“Take the credit where it’s due, Billie.” She leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek just as the door opens and the doctor strides in.
He looks me over with the usual poking and prodding. He worries at first that I might have a cracked rib but, after a few extra pokes, tells me he suspects it’s just “a god-awful bruise.”
“You’re going to be sore, young lady,” he warns me. “But you’ll be all right. Acetaminophen, ice on the worst of the bruises, twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off for the first twenty-four hours.”
The doctor is just about finished with my exam when the door swings open again, Sophia barreling inside and skidding to a stop.
“Young lady, you can’t just run into an examination room without knocking,” the doctor chastises, but Sophia completely ignores him.
“She’s awake! Isla’s awake!” Sophia practically screams.
With zero hesitation, I’m hopping off the table and running out of the room with Sophia, Whitney just behind us. We enter the elevator and ride up to Isla’s floor. Whitney is clutching her hands in front of her, dead silent. I’m too stunned to speak. But Sophia chatters on, practically vibrating with excitement.
“We were sitting on either side of Isla’s bed, and Peter was talking to her, telling her how much he misses her, when we heard a soft groan. He went silent and looked at me. ‘Did you hear that?’ and I said yeah, I definitely did! Then Isla said, ‘Mum?’ so I ran downstairs to get you while Peter stayed in Isla’s room. He pressed the call button for the nurse,” Sophia explains, bouncing on her feet. “I can’t believe it!”
I can’t, either. This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. The timing is impeccable.
The elevator doors slide open, and Sophia darts out whileWhitney hesitates. I check her face and find she’s struggling to keep it together. When she holds out her hand toward me, I take it. We keep our hands linked, staying together as we head for Isla’s room. The corridor feels as long as a football field, like the distance is growing with every step we take. Exhaustion is settling into my bones, but my heart is racing at the prospect of seeing Isla awake.
Inside Isla’s room, it’s pure, controlled chaos. Two nurses are there, checking Isla’s vitals and adjusting her IV bags. My father’s face is a study in joy. He’s lit up from the inside, his smile wide and full of utter relief. Whitney lets go of my hand to rush toward him, and he holds out his arms, though he only wraps one around his wife. The other he opens toward me, encouraging me forward, and I go to him. He hugs us both, murmuring. “Our family is together at last.”
“We’ll let you stay,” one of the nurses tells us. “The neurologist should be here at any moment. He’ll want to check on Isla here. Run some tests. But so far, she looks great.” She aims a warm smile at our little tableau, then follows the other nurse out of the room.
“I’m going to grab a coffee,” Sophia announces as she starts to exit the room. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Sophia.” I smile at her, and she offers one last wave before she walks out, closing the door behind her.
I sag against my father’s chest, and Whitney does the same. I’ve never felt such relief and happiness before in my life. Isla is finally awake, and hopefully she’s going to be okay.
I watch my sister, my eyes greedy for the sight of her. I step closer to her bed while Whitney and Dad stand by her on the other side. Even though her eyes are closed again, there’scolor in her cheeks and she definitely looks more vibrant than the last time I saw her. She opens her eyes slowly, like there are bricks weighing down her eyelids, and she turns her head toward Dad and Whitney.
Her eyes are full of tears when she asks, “Emily? Please tell me …”
We all share a look, but it’s Dad who lets Isla know Emily isn’t with us anymore. He doesn’t go into too much detail because one of the nurses warned she’d be in a fragile state at first, but Isla falls apart anyway.
Once she composes herself, she murmurs, “There’s so much I need to share with you. I—”
“We know, Isla,” I say, interrupting her. “I followed your clues. We figured everything out. About George. About Mom. About … me.”
Isla’s eyes are closed again, though tears still slide down her cheeks. She parts her lips and whispers, “Good.” But then she seems to doze off.
“Get some rest.” I take Isla’s hand and press a kiss to the back of it. “I’ll be here when you wake up again.” Then, with a glance up at Whitney and Dad, I say, “I’ll be here from now on.”
…
My dad told me Connor’s room number, and I find it easily, since it’s on the same floor as Isla’s. I slip inside, grateful to find it’s empty save for Connor, lying in the hospital bed with his eyes closed and his arm in a sling. Whitney told me hehad surgery on his arm, and his parents were by his side until just a few minutes ago, when they left briefly to grab some dinner. I stand in the doorway for a moment and just take him in, trying to contain the emotions that want to sweep over me and drag me under. He’s going to be okay.
We all are.
“Have you turned into a stalker?”
I blink myself back into focus at the sound of Connor’s amused voice. “Excuse me?”
“You’re being such a weirdo, just staring at me over there.” He lifts his good arm and gestures at the space between us. “Or did they declare I have a contagious disease and you can’t come near me?”
Rolling my eyes, I hurry to his bed and lean over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “So bossy all the time.”
“I use humor to mask my real feelings,” he admits, his lips curving upward.
