Cut back to Soliloquy Karen, murmuring, "It's been so long since I've sat and felt the sun on my face."
Karen's eyes are still again, fixed on the closest thing in their range: her hand. She moves her fingers a little, as if to prove to herself that she's still there. The movement takes everything she's got.
"Oh, Judy! You didn't say that!" Lily exclaims into the phone while setting the table. "What did he say? Wait -- hold on. Let me get rid of this," she says, clicking to the other line. "Rick! Hey honey, listen, can I --" Lily straightens, her face draining. "Oh, dear god," she breathes, lifting a hand to her chest. "Oh my god! Tell me she's okay," she says, moving trancelike toward the stairs. "No, no, no, she's here." She holds the phone to her chest and calls upstairs for Jessie. Jessie, innocent, comes bounding down the stairs. She stops when she hears Lily ask, "What hospital?" Lily looks up at her. Jessie slowly finishes descending the stairs, never taking her eyes off Lily. "Okay," Lily says into the phone, before holding it out to Jessie. Jessie looks at it like it's lit dynamite. The last thing she wants to do is hold that phone. Reluctantly, she takes it, already bleary-eyed, already knowing that what she hears will devastate. "Hello?" she says weakly. She listens, looking off. Sharp intake of breath. "Mommy?" Her legs buckle and her face crumples. Lily rushes forward. Jessie drops the phone, staring blankly. She sobs. Looking up at Lily, she pleads, "I want my mommy!" Lily tries to hold her, assuring her they're going to the hospital right now. "No!" Jessie cries, pushing her hands away. "Eli! ELI!" she wails. Every hair on my body raises. Eli is slackered out in his room. Jessie's shrieks rouse him, and he sits up with a sinking feeling.
Cut to a hospital corridor, where Karen's on a gurney, being wheeled into an operating room. Doctors slap on rubber gloves and mutter stats in the background, while a tranquil Soliloquy Karen slurs, "Is it all right if I rest now? Would that be okay?" Her eyelids slide shut.
The camera pans up Karen's shattered, braced leg to tubes crisscrossing her chest, to her face, still bloodied. Her breath is raspy as she stares, unseeing, at the ceiling. A pair of hands slips an oxygen mask over her face. Darth Vader breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The ghostlike breath carries through a black screen to commercials.
When we return, Karen's still with us. A doctor opens her eyes and shines a light in each one, noting that her "pupils are round and reactive. That's good." Karen's eyes follow his movements through the slits of her eyelids.