“Not that we’re aware of,” Ash said, wrapping his fingers around mine. I gripped his hand, grateful for its warmth. “What’s wrong with her?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the woman said. “Her electrolytes are out of whack. Glucose in the toi— That is, her levels are very low.”
“I want to see her,” I said.
She gave me what I’m sure she intended as a reassuring smile. “We’ll get you back there as soon as we can.”
Time crawled. Meg and Jo came, along with John and Eric. Had Ash called them? The girls sat in the chairs on either side of me, almost as if they were protecting me.
“We should call Amy,” Jo said.
“I’ll do it,” Meg said.
Ash was speaking in a low voice to Eric and John. He spent a lot of time in hospitals, of course, comforting the wounded and their families. But he wasn’t there when Amy got her ear tubes. Or when Jo broke her arm. Or when Meg had her babies.
Meg looked up from her call with Amy. “Anorexic.”
“What?” Jo said.
Meg’s eyes were wide and troubled. “Amy thinks Beth might have anorexia.”
No, I thought. And then,Of course.
“Should somebody tell the doctor?” Jo asked.
“I’ll talk to her,” Ash said. He went to the desk.
The girls glanced between us, puzzled and frightened by thisreversal in our usual roles. I tried to rouse myself to reassure them, but my brain was frozen. My hands were cold.
Oh God, Beth...
Ash came back. “They’re moving her up to a unit. They want to keep her overnight for observation.”
“Is she...?”
“Stable,” Ash said.
“Conscious?” Meg asked.
“Is she going to be all right?” demanded Jo.
“She will be.” Ash looked at me as he answered. Using his pulpit voice, sure and low.The voice of God, Jo once called it. I wanted—so much!—to believe in him. “We can go up and see her.”
She looked so small, swaddled in a pale blue hospital gown, stark against plain white sheets. Bethie, my baby, my sensitive middle child. Her eyes were closed, her hair spread matted and stringy on the pillow. A bank of beeping, blinking, pulsing machines did the work of her depleted body, pumping her full of fluids and oxygen.
I couldn’t breathe. She was so thin. She looked so young, like herself at nine or ten, like my sister, Bitsy.
Who died in the damn hospital.
Anorexic. She was starving herself. Why hadn’t I known?
“You’ll get better. You have to,” Jo said fiercely, holding Beth’s hand. “I’ll make you better.”
Beth didn’t open her eyes.
“She needs sleep,” said the nurse monitoring the machines. “We’re going to have to kick some of you out.”
“I’ll stay with Mom,” Meg said. My responsible eldest.
