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  I gape at her.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be.” She spins the silver rings on her fingers. “Is your pain medication taking effect yet?”

  “I don’t … know.” Fear creeps around my shoulders but then flops off. What is there to be afraid of? The fresh blanket poofs warmth onto my face. “I’m so sleepy,” I say. “Dreamy … dreamy, dreamy.”

  “Sounds like it’s starting to work.”

  “May — ​be?”

  The lady moves out of the room.

  “Hold your breath for fifteen seconds,” the machine says.

  Huuup.

  Don’t pee. Don’t pee.

  CHAPTER 8

  Haddings

  8:28 am

  As the time dragged, I did text the department head at the high school and told her I wouldn’t be in today. I suggested the kids use the session as a study hall and gave no explanation for not coming in. It was ridiculous to think of teaching, but I couldn’t get those students off my mind. They are my responsibility, too, and I hope I’ll have a chance to make up the material at some point … that is, if I still have an opportunity to teach.

  The cops slowly route traffic through one lane. In the side mirror, I watch someone pull up in a blue Volkswagen Beetle and pick up Cydni. She glowers at me as she rolls past in the car.

  After what seems like forever, a policeman returns and says I’m free to go.

  “Thank you,” I say. With a trembling hand, I shove the key into the ignition. Starting my car, my stomach turns over faster than the engine when I pull into traffic.

  9:06 am

  Oblivious to the drive, I’m suddenly in a parking spot in the packed hospital garage. Adrenaline flying, I yank up the emergency brake. It should have taken thirty-five minutes or so to get here. No, it should have been worse than that with the morning commute. How fast was I speeding? I could have hit someone else. I groan and shake my head to clear it.

  Sarah’s helicopter flight was probably like ten minutes, tops. At least they got her here as fast as possible. I turn from the thought that she needed it and cram on a baseball cap. Stretching past my leather coat, I nab my denim jacket from the backseat and yank it on.

  Hesitating a second, I riffle through the bag of kids’ journals and pull Sarah’s little notebook out; it’s something that makes it seem like she’s close and all right. I tuck it into my pocket. “Okay.” I take a deep breath, hoping to slow my pulse. Just find out what’s going on and then you can figure out what you need to do. Keep a level head so you’re ready to react clearly to whatever has happened. “Okay,” I gulp.

  After locking up, I jog to the elevator and an obvious realization hits me. “No one in Sarah’s family is going to want to see me after what I did. No one,” I mutter. I push the up button. But I still have to know how she is, and it’s still my responsibility to see if there’s anything I can do. Right?

  9:10 am

  “Nothing,” the attendant says, “if you aren’t immediate family.” He sits behind the high, orange desk, which makes this feel more like a hotel than a hospital, and clicks his pen.

  “You can’t tell me anything?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  I walk across the shiny floor and drop into a maroon chair in the corner of what I think is the main lobby. Someone from the family is bound to show up soon.

  My phone buzzes with a text. The department head’s cryptic message acknowledges she got mine. Great. I won’t think any more about it. I can handle the remaining high school issues and also the university later.

  Scrolling down, there’s my mom’s text to have a good day. Yeah, right. With my thumbs poised to reply at least to her, I glance up and notice the no cell phone signs. I tap off my phone’s power and wrap my arms around my waist while staring at the little plant sitting in the center of the small side table. Miscellaneous families and friends pause around the nearby tall pillars, orienting themselves and making plans before the hospital swallows them from sight.

  After a stream of people are processed into the system, a guy tears through the electric doors, his sneakers squeaking. “I need to find my sister.” He slaps the curved reception counter. “Sarah McCormick.”

  Bingo. The attendant checks the computer and points to a map beneath the counter’s glass surface.

  “Um, where is that?” the kid asks.

