I nod. He’s not wrong. I glance over at Rebel to see how she feels about this.
“She understands,” Prez says sternly. “Don’t you, Bell? This is club business.”
“Of course,” she nods obediently. “I know the deal.”
I exhale. “Can you watch Junior while Rachel and I head over there to see if it’s her?”
“Shouldn’t you take him to see his mother?”
“What if she’s in a bad state?” I whisper, as if saying the words out loud will make them true.
“He’s a baby, it’s not like he knows,” Rebel says, and I pray she’s right. “Besides, I made plans to hang out with Claw and Maya later,” she adds regretfully.
Rachel suggests that she drive while I sit in the back with Junior, and I’m beyond grateful. She can talk to me like I’m an idiot whenever she wants. I owe her forever.
I glance over at my little man in his car seat. I wonder how he will react to seeing his mom again. My throat kinda hurts at the thought.
Junior and I wait on a chair while Rachel talks to her colleague in the corner. She comes back beaming.
“It’s her. She’s told them her name and info. We can go see her now. Her doctor will explain the rest. She apparently had a fever-induced seizure but is otherwise okay,” Rachel says, and I can only nod.
“I’ll give the three of you some time first,” she says in front of room 4S27.
“Thank you, Rachel. For everything,” I say, and she looks away, teary-eyed.
Marissa's wearing a hospital gown and looks weak and pale, but seeing her in one piece fills me with unimaginable relief. As soon as she notices us at the door, she sits up and starts sobbing.
Her hands are reaching for DJ, who is already screaming his head off and kicking his little legs, trying to get to her. The reunion between the two of them is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in my life.
My nose stings, and I wipe my own tears away. Marissa is talking to DJ in a quiet, urgent voice, and I can only make out every third or fourth word, but they all seem to be utterances of love, reassurance, safety, and joy. He’s sprawled out over her upper body like a starfish.
“Welcome back,” I say with a smile.
Marissa seems startled by my voice, like she’d forgotten I was even here.
“Hey,” she replies… coldly?
I frown.
“I’m so glad to see you,” I start over. “Are you okay? What happened?”
She closes her eyes, and her face is lined with exhaustion. I’m afraid of her answer, but the door opening spares me for another minute.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Rachel tells us with a sympathetic expression as she approaches the bed. “But Marissa's doctor wanted a word with you guys.”
An older, stern-looking man with a gray goatee is standing next to her, frowning at a chart. “Miss Johnson, is it?”
Marissa nods. “Yes.”
“I’m Doctor Phillips. Says here you don’t know how you got to the hospital,” he says, and I look at her intently, willing her not to say anything.
Marissa must get the message because she says, “I remember feeling ill. But the rest is a blur.”
The doctor then looks at me. “Could I have a minute alone with the patient, please?”
I frown. “What? Why?”
He sighs as he rolls his eyes. “I need to examine the patient’s body. Could you please give us the room?”
