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think I said not yet. I needed to figure Out what to say,how to tell them
it was over-"

"Which one?" I asked sharply.
He didn't respond.
"Which one did you need to tell it was over? Elle? Or Carly?"
David remained mute, dropping his hand from the window.
The moist imprint of his flesh on the glass was poised for a view mo-
ments, then dissolved, leaving a hazy streak.
I turned to glance through the window: hearing the beep,
beep, beep of the machine pulse steadily, an unhurried, measured
rhythm counting out the seconds, declaring the passage of time not tri-
umphantly, but placidly, as though in the hospital room all the time in
the world existed. I imagined minutes would stretch into hours, expand-
ing into days, with pressure swelling to unplug the machine or pray for
Carlys return to consciousness. Either way, the beeps would be silenced,
yet for now they rang on, counting down, sandwiched by intervals of
silence like deep, calming breaths.

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