Cris worked her way through the gossiping nurses and finally found her on the hospital roof, laid flat in the middle of the helipad, in her scrubs, staring up. Mer. Her person. And George was dead downstairs.
Seeing Mer like that, Cris flashed back to Izzie on the bathroom floor, and how angry she had been. Angry at Denny for asking Izzie to marry him and then dying. Angry at Izzie, for giving her heart to a dying guy. Angry at her for acting like such a child, refusing to pick herself up and get out of her dress. But the most infuriating part of it? Cris was angry at God. And she wasn't even sure she bought into God. But you know what? Fuck him anyway.
Fuck him for blood clots on sutures. Fuck him for myocardial infarctions and for metastatic melanoma and for making Bambi such a decent, stupid guy, throwing himself in front of a bus for a stranger.
Lying down next to Mer, Cris could just make out the salt tracks drying across her cheeks, glittering in the lights that circled the helipad. It was perverse, how beautiful Mer looked when she was hurting so badly.
"There's supposed to be meteor showers tonight," Mer said, not moving. "I saw it on the T.V. in the lounge."
"Really?"
"I can't see anything, though. I think it's too bright downtown."
Cris snaked her hand over to Mer's.
"I didn't just make it up right? That really happened? It was George?"
"It was George."
Mer made a noise Cris had never heard before, a bit like a hiccup. Like she was trying to swallow her sorrow whole. Cris scooted over, shifted her head to Mer's chest, put her ear to her best friend's heart. Just to check.
No, it still worked.
