Just Yesterday Read Free

My stomach threatens to lurch as my vision blurs, the room becoming nothing more than blobs of color. White. Stainless steel gray. The brown-orange color of dried blood.
    A white sheet is pulled tight over her torso, tucked under her armpits. Her right arm and leg are encased in plaster. Needles and tubes and tape sprinkle and cover every inch of her left arm. My eyes follow one tube and settle on the steady drip, drip of liquid in the bag above her head. The only sound is the steady beep that accompanies the green line that jumps on the heart monitor nearly every second.
    I cannot recognize the swollen features of her face. But I know it’s her by the white-blond strands of hair that lie against the pillow. My eyes try to avoid the matted dried blood that covers most of her scalp.
    “Elizabeth? Is that you?” The voice that reaches me from my left is immediately followed by a shadow that enters my peripheral vision.
    Vaguely, my mind registers the voice. But I am slow to turn and respond. “Mrs. Kaplan.” Connie’s mother is wrapping her arms around me, her small frame pressing against mine as she squeezes tightly.
    When she finally releases me, she stands back and blinks up at me, the red of her eyes in sharp contrast to the pasty white of her skin. She appears so much older than I remember her. My eyes trace the deep lines that etch her cheeks and note that the skin that stretches across her bones seems almost translucent. I take a deep breath, the drastic change in her appearance unnerving me even more. Then we are both talking at once, awkwardly throwing out one line after another.
    “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kaplan.”
    “Thank you for coming, Elizabeth.”
    “I’m so sorry.” I must have repeated the same line a half a dozen times.
    “It was so sweet of you to come all this way.”
    I feel a prickling sensation along my spine and sense rather than see another pair of eyes on me. Almost against my will, I lift my head and find myself frozen by the dark eyes that practically hold me in my place.
    She sits stiffly in a chair at the foot of Connie’s bed, slender arms crossed, dark skin smooth across high cheekbones. Her black hair is smoothed down and slicked back. A splash of red lipstick is the only bright color that adorns her features, as she is dressed completely in shades of brown.
    My mouth grows dry as she lifts her chin, almost regally, and speaks without getting up.
    “I’m Wendy,” she announces simply, as if there is really nothing else of importance to say.
    I nod, remembering Charlene’s comments about Connie’s girlfriend from earlier yesterday. Stepping farther into the room to shake her hand, I think better of it when I see her arms remain firmly crossed against her chest.
    “Liz,” I say finally, introducing myself.
    “Elizabeth Grey?” Her tone doesn’t change, and I’m not certain whether she is asking a question or making a statement. When I nod, she responds again, her voice unchanging. “I know who you are.”
    For several moments I wonder how it is that she has heard of me. Was it from Charlene or Connie’s mother during the past twenty-four hours? Had Connie mentioned me in passing while enumerating the lovers in her past? Had I been the source of some heated argument between her and Connie?
    If she senses my internal debate, she refuses to give any clues. We continue to stare until I can take it no longer, and I refocus on Connie’s mother.
    “How is she doing?” I ask stupidly. It doesn’t take a surgeon to see that Connie’s condition is critical.
    Mrs. Kaplan’s only reply is in the tight, thin line of her lips and the eyes that begin to fill. Her eyes shift to her daughter, and I follow their gaze.
    I am much closer to the bed now and have to breathe deeply to steady myself. I still can’t recognize my ex-lover.
    My eyes catch the glint of stainless steel around her head and I squint, a sick curiosity getting the best of me as my mind begins to comprehend what I am