  The man smiles and clicks his pen. “Down this hall, take the elevator to Wing C. Stepping out, take a right, go past the chapel and gift shop, then turn at the second left, where you’ll see another bank of elevators. From there, go down to the basement. Make one more right, and follow the signs to the waiting room for friends and family of emergency patients. Be sure to take a moment and appreciate the big fish tank, which is brand new and lovely. That waiting room is where a doctor will let you know how your sister is doing. My system shows she’s having a CAT scan right now. Okay then?”

  The brother shoves his hand through his buzzed blond hair. “You’re serious?”

  “Is there a problem?” A patronizing smile. “Let me explain one more time.”

  The kid listens to the instructions again and then takes off before I can decide whether to introduce myself.

  I hustle after him, but he’s already out of sight. I find the elevators and dart into an open one, but there’s no button to indicate Wing C. A woman in a white coat and a surgery cap enters.

  “I’m looking for the basement of Wing C?” I say.

  She holds down the open button. “The elevator you need is at the end of the hall.”

  “Thanks.” I rush out, find the elevator, and make my way past the chapel and gift shop, hurrying all the way to the right floor. I nearly stumble into the brother and maybe his mom, standing at another desk. The thin woman tucks her straight brown hair behind her ear and clutches her purse to her chest. All in black, it looks as if she’s already mourning. I take a step forward to say hello, until I hear her say, “I could kill the person who did this to your sister.”

  Slipping into an adjacent, empty waiting room, I take a seat in a slick tan chair and flip open a National Geographic. My intuition was right — ​there’s no way Sarah’s mom wants to lay eyes on me right now. It would be no help at all, a detriment even.

  “Do you understand, Mrs. McCormick?” the attendant asks her. “We will not let you see Sarah if you can’t control your emotions. We can’t have you upsetting her.”

  Another reason for me to stay out of sight.

  “I won’t,” the mom says, looking down and signing a form. And another. “This is her brother, Luke. He won’t either.”

  The employee pushes more paperwork across the desk. “This form allows the hospital to update any friends who might call. Do you want to sign it?” she asks.

  I peek over the top of the shiny page. She does sign. Perfect! I could go home and call in for the status updates if I wanted. My grip tightens on the magazine, and I don’t get up.

  Can you tell I’m here, Sarah? As your teacher and the one who caused all this, I care for you. I bite my lip and close my eyes. What have I done to your future? If, if you have one. I swallow my tears. What have I done to mine?

  “I have to see my daughter. Please!” says her mom.

  “Follow me.” The woman stands and leads them past the room I’m in. “Sarah’s finishing her second CAT scan,” the woman’s voice carries. “But a police officer has arrived, and he can give you details about the accident.”

  My strength slips while my ears catch fire trying to hear anything else, but the group has moved out of range. I set aside the magazine and lean forward into my hands. Freed, my tears drip through my fingers.

  Just when I manage to get it together again, I hear them returning. I snatch a tissue from the box on the side table and swipe my eyes and nose.

  “Can you believe that, Luke?” the mother says, stopping right outside the small waiting room. “Thirty-five in a twenty-five?”

  “It’s crazy. But, Mom? Mom? What do y
ou think Sarah looks like, being hit and thrown so far? Do you think it’s bad? Like really bad? Creepy? What will everyone at school say when they see her? Mom?”

  She doesn’t answer. “Mrs. McCormick?” A nurse comes from the other direction.

  “Yes?”

  “I can take you to see Sarah. This way, please.”

  As soon as they are out of sight, I jump up and follow at a distance, until … there. Beyond the three of them, a stretcher sits in the hall strung up with IVs and tubes and who knows what else. Sarah? A nurse monitors the attachments.

  I take a step and stop, then one more and hesitate. My legs freeze so close to the mother’s rigid spine. Is this her last chance to talk to Sarah? I can’t take that from her by putting myself into the situation. The brother ducks into the large waiting room just beyond, without stopping at the gurney. I turn at the nearby corner and wait, close enough to overhear.

  “Sarah! Oh, my baby! Oh, Sarah!” Mrs. McCormick cries.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sarah

  9:32 am

  Mom? My mom’s here? She blurs and shifts.

