I thank her and hope I can recall the directions.
I’m walking fast, then jogging.
First left. Elevator. Ninth floor.
I mash the button three times, as if it will speed things up, and watch the numbers climb like molasses.
Please let me get there in time. Please let me be allowed to stay.
When I step off the elevator, a young woman in navy scrubs is waiting for me—tall, thin, pale-faced, with a stethoscope slung casually around her neck.
“Mr. Devereaux?”
“Yes.” I nod, my breath shallow.
“The chopper’s due to land in about ten minutes. The team is on standby. Dr. Levinson asked me to reassure you—she’s in very good hands. He’s with the team now, preparing to receive her.”
She gestures down a hallway.
“There’s a private consult room just around the corner. You can wait there. Her mother will join you when she’s able, and Dr. Levinson will come by with an update once they’ve stabilized the girl.”
The girl.
“Her name is Esme.” I say. “She’s…she’s a shining star.” But I can’t say more just then, because I realize that clenching my jaw and fighting my own fear is my only hope.
“I’m sure she is.” She nods. “It’s scary.” And then, “Could I get you some coffee while you wait?”
I nod. Try to breathe.
“Yes,” I say. “That would be nice.”
I don’t even drink coffee.
I pace the room. Look at my phone obsessively. Watch the clock.
Finally, I step out into the hallway to breathe.
That’s when I see her.
Rhea.
She’s coming down the hall, escorted by a nurse. Her eyes find mine—and she runs.
No hesitation. Straight into my arms.
Her grief pours out in low, aching sobs, muffled against my chest. She holds onto me with force. Such desperation.
But the truth is—I’m barely holding it together myself.
My arms are wrapped around her, but my hands are shaking. My breath’s coming too fast and my face is tear-stained. But I will hold it together, because if I let myself feel everything I’m holding back, I don’t know if I’ll stay standing either.
I’m terrified by what her sobs might mean. But I can’t ask the question that’s haunting me. Can’t risk hearing the one thing I’m most afraid of.
So I just hold her. Tighter.
The nurse who walked in with Rhea is still beside us. She waits a beat, then gently touches my arm.
“Esme’s with an excellent team,” she says quietly. “They’ll keep you updated.”
