Part of him felt bad about how pleased he was when his grandmother had finally left. The rest of him was glad—really, really glad.
The relative silence was a gift, though what he wouldn't give for that murky dull ringing to stop. He was fearful to say it was getting worse but for the time being he could live with it now her nattering was gone.
He was drifting in and out of sleep when Scott woke him up with a start. He was glad to see his brother at first, but then it dawned on him. Scott was couldn't see; the extent of it he couldn't say, but the tightly wrapped bandaging about his face and the padding that sat over his brother's eyes didn't fill him with confidence and then he realised no one had told him about him. Scott had been wheeled in and reached out, patting the bed, seeking his hand, and for the longest time Virgil feared to tell him.
'I can't.'
Two words that crushed him to say. Scott sat and sank. Virgil wanted to say more, to reassure his brother, but how? All he could think to say were lies: sour things that crumbled on his tongue and made him feel sick.
So the two of them sat in silence, enjoying the comfort the presence of the other offered. Scott reached out again. Hand patting along the sheet until he found his torso, resting his fingers there. Eventually Scott fell asleep, leaving Virgil listening to his snoring. It was almost reassuring.
Almost.