  “There you go, Sarah.” She nudges the blankets close to my chin. Ahhhh. The warmth settles around me like a hug. She’s here! Everything’s going to be okay now. “Hiiiii, Mommy.”

  “Oh, sweetheart.” She leans over and kisses my cheek.

  I blink slowly. “Mom, tell this nurse I need to go to school.” My eyes close. At school I can give Haddings my poem. Then I can go to UW.

  “School’s not important right now, Sarah. Don’t you worry about it, because, honey, it doesn’t matter. Just rest, because everything is going to be okay.”

  “But I want — ”

  “Sarah, please. Rest. Rest, honey.”

  “Mills is an all-women’s school,” I sing. And he won’t be there. Nope. Nope. Nope. “Mom, I’ll just chill while you take care of everything … ’cause I’m super sleepy, Mommy.”

  She touches my cheek.

  “Oh, but I am needin’ a note for school, ’cause I’m late, I think. And … could ya bring me that other shirt you said would look better? Okaaaaay.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Haddings

  9:34 am

  Covering my mouth with my hands, I absorb the sound of Sarah’s voice, relish it, even if she’s loopy. I stare at my wavering reflection in the huge cobalt vase in the hall recess. Maybe everything is going to be okay?

  A skinny doctor darts past with a clipboard, his jacket flapping behind him like wings. “Mrs. McCormick? I need to speak with you.” His Indian accent is soft but urgent. “Please, step over here. Take no anxiety now. The nurse will attend to Sarah.”

  The two of them move into my line of sight below the set of fluorescent lights. They stop in profile to me, both intensely engaged. “Please, tell me how she is,” Mrs. McCormick says, her hands at her neck.

  “Sarah has suffered severe head trauma. Do you see the blood pooling in this most recent CAT scan? It is the white area.”

  She stands there, frozen before the image.

  “We’ve determined the blood puddle is continuing to grow and pressing more and more against Sarah’s brain. Left untreated, permanent damage will result. We now have less than twenty minutes to relieve the pressure.”

  Whoa. My stomach flops and fizzles. I lean against the tan wall and take a deep breath.

  The doctor continues. “The staff is preparing for brain surgery. We’ll be shaving the front portion of her head to reach the effected quadrant. Is everything clear, Mrs. McCormick?”

  There’s no answer. Blood, pooling, shaving, brain surgery. Sarah’s mom shouldn’t be alone right now. Does she have a husband? I don’t even know.

  I start to walk to her. One step. Two.

  “Who would do this to my child?” she says, voice rising.

  “Please take control of yourself, Mrs. McCormick.”

  I scuttle back and sink into a squat, pretending I’m retying my boot. She’ll totally lose it if I appear suddenly. I can’t distract and delay her decisions.

  “Mrs. McCormick, time is life. You need to authorize the procedure, and at the same moment, you must understand that the surgery may or may not be successful.”

  “May not?” she repeats.

  “Correct, but we have no other choice. The surgery is imperative, Mrs. McCormick. Sign here. And here. This page. And the next. Initial here, here, and here. No. Don’t bother filling in the relation line. It isn’t necessary.”

  “I will sign that I am her mother, do you understand? In all of this, I am still her mother!”

  He rustles the papers together. “All right then,” he says. “The nurse will show you to the waiting area. We’ll let you know as soon as Sarah comes out of surgery.”

  He steps away, leaving Mrs. McCormick holding the pen. The one she used to let them cut open Sarah’s skull.

  CHAPTER 11

  Sarah

  9:36 am

  “So you’re going to have a little surgery,” a woman says.

  Another nurse? “I am?”

  “Yes. But you won’t feel a thing. You’ll sleep through the whole experience.”

  “Okey-dokey. Just … be very, very … careful.” I sigh. “That’s what Mommy always says. Always, always, al …” Wait. Should I be afraid?

  A chill runs through the tube from the new IV bag and freezes me like an ice cube.

