Amy Inspired - Bethany Pierce [97]
He didn’t move.
“Brian,” I said.
“Mmm?”
“Do you think the women in these magazines all look the same?”
“What?” he said, annoyed.
I held the magazine up for his inspection. I repeated the question a third time.
“I guess.” He went back to his studying.
Identical. Not the miraculous resemblance of twins, but the frightening uniformity of genetically enhanced clones.
“Like clones,” I said.
“I’m studying, Amy,” he warned.
I traded Modern Bride for Robbins Pathology, studying the pictures of anatomy and of cells, mystified by the charts and hieroglyphic equations. I’d always envied Brian’s talent for science. In high school I loved chemistry but barely managed a C- and that by half copying my lab partner’s homework. I studied hours for anatomy, but skinned by with a D, given not earned. Dr. Brown said I got an A for effort as if it would soften the blow.
All these years later, I still looked longingly at Brian’s books, an illiterate toddler, limited to illustrations.
The call came that night. It wasValerie. She said she’d been trying to get ahold of Zoë to ask about the last surgery, but Jerry picked up her phone instead. Fay had passed away that morning, earlier than anyone had expected.
“I guess she was just ready to go,” Valerie said. “Jerry sounded shocked.”
Brian found me sitting on my bed in the dark, the phone silent in my lap.
“I thought you were talking to someone,” he said.
“Zoë’s mom is gone. She died this morning.”
He ran his hand over his head. He sighed. Sitting beside me, he grabbed my hand, and we were back in elementary school, sitting on the bus together, my hand safely tucked in his.
“Have you talked to her?”
“She won’t want to talk.”
We sat in silence, staring at the rug.
“She’ll need you,” he said finally.
He made me a cup of tea. I didn’t know my brother could brew tea. Marie taught him, he explained. She drank it compulsively while she studied. We sat on the roof, sometimes quiet and sometimes talking. The night was pleasantly cool. In the distance we could hear the hum of students partying. A group of freshmen walked by on the sidewalk. The boys wore pastel-colored shirts paired with plaid shorts. In their eagerness to dress well, they looked as fragile and colorful as Easter eggs.
“Has Marie ever seen a patient die?” I asked.
“She saw a kid die her second week in the clinic. He was only sixteen. She said it was real surreal. Like you knew it was happening but couldn’t quite wrap your mind around it. She’s had to see other patients go since—she doesn’t have time to get to know them, but it’s still hard. You can’t just leave the hospital and step back into ‘normal’ life.”
“Do you think it gets easier?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “A part of me hopes not.”
Brian spent one summer interning in the ER. His resilience mystified me. How could a person stand it—watching people stream in night after night, torn, bleeding, and broken?
When I asked how Marie was doing with her clinics he couldn’t say enough. He was unabashedly admiring of her skills and intelligence. Maybe my difficulty with Marie was not sibling rivalry. Maybe it was jealousy over a career as opposed to jealousy over my brother: She was becoming the scientist I could never be. I would have to come to terms with this.
We talked about their plans and dreams and even about the wedding. Brian said he’d invited Dad to the rehearsal dinner. He was apologetic about it.
“I didn’t want to invite him, but Marie said we should,” he explained.
“Is he coming?”
“I don’t know. We’ve been leaving each other voicemails all week. He’s always vague: ‘Be there if the weather permits, kiddo’ or ‘Juggling a few things, will get back to you.’ ”
“I hope he doesn’t come,” I said. “For Mom’s sake.”
“For all our sakes,” he agreed.
I leaned back in my chair and tried to spot the stars. Tonight they were hidden beneath a purple scrim of light pollution. Or the fog of caffeine blurring my vision from the inside out. Pulling the quilt I’d brought with me tighter around my body, I closed my eyes. I couldn