Chapter 5 - The Glass Shatters
Waking up from general anesthesia is like clawing through miles of wet cotton.
The first thing I registered was the steady, rhythmic *beep... beep... beep* of the cardiac monitor to my left. The second was the heavy, thudding weight on my right side.
My right arm was suspended in a blue foam sling, resting on a pillow elevated above my heart. From the knuckles of my right hand up to my mid-bicep, a thick, white fiberglass shell held me rigid. Two small metallic caps protruded slightly from the side of the cast—the ends of the surgical pins Dr. Chen had driven into my bones.
The white-hot, snapping pain was gone, replaced by a deep, throbbing ache that felt distant, buffered by the IV drip connected to the back of my left hand.
“Chloe?” a voice whispered.
I turned my head slowly on the thin hospital pillow. Megan was sitting in the vinyl armchair next to the bed, her eyes red-rimmed, holding a plastic cup with a bendy straw. Carol was asleep in the recliner by the window, an institutional blanket pulled up to her chin.
“Hey,” I croaked, my throat feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
“Drink this,” Megan said gently, holding the straw to my lips. The cold water was the best thing I had ever tasted in my entire life.
“What time is it?” I asked, blinking against the dawn light filtering through the heavy vertical blinds.
“It’s almost six in the morning,” Megan said, her voice shaking slightly. “Chloe... you were in surgery for almost two hours.”
I looked down at the cast. “Did they fix it?”
“They had to put pins in,” Megan whispered. “The doctor said... he said if Mom hadn't gotten you out of the house when she did, you might not have been able to play the piano or write again. The wrap your mom put on was cutting off the blood.”
I closed my eyes. The image of my mother kneeling on the kitchen floor, wrapping that beige elastic around my arm while checking the kitchen clock to see when the caterers were arriving, burned behind my eyelids.
She had known. Deep down, she had seen the bone. But keeping Vanessa calm had become a reflex, an addiction that governed every breath our family took.
The heavy wooden door to room 314 clicked open.
I expected a nurse with medication. Instead, the door swung wide, and Vanessa strode into the room.
She was still wearing the emerald linen dress from the night before, but it was crumpled, the hem stained with red wine. Her mascara was smeared under her eyes, and her hair was pulled back in a messy, chaotic bun. Connor was hovering awkwardly in the hallway behind her, looking miserable and desperately wanting to be anywhere else on earth.
“Vanessa?” I breathed, my heart rate monitor instantly picking up speed—*beep-beep-beep-beep*.
“You happy now?” Vanessa hissed, slamming the door shut behind her, ignoring Megan completely.
Carol bolted awake in the recliner, instantly alert. “Vanessa! What are you doing in here?”
Vanessa didn't look at Carol. She marched right to the foot of my bed, her hands clenched into fists, her breath smelling of stale alcohol and mint gum.
“Do you have any idea what you did last night?” Vanessa snarled, her voice trembling with an incandescent, narcissistic rage. “The police showed up at our house, Chloe! Two squad cars pulled into the driveway while Connor’s friends were still there! They made everyone leave! Connor’s fraternity president was there! Everyone saw it!”
I stared at her, pressed back into the hospital pillows, my left hand clutching the bedsheet.
“Vanessa, she just had surgery,” Megan yelled, standing between Vanessa and the bed. “Get out of here!”
“Shut up, Megan!” Vanessa snapped. “This is my family! Mom and Dad are sitting down in the cafeteria like criminals because of her! Dad was crying, Chloe! Dad never cries! All because you couldn't handle a simple fall without calling the Sullivans to stage a dramatic rescue!”
“A simple fall?” Carol’s voice cut through the room like a whip crack.
Carol stood up, her five-foot-four frame suddenly projecting the authority of an avalanche. She stepped directly into Vanessa’s space, her finger pointing toward the fiberglass cast suspended on the foam wedge.
“Look at her arm, you selfish, entitled little girl,” Carol commanded, her voice dropping into a register of terrifying intensity. “Look at it!”
Vanessa’s eyes flicked to the cast, to the surgical pins, to the dark bruising on my exposed fingertips. For a fraction of a second, something shifted behind her eyes—a flicker of cognitive dissonance, the reality of what had happened threatening to breach the fortress of her self-obsession.
Then, just as quickly, the wall went back up.
“She probably jumped off the ladder on purpose,” Vanessa whispered, her voice venomous. “She’s been trying to ruin my life ever since she was nine years old.”
The door flew open.
Deputy Miller and Dr. Shaw stepped into the room, flanked by two hospital security guards.
“Miss Mercer,” Deputy Miller said, his hand already unhooking the leather strap on his baton. “You were explicitly informed in the lobby that this floor is under protective restriction. You are in violation of a county protective order.”
Vanessa whirled around, her chin jutting out defensively. “I’m her sister! I have a right to talk to her! She’s lying to everyone about what happened!”
“Security, remove her,” Dr. Shaw said without hesitation.
The two guards stepped forward, each taking one of Vanessa’s arms.
“Don't touch me!” Vanessa shrieked, struggling against their grip as they propelled her toward the hallway. “Connor, tell them! Connor, do something!”
Through the open door, I saw Connor take three steps backward down the corridor, shake his head in utter mortification, turn around, and walk briskly toward the exit elevators, leaving her completely alone.
“Chloe!” Vanessa screamed as the guards escorted her past the nurses' station, heads turning from every patient room. “You’re destroying this family! You hear me? You’re destroying us!”
The heavy double doors of the trauma unit swung shut, cutting off her voice.
Silence flooded back into room 314. The only sound was the monitor, still beeping rapidly, tracking my pounding heart.
Carol walked over to the bed, sat down on the edge of the mattress, and took my left hand in both of hers. Her hands were warm, steady, and lined with work.
“Take a deep breath, sweetheart,” Carol whispered, smoothing a stray lock of hair off my forehead. “It’s over. She can’t touch you here.”
I looked at the white cast on my arm, then looked up at Carol. The tears I had been holding back since I fell on that kitchen floor finally spilled over, soaking into the thin cotton pillow.
“She really thinks I did it on purpose,” I sobbed, my chest heaving with five years of buried grief. “She really thinks my pain is just an attack on her.”
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“I know, baby,” Carol said softly, pulling me into a gentle, careful embrace that didn't jar my broken bone. “That’s because she’s sick in a way medicine can’t fix. But you don't have to carry her sickness anymore. I promise you, Chloe. You are never going back to that house.”
***
