Coincidence - Alan May [55]
No one could think of anything to say. They’d been through their situation a dozen times or more already and there were no answers, only unanswerable questions. The light buzzed overhead. Every little sound was magnified: Every throat clearing, every tummy rumble seemed an irreverent intrusion into their silence.
Melissa was still trying to comprehend how her life could have gone in a heartbeat from the unparalleled highs of the past few days to this unparalleled low. She was trying hard not to think that this might in fact be the end of her life altogether.
Her family! Her dear, wonderful parents. And Eric. And Uncle Jack. Would she ever see them again? Would her parents rue for the rest of their days their decision to allow her to apply to Blue Water Academy? And yet, if she had not applied, she never would have had these most amazing, most wonderful experiences of her life, and she never would have met Pierre. Getting through this without Pierre was unthinkable. If indeed they did get through it.
Of course, if she had not become a Floatie and met Pierre, there wouldn’t be this horror to get through in the first place. But not having met Pierre at all was just as unthinkable. Her thoughts went round and round in circles. Her head began to ache.
What time was it anyway? Would this awful day never end?
And if it ever did, how would it end?
20
He heard the voices long before he could make out the words. A vague burble at first, indistinguishable as voices, then clearer. Yes, human voices … two of them, verdad? He recognized one … didn’t he? Sí, he was sure … claro …
The next time he woke his brain felt a little less fuzzy. How long had he been sleeping? That was Phillip’s voice, no cabe duda, but who was the other guy? He pried his eyelids open.
Where the hell was he?
The light was blinding. His eyelids snapped shut again.
“Stefano?”
He half opened one eye, bracing himself for the excruciating brightness.
A face was bending over his, one he’d never seen before. It was blurry, but it seemed to belong to a gringo, a sandy-haired gringo with a neatly trimmed beard, blue eyes, and a steady gaze. A warm hand—did it also belong with this face?—was picking up his own hand, turning it over, feeling his wrist. Suddenly another face appeared on his left.
“You’re doing great, hombre! You had us worried there for a while, man, but Dr. Williams got the bullet out okay. The infection ought to be clearing up in a few days. You’ll be back on your feet in no time!”
Stefano turned his head slightly to the left. It seemed to weigh a ton.
Phillip was peering into his half-open eye. He was blurry, too. His face looked pale—even paler than usual—but he was smiling and nodding his head up and down, up and down.
What was he talking about—bullet? Infection? Why couldn’t he get his own mind to think straight? His mouth felt like sludge. He tried to form the confusion in his brain into a coherent question, but the words wouldn’t come together. Even if they had, he doubted his lips and teeth and tongue would have known what to do with them.
“You’ve had surgery, Stefano,” the voice that wasn’t Phillip’s said.
Stefano rolled his leaden head toward the right and squinted at the face.
“You’ll be a little groggy for another half hour or so, but the effects of the anesthetic will start to wear off quickly now.”
This must be Dr.—Dr. What? The doctor Phillip was talking about.
“I was able to get the bullet out with no problem. The infection was pretty nasty—a few more hours without treatment and I believe you’d have lost that leg—but it’s responding nicely to the antibiotic. You’re very lucky.”
Now the doctor was helping him lift his head up a few inches. Propping him up with more pillows.