    The telephone rang, cutting through the moaning. Aunt Mary reached for it, her other arm still embracing Mrs. Denehan and Mrs. Denehan’s face like a bruise, all pain.
    Aunt Mary listened, her face altering, joy suddenly leaping in her eyes, her mouth open in astonishment. Placing the phone against her thin chest, she announced:
She’s alive. Our Lulu’s alive … at the hospital … she’s not dead
 …
    In the hospital room, everything white, walls and ceiling as well as the white cast that enclosed Lulu’s body like a suit of armor and the bandage around her head like a helmet. Her eyes, dark islands in all that whiteness, looked at us as if from some far distance.
    Aunt Mary rushed to her side and I lingered near the doorway. Lulu lay stiff on the bed and did not, maybe could not, lift her arms to receive Aunt Mary.
    You’re alive
, Aunt Mary crooned,
an answer to our prayers, a miracle.
    It wasn’t a miracle
, Lulu said.
    Back from the dead
, Aunt Mary said, shaking her head in wonder.
    I was not dead
, Lulu said, voice sharp and bitter.
    Well, whatever, you’re with us now, back with us
, Aunt Mary said.
    I’m not back with you
, Lulu said, eyes snapping with anger.
I didn’t go anywhere. I’m here. I was always here.
    I finally went to the bed and looked down at her. She closed her eyes and her face closed up, too, shutting us out.
    Later, the doctor spoke to us in a small office at the end of the corridor. An old doctor, eyes bloodshot, hair askew, white jacket soiled, reeking of fire and smoke.
    Poor you
, Aunt Mary murmured.
On the go, all this terrible day.
    I had seen him moving among the injured outside the theater, stethoscope dangling, gnarled hands touching, soothing, passing across bruised flesh.
    He sighed, weary, body sagging in the chair. Then:
Let me tell you about Lulu. A remarkable recovery.
    A miracle
, Aunt Mary said.
An answer to our prayers.
    Some things are hard to explain
, he said, stroking his gaunt face with those old hands.
I’m so tired, so tired. Anyway, we thought we had lost her but she rallied.
    Did her heart stop?
I asked, hearing my voice as if someone else had spoken.
    It’s been a long day
, he said, sighing again. Then, briskly:
Let me tell you about her injuries and the prognosis.
    He spoke of the fractures and the concussion and the months of therapy and rehabilitation ahead.
    He did not say that her heart had stopped.
    But did not deny it, either.
    Later, I said to Lulu:
Tell me what happened.
    Nothing happened
, she said.
    When the balcony came down
, I told her,
I ducked my head, then found myself on the floor, a seat on top of me. Then I began sneezing, stupid sneezes. What do you remember?
    Nothing
, she said.
    But her eyes said otherwise. Those snapping black eyes of hers looked away, and Lulu was never one to look away. Especially from me.
    Didn’t you feel anything, Lulu?
    No.
    Don’t you remember anything?
    You’re repeating yourself
, she said. Then:
I … don’t … remember … anything.
Spacing the words.
What more can I say?
    Why are you so mad?
    She did not answer, but her anger was like heat coming from a stove.
    I knew what I wanted her to say. I wanted her to tell me what happened when her heart stopped beating, whenher blood stopped flowing, when the pulse in her temple became perfectly still.
    What she saw, what she felt, what it was like to die.
    She finally looked me straight in the eye.
    I’m not Lazarus
, she said.
    A long time later, I visited the rehabilitation unit and found her sitting in a chair, bandages removed from her head, wearing a flowered dress Aunt Mary had