The Book of Living and Dying Read Online Free Page A

parents. It had been worse at the hospital, though.
    Most of the patients on the west wing’s third floor hadn’t a clue that it was Christmas. The rest made shrines of the few cards they received, the occasional installation punctuated by a blood-red poinsettia, which the nurses often confiscated. In the sterile and controlled world of chronic care, a poinsettia was a potentially lethal object, believed to harbour enough poison to kill a curious forager. Visiting hours would not be extended despite the season and the two-visitor rule would not be bent. This was not a concern for most of the visitors.
    Christmas was a difficult time for chronic care staffi who silently begrudged the care of patients that offered no hope of healing, Christmas miracles aside. It was much merrier in the obstetrics ward with the bundles of new babies to help ring in the holidays. More than one nurse entered Room 319 smelling mysteriously of alcohol, officious voices grating to a higher than normal pitch.
    New Year’s Eve was even harder to bear. A covert visit had to be arranged. Sneaking by the nurses’ station, past the gaping doorways that lined the hall, “Happy New Year” whispered through the dark, voices hushed so as not to be heard, until the nurse appeared, glaring, in the doorway.
    Sarah snapped the binder shut and gathered up the photos, returning them to the bottom drawer. She wouldn’t think about sad things right now. She wouldn’t think about ghosts or anything else that frightened her either. She would think about Michael. Slipping back beneath the covers, she stared across the room and waited for sleep to come.
    Donna jumped on her as soon as she entered the classroom. “Where were you last night?” She pursed her lips and popped her gum accusingly, narrowing her black-ringed eyes as she rested her oxblood Doc Martens on top of Sarah’s desk.
    Sarah shoved Donna’s feet to the floor. “Do you mind?”
    “I know where you were.”
    “Is that right?” Sarah dug through her knapsack, checking to see if she’d brought the right books to class. “And how do you know that, super sleuth?”
    “Peter told me.”
    “Peter?” Sarah feigned composure. That weasel. Of course he’d told her.
    “Yeah. He said you and Mortimer were right chummy with each other.”
    “Stop calling him that.”
    “So Peter was right, then?”
    There was no hiding now. “Yeah, Peter was right. Michael walked me home, that’s all. What’s wrong with that?”
    “Michael, huh? So now you’re on a first-name basis? That’s how it starts. Did he try to touch you?”
    “Who’s the pervert here, Donna?” Sarah snapped. “Get your kicks somewhere else. God, sometimes you’re so weird.”
    “I can see you’re still feeling
sensitive
.”
    “That’s right.” Sarah stood up, flung her bag onto her shoulder and marched from the room. She wasn’t swallowing any of Donna’s poison today. The last thing she needed was to be interrogated. Donna was such an idiot sometimes, the way she pushed things. She was a wildcard, a loose cannon, always getting Sarah in trouble, or embarrassing her, or getting her kicked out of places she didn’t want to getkicked out of. She was a liability with her aggressive ways, always going on about something—or nothing. At least it seemed like nothing to Sarah.
    The sunlight was blinding as she burst into the alleyway, escaping the sombre atmosphere of the school and the hordes of students crowding to get in. The day was bright and cool. A perfect fall day. A perfect day to skip class. A group of stoners stood smoking in a huddle against the wall. Sarah wondered what it would be like to be stoned that early in the morning. Some kids did it all the time. One guy had even passed out in class once. The school had instated locker inspections immediately after.
Good work,
Sarah thought as she walked past the group, a cloud of smoke hanging over them like a prophecy. One guy waved her over, offering a toke. She