"I'm going to the hospital in the morning," I say, trying to hold back my cry.
"I'll meet you there. What time?"
"Visiting hours start at eight."
"I'll be there at seven fifty. Are you okay? Are you—"
"I'm okay," I force myself to say. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I hang up and lie back on my bed and sob.
Maeve will show up tomorrow full of genuine love for a boy she has no reason not to trust. She'll probably cry. She'll hold my hand. She'll think my tears are relief.
And I will stand next to her and perform every single second of it.
Because that's what this requires now.
I close my eyes and wish to wake up from this nightmare.
Chapter 30: Adela
Maeveisalreadyoutsidewhen I pull up.
She's standing near the entrance of Evergreen Hospital with two coffees, her coat pulled tight against the morning cold, and when she sees my car, she lifts one of the cups in greeting. I sit in the parking lot for a moment before I get out, watching her breath cloud in the air.
She doesn't know.
I need to remember that walking in.
I get out of the car.
"You look terrible," she says, handing me the coffee. Not unkind. Just Maeve.
"Thanks."
"I mean it in a loving way." She pulls me into a hug with her free arm, brief and tight. "How are you feeling?"
"I don't know yet."
She nods like that makes complete sense, and loops her arm through mine, and we walk toward the entrance together, and I focus on the warmth of the cup in my hand, the way the automatic doors sound when they open, and anything that is not the inside of my own head.
Evergreen is one of those hospitals that tries. The lobby has natural light, real plants, and a coffee cart near the reception desk. It smells like cleaning solution underneath something they're piping through the vents to cover it — something neutral and faintly floral. The floors are pale stone. Everything is designed to feel less like what it is.
It doesn't work.
We find seats near the window and wait. I watch the elevator doors and try to figure out what I'm actually afraid of.
He woke up.
That should be the end of the fear, shouldn't it? He's alive. He's stable. The worst didn't happen.
But sitting here with the coffee going warm in my hands, I realize the fear has just changed shape. Because before he was unconscious, there was nothing he could say. No version of events he could offer. No look on his face when he saw mine.
Now there is.
And I don't know what he remembers.
That's the thing I keep coming back to. Does he remember the night? Does he remember who was there? Does he remember anything that happened before, or did he wake up a blank page? If he remembers me, he must remember all that he’s done before.
