Martin's facial expression screamed confusion. "You do too, Sunshine."
"Hi, darlin', I'm Tuck Hanlon. Do you remember Pete Walter?"
Elizabeth smiled at both men. "Pete, how's Austin?"
"He's doing very well. Honey, can we take a peek at you?" Pete asked.
Elizabeth tilted her head. "What happened to your head?" She ran her finger across Martin's brow, confused as she glanced around. "What happened?"
"Tell us what you remember, Sunshine."
Elizabeth scrunched her face. "You wearing purple glasses in Tonette's room. And then..." She searched around with her hand. "Femoral line." She touched a bandage on her neck. "Pacer? Foley. What happened?" she repeated.
Martin stumbled over his words, "The next morning, I found you on the floor in your bathroom. You were unconscious. You were...You’d gotten sick."
"Darlin', somebody poisoned you with nicotine, grayanotoxin, and flecainide. You fell forward, hitting your head. Dr. Hoyt found a leaking parietal aneurysm in the area of an old injury and coiled it."
"You saved me again. Who did this, Marty?" she asked, distressed.
"Hailey Ullman, Krystal Slater, and likely Pietra Hahn."
"Why?" He stiffened in her grasp as she pushed him back and lifted his shirt. "What happened?" her authoritative tone returned.
Pete Walter laughed. "You were worried? Martin has three cracked ribs, stitches to his brow, a concussion and a laceration to the calf. A week ago, he had an encounter..."
Martin's fierce expression cut Pete off. "Sunshine, there was a little explosion in the garage."
Her eyes narrowed. "Marty Bailey, you get this one fib. You earn credit for saving me. Now, wait, did you say Austin is doing well? How well? How long have I been here?"
Martin teared up. "Today is the twenty-fourth. You collapsed ten days ago. Austin is terrific. You did it. He's awake and aware. He's breathing on his own. His kidneys are starting to work. And I'm a godfather. Janey had Austin Bailey Jr. And—you are completely exonerated." He’d give her all the details when she was stronger. He adjusted his position to take her weight off his chest.
"Stay?"
Martin placed her on her clean bed. "Not going anywhere." Pete set her up with a tray—clear liquids. For the first time since arriving in Silverton, he could breathe.
Patrick Hedges joined the happy group in the late afternoon and shook Elizabeth awake. "Beth, sorry, sweetheart, but I need to check you out. Ginny called me. She said you’re healthy enough to lose some tubes."
Free of sedative medication, she awoke clear-headed. "That would be great. I want to get out of bed without a flag crew."
Patrick chuckled. He scrubbed and, with Tucker's help, donned a sterile gown and gloves. “Beth, please. You gave us a considerable scare. Let's make a slow transition. Turn your head to face Marty. Ready?"
"Yes, Doctor," Elizabeth acted like a smart aleck.
Patrick removed the dialysis tubing. "You're stuck with Tuck holding pressure for a bit, and you need to stay flat and rest for another two hours. Only then, if you remain stable, Tuck and Pete will clear you to be out of bed."
Elizabeth smiled at the PAs. "I don't know how to thank you."
Tucker grinned at Pete. "We should thank you. We needed the practice," he said in his soft Texas drawl.
"I thought you said this wasn't your first July."
To Martin's joy, Elizabeth giggled at Pete's banter. Though the context was unclear, the July reference was. Laughing, she fell back asleep.
Tighe dozed beside Lola. He refused to leave the hospital more than a few hours at a time. Mike asked him to alternate between Lissa and Lola. Tighe knew why Mike asked him to do that—too late—he was already attached to Lissa.
Dana's shout awakened him. "Tighe." Lola was in respiratory distress. Dana was doing her best to force oxygen into the blue-gray baby.
Tighe leaped to his feet and opened the door. "HELP!" Alarms wailed. Nurses and doctors rushed into the crowded space. "Please, she can't die."