  CHAPTER 12

  Haddings

  9:41 am

  I step into the nearby bathroom and furiously splash my face with water. Okay, think. They are going to perform surgery because there’s hope. I rip a scratchy brown paper towel from the machine and dry my face. They wouldn’t operate if there was no hope, therefore it’s possible Sarah may survive, recover, and continue to live as well as she ever has. We could both recover from this disaster.

  I come out of the bathroom and stand in the hall before a painting of a sunset. People walk by with hardly a glance at me. Everyone must be preoccupied with their own tragedies.

  When I hear the anesthesiologist arrive, I move closer to the corner again.

  Sarah’s mom says, “I insist you add an antinausea drug to her anesthetic. That was helpful during my foot surgery.”

  “Yes, we can do that,” is the response. Something buzzes, and it sounds like the anesthesiologist starts to leave. “The nurse will return momentarily,” he says.

  I peek around the corner to see the set of double doors at the end of the hall swing shut. Mrs. McCormick fusses over the gurney, so I can’t see Sarah, especially with the blankets piled so high.

  “Your hand is cold, sweetie,” the mom says. “Oh, I can’t believe they just have you in a hallway! Hold on, honey. Hold on.” Mrs. McCormick lays her head on Sarah’s chest.

  I withdraw again and bite the inside of my cheek. I wiggle my toes in my boots to get some feeling back into my numb feet.

  “You okay?” A big male attendant pauses his fast stride.

  I jump. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” I swipe at my nose.

  “Maybe find a place to sit it out? There’s the surgery waiting room,” he says.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  He rushes on around the corner. “Sarah McCormick?” he asks.

  I hear wheels rolling down the hallway, double doors swinging shut, and a mother’s moan.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sarah

  9:46 am

  My mom’s gone. Where’d she go?

  This room’s too bright. Where am I? I squint. Something keeps my head from turning, but a few people cluster in my line of sight. They all have their backs to me.

  “You are going to have a very funny haircut, young lady,” someone says behind me.

  What? What does that mean? Wait, no! I don’t want my hair cut. My lip quivers, and tears spill from my eyes. My breath jerks in and out, but I can’t get my mouth to answer.

  Does Haddings like short hair? What will my mom say? She likes my hair long.

  A sliver of reality
snakes into my foggy head. “I’m having brain surgery?” my voice squeaks out. No one turns around to answer me. Not one single person.

  Am, am I going to die? My tears flow off my face. God, help me, I pray. God, please!

  Finally someone comes over to my side. Is it a man? The eyes stare at me, above the blue face mask. Regardless of my tears, there’s no reaction from this person whatsoever.

  Anger boils through me. “I’m not a freaking specimen,” I spit, wondering if the words actually came out.

  The person tilts his head to the side and just keeps staring.

  A mask drops over my nose. “Now,” someone explains, “I want you to count backward from one hundred.”

  Pairs of eyes swim around my head. There are tugs on my arms. My toes. The holey ceiling tiles wave at me. Big round lights swoop past.

  Stop! I don’t want to have surgery. I don’t want to die! Someone, help me! I try to shout but fail.

  “Sarah, count for me.”

  Count? My eyes slide closed, and this stupid rhyme jingles through my cracked skull as I drift away.

  Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.

  CHAPTER 14

  Haddings

  9:47 am

  Keeping my head down, I walk right by Sarah’s mom. She’s mumbling something about returning to the desk down the hall for more information. I start to reach out, take her hand, and beg her to forgive me, but I stop my selfishness. She storms off in the opposite direction.

  My heavy legs carry me into the large surgery waiting room that Luke went into earlier. The chairs are placed in little groupings and create privacy. There. Luke’s in the corner with Cydni and an older woman. The latter looks at me, but I keep walking since I’ve never seen her before. I’d definitely remember those red eyeglasses.

  If only Cydni doesn’t look up. Don’t look; don’t look, I chant, and her head doesn’t budge. I drop into a chair on the opposite side of the huge fish tank filled with coral fans and saltwater fish. An additional potted palm even blocks this cluster of chairs from the rest of the room.