I hang up and do as much as I can on my own. The crutches slow me down, and more than once I get upset and take out my frustration on a table leg. Miranda arrives and helps me finish up.
Soon we’re on the freeway, heading for the airport. Miranda finally asks the reason for this change of plans. I tell her a truncated version of Ember, without mentioning the magic part. Miranda places a hand over her heart and sighs wistfully. “It’s so romantic.”
“She has a boyfriend.” I have no idea why Dayton called me. He probably shouldn’t have.
Miranda gives me a look as we coast into the drop-off area of the rental car lane. “That makes it even more romantic.”
I’m going because Ember is hurting. I want to be there to catch her, and I have an awful, gut-wrenching feeling that Ember is about to fall really, really hard.
* * *
“Areyou sure you don’t want me to go in with you?” Miranda asks me again. It’s almost one in the morning, and we’re nearly at the hospital.
“No.” I feel bad for my tone, but I’ve already told her that a handful of times. She’s not usually this pushy.
“I’ll head to the hotel and get us settled in then.”
I hear it in her voice. The hurt. Sighing, I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands. Miranda has been a mother hen since I arrived home after my injury, and it’s getting old. Still, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“I’m nervous about seeing Ember. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“Don’t worry about anything. Ember will be happy to see you.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know Ember.” I picture the Ember I saw in the airport, how standoffish she’d been, how stiff. How she’d lied to me.
“You’re saying she has feelings for you?”
“No.”
“That’s what I heard.”
“That is not what I said.”
“I’m aware. I’m just telling you what I heard.”
We’re quiet until Miranda pulls up to the hospital entrance. “Visiting hours are over, you know.”
“But what if she’s in there?”
“What if she’s not?”
“Then I want to be the first face she sees when she arrives tomorrow morning, or, this morning, technically.” I peer through the sliding glass doors at the entrance. Someone sits behind the reception desk, staring at a computer screen.
“Alright,” Miranda says, defeat in her voice. She comes around to my door, crutches in hand, and waits patiently for me to climb out and get the crutches situated under each arm.
“Let me know when you want me to come get you.”
She walks around the car and opens her door. Turning, I begin my now-familiar pace. I’ll be happy when I don’t have to heave, haul, and swing my body anymore.
“Good luck, Noah,” Miranda calls.
It takes a lot of work, but I slow and pause, throwing up a hand to send her off. She drives away, and I resume my slow walk all the way to the reception desk.
The woman is surly. Her frown seems permanent. She informs me in an acerbic tone that visiting hours have been over for a long time. When I tell her my plan to wait, the frown lines around her mouth grow deeper, like chasms on the earth’s surface. I don’t even ask for an update on Maddie. Snakes might sprout from her head if she has to unnecessarily remind me I’m not next of kin.
Hobbling to the far corner, I prop my crutches on the wall and pull another chair over in front of me. Once my legs are up on the second chair, I remove my sweatshirt and roll it up. It’ll make a decent pillow.
Before I fall asleep, I take out my phone and go to a special folder in my photos. In it are all the pictures I’ve ever taken of Ember. Most of them are snapshots of real pictures, but there is one from two years ago that I took while she was sleeping. Her rose-colored lips were parted only slightly, and her whole face was relaxed. I wanted to remember her that way. She’d had so many expressions that night, beginning the moment I surprised her in the yoga studio, but this was the first time she looked serene.
