Healing Waters Read Online Free

frantically at my tunic and found the strings of my tattered hem. I was tying them together when Chip found me.
    â€œBabe,” was all he said. I let him pull me against his chest, but I couldn’t cry. I went numb, and I thanked God for that.
    â€œIt’s not good,” I said into his shirt. “Her whole face—”
    â€œDon’t, Lucia. She’ll get the best treatment here. Just think about that.”
    â€œThey had to intubate her—I don’t know if there’s damage to her lungs.”
    Chip pulled me in tighter. “You can stop being the nurse now,” he said.
    â€œIf that were your sister, could you stop being the doctor?”
    It was out before I could catch it and stuff it back in.
    â€œI already stopped being a doctor,” he said.
    I made a halfhearted attempt to pull him back to me as he stood up. We must have cut a pathetic vignette for the doctor who appeared in the doorway.
    â€œDan Abernathy,” he said, putting out his hand. “I’m a burn surgeon. I’ll be taking care of—your sister, is it?”
    I nodded as I put a clammy palm in his. When he reached for Chip, I saw the flicker of recognition.
    â€œChip Coffey,” Chip said, even though there was no need. Dr. Abernathy’s eyes had already narrowed.
    â€œI’m just here as the brother-in-law,” Chip said.
    I plastered both hands to my forehead. “Okay, so—what’s the prognosis?”
    Chip folded his arms, took a step back. Dr. Abernathy turned his attention to me and motioned us to chairs. Chip moved against the wall.
    â€œI know it’s bad,” I said. “I’m a nurse. I want the full story.”
    The “story” unfolded with increasing degrees of horror, from possible injury to Sonia’s lungs, which they would know more about in forty-eight hours, to second- and third-degree burns over 9 percent of her body, including the hands that she’d used to try to cover her face. That was only Chapter One.
    Chapter Two still lay ahead, in waiting at least two weeks for the wounds to close and a few more months after that for scars to completely set up. The doctor tried to convince me he had some good news. The face regenerates well, he said, so once her body started healing itself, they could excise and graft. Because her injuries were limited to her upper extremities, they’d have plenty of donor sites elsewhere on her body.
    If that was the good news, we were in trouble. Still, as long as we talked in clinical terms, I could stay numb and pretend to be the unflappable nurse.
    But when Dr. Abernathy took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, and put the specs back on, I caved. He was stalling.
    â€œWhat else?” I said.
    â€œHer eyelids have been compromised.”
    â€œMeaning—”
    â€œThey’ve retracted.”
    â€œWill she be blind?”
    â€œNo. But her eyes will always be open.”
    He seemed to wait for that to sink in before he went on about keeping her corneas moist, and using a prosthesis to hold her mouth open so it wouldn’t draw down.
    I remained trapped in the image of my sister, unable to close her eyes to sleep or listen or capture her own vision when she sang— out of a mouth that wanted to lose itself in her chest.
    â€œIt’s a lot to take in, I know.” Dr. Abernathy regarded me with soft eyes. “This kind of injury can be as difficult a loss as a death.”
    â€œThe loss of her face.”
    I didn’t mean to sound hard and flat, but I had to remain a board that could only handle Post-it notes—basic facts in small pieces that I would organize later.
    â€œI don’t know how much experience you’ve had with burn patients—”
    â€œAlmost none,” I said.
    He dragged in a breath. “She’s lost a lot of facial function, and I’m not going to lie to you, her appearance is going to be drastically altered. Returning her to any