“Pretty” hardly did her justice. With that long blond hair and willowy figure, she’d drawthirdlooks from most men, despite the slump in her shoulders.
But not from him.
His mouth flattened.
There was no room on his overflowing plate for worrying about strangers or admiring pretty women.
Yet as he gathered up his sewing supplies and stood, the picture of her alone on the wharf refused to disappear despite his best efforts to erase it.
“Devyn?”
At the summons, Devyn swiveled back toward the elevator on the ICU floor to find Dr. Sherman hailing her from down the hall.
She reversed course and crossed to the neurologist. “I’m glad I ran into you. I was hoping for an update before I visited Lauren.”
“I saw her a few minutes ago, and her progress is remarkable. She’s tired and is having a little difficulty finding words, but that’s not unexpected. I plan to move her out of ICU later today. If she continues to improve, we could release her in another couple of days.”
“Wow.” Devyn took a moment to digest that. “From everything I read about brain injuries, I was thinking a rehab place would be in her future at least short-term.”
“That would be a more typical scenario, but as I said a few days ago, the brain is often hard to predict. All indications at this point suggest a faster-than-usual recovery. Are you planning to stay in town awhile? Availability of in-home assistance will factor into our discharge recommendations.”
Devyn hesitated. “I’ll stay if she wants me to.”
“You two can work that out—but it would be beneficial. And in case you’re wondering, the agitation and belligerence have subsided since yesterday. I think you’ll find her much closer to normal today.”
In light of their less-than-warm relationship, the doctor’s assurance wasn’t altogether comforting. Normal for them wasn’t close to chummy.
Nevertheless, Devyn called up a smile. “That’s encouraging.”
“You look more rested today.”
“I slept like a log for twelve hours.”
“Just what the doctor ordered.” The neurologist flashed a grin. “Go on in and see her. We’ll regroup in a day or two to discuss plans after we do more tests and evaluations.”
While the doctor continued on her way, Devyn walked down the hall to the ICU, pulse picking up as she pressed the button for entry and the doors swooshed open.
If Lauren was unreceptive to assistance, pushing to stay could be a mistake. Yet leaving without making an attempt to lay the groundwork for a new start between them would also be a mistake.
Until she got the lay of the land, she’d have to play this by ear—not a comfortable strategy for a woman whose hectic life was as intricately choreographed as the ballets she danced. But if improvisation was called for, she’d have to rise to the challenge.
When her sister’s room came into sight, she slowed ... then straightened her spine and picked up her pace. Delaying the inevitable was foolish.
At the glass door she paused and gave the space a sweep.
Most of the heavy-duty equipment and machines had disappearedsince yesterday. The room looked more like it had on her first visit.
So did Lauren.
She appeared to be sleeping, her breathing even, expression peaceful, her hand resting on the plush bear her office had sent with the balloons.
Rather than disturb her, Devyn tiptoed across the room, toward the bedside chair she’d occupied for countless hours over the past few days.
As she began to sit, Lauren’s eyelids fluttered open.
Devyn froze.
It took several seconds for her sister to notice her. A few more for recognition to dawn in her eyes.
