The pharmacy line moves slowly, giving me too much time to think. About Amy lying in that hospital bed. About Henry, who might never remember his mother. About the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing beyond getting through each day.
About how much easier everything feels when Alexa is around.
By the time I’m loading groceries into my car, I’ve managed to push those thoughts aside. Focus on what matters. Amy gettingbetter. Henry staying healthy and happy. Everything else is just a distraction.
My phone rings as I’m pulling out of the parking lot. Alexa’s name on the screen makes my pulse quicken in a way that’s becoming annoyingly familiar.
“Everything okay?” I answer.
“Everything’s fine. Henry woke up from his nap, and we had lunch. But I was wondering if you needed me to stay longer today? I can take him over to my house if that would be easier.”
She’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long, but I don’t want to go into it. I don’t know why exactly, but I’m just not ready to tell her about Amy. Maybe putting what’s happened into words is just too painful.
“That would be great, actually. I have one more stop to make. Would another couple hours work?”
“Perfect. Take all the time you need.”
The ICU is quieter than usual when I arrive. Visiting hours don’t officially start for another thirty minutes, but Dr. Rockaway waves me through when she sees me at the nurses’ station.
“Any changes?” I ask, though I can see from Amy’s chart that there haven’t been.
“Her vitals remain stable. Brain activity is normal. We’re just waiting for her to wake up.”
Just waiting. As if it’s that simple.
Amy looks smaller than she did yesterday, if that’s possible. The machines around her bed beep and hum with mechanical efficiency, monitoring every breath, every heartbeat. I take thechair beside her bed, the same one I’ve sat in each day since the accident.
“Hey, sis.” I reach for her hand, careful not to disturb the IV line. “Henry slept through the night last night. Eight hours straight. You’d be proud of him.”
Her hand feels warm in mine, which I choose to take as a good sign.
“I hired someone to help with him. A nanny, I guess. Her name is Alexa, and she lives next door. She’s really good with Henry. She gets him to stop crying just by holding him.” I pause, thinking about this morning. “She’s good with everything, actually. Very patient. Very kind.”
I tell Amy about the grocery-shopping trip, about how natural Alexa was with both Henry and her own son. About how she didn’t make me feel incompetent, just inexperienced.
“You’d like her,” I continue. “She reminds me of you, actually. That way you have of making everyone around you feel like they matter.”
The words hang in the air, joining the steady beeping of the monitors. I wish Amy would squeeze my hand. Blink. Give me any sign that she can hear me.
Instead, there’s just the quiet rhythm of machines keeping her stable while we wait for her to find her way back to us.
“I need you to wake up, Amy. I’m doing my best with Henry, but he needs his mom. I need my sister.” My voice cracks slightly. “Just… come back to us, okay?”
I sit with her for another hour, talking about work, about Henry’s progress with solid foods, about anything that mightreach her wherever she is. The steady rhythm of the machines becomes background noise as I tell her more about yesterday’s grocery trip, about how Alexa knew exactly which baby food to buy and which diapers work best.
“She’s really good at this,” I tell Amy. “Better than I am, anyway. Henry lights up when he sees her. It’s like he knows she understands him in a way I’m still figuring out.”
I’m about to tell Amy more about how natural Alexa is with Henry when I hear footsteps in the doorway. Dr. Ferrera appears, looking surprised to see me.
“Jordan? I didn’t expect to find you here today.”
“Just visiting.” I stand up, suddenly feeling like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t. “How are things in oncology?”
“Busy. Dr. Williams has been covering your patients, but everyone’s asking when you’re coming back.” Ferrera steps into the room, his expression softening when he sees Amy. “How is she?”
“Stable. No changes.”
“And you? How are you holding up?”
