I hear the harsh tone on the other end of the line, but I can’t make out the words.
“Enough.Okay. I’ll call you when I land,” Isabel insists weakly. She sounds crushed. “Let me just try to get on the first flight in the morning.”
Once the call is over, the phone slips away from her ear. Neither of us speaks, and for that moment, I’m too scared to breathe. She won’t look up at me, won’t turn around.
“Isabel?”
“Lita is in the hospital.” Her voice breaks. “I have to go to France.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Isabel
It’s hard to withstand the whiplash. One moment I’m on Ibiza, wrapped in Cristiano’s arms while we share his bed. The next morning I’m on the first flight to Marseille Provence Airport. My mom met me at baggage claim, impatient and distraught. I’d hoped my dad would be with her, but he’s already at the hospital with Lita.
Two days ago, my grandmother missed a stair coming in from her garden and tripped forward. Her arm caught most of her fall, but her head still hit the concrete hard enough that she lost consciousness. She has a broken elbow and a nasty concussion. Worse, there was no one with her at the time. She was alone and she suffered for it. I can’t think of her lying there bleeding without feeling sick.
Had I been there, things would have been different.Better.I know, because my mom hasn’t let me forget my blame in all of this for one single second.
I stare out the window as she drives the rental car. She hasn’t taken a breath in ten minutes. “I cannot believe you would do something s-soreckless, Isabel. I don’t even recognize this version of you.SPAIN?You were inSpainthis entire summer and you’ve been lying to us about it? I can’t believe you had so little regard for your safety. Traveling to a foreign country without Steve or another bodyguard, withoutanysafety measures put in place…”
I don’t bother arguing. Instead, I stare out at the green fields as my stomach shrivels into a tight, hard ball.
“Did you have Lita lying for you as well? She told us you were with her. She told the most ridiculous stories now that I look back on it. I can’tbelieveyou put her in that position.”
I let my eyes close and take her continued blame. There’s no sense in trying to speak up on my behalf. My mom is right.
This is partly my fault.
Lita’s asleep when we walk into her hospital room, and the dark bruising and swelling around her left eye is enough to make me hold back a sob. Her head is partially bandaged, covering a row of stitches.
“The doctor assured me she will be okay,” my dad says by way of greeting. He’s sitting at his mom’s bedside, his hands in prayer like he’s holding a vigil. “She was sitting up earlier today and speaking fine. He doesn’t seem to think her memory is in any danger, and he’s hopeful that after a few more days in the hospital, she’ll be cleared to go home and rest there.”
“Were you here when she was awake?” I ask weakly.
“No. She doesn’t know we’re here yet.” He turns back and frowns at me. “They’ve given her medicine for the pain and warned us that it was going to make her drowsy.” He shakes hishead and stands, and his eyes—usually so kind and gentle—are hard and angry. “Why would you do this, Isabel?” he explodes. “Whylie? It was foolish and—”
He cuts himself off and goes quiet, breathing heavy for a moment before he stalks around her bed and slams the hospital room door open. He storms out into the hall, and I stare after him, feeling lost.
I’m too stunned to speak. My dad never loses his cool, usually the counterbalance for my mom’s temper. Though right now, the dynamics between us have shifted out of whack, and my mom doesn’t come to my aid. She keeps her distance on the other side of the hospital bed. I have no ally. Winnie is gone. Lita—my accomplice this summer—is resting. She looks too frail and breakable. It’s frightening to see her wearing a hospital gown that drowns her. A splint holds her right arm at a forty-five-degree angle. I wonder how badly it hurt when she fell.
“I’m going to go see if I can speak with the doctor,” my mom says, leaving me.
When the door shuts behind her, I’m frozen for a moment. The smell of the hospital room, the methodical beeps of the lifesaving machines drag me back to my last days with Winnie. I shudder and step closer to Lita so I can gently lift her left hand. Her skin is cold and papery thin. I whisper my apologies for not being with her when I should have been, and I cry the tears I’ve been holding in since my mom called me last night.
Has it only been that long?
Once I received that phone call, Cristiano immediately helped me dress and drove me back to my apartment. He came up and quickly helped me pack my belongings.
“All of it,” I told him when he asked what I wanted to take.
He didn’t argue, though I could tell there were things he wished he could say.
Simone wasn’t there while I stuffed my duffel bag full, and I was glad for it. Better not to wake her up or worry her. Cristiano caught me staring at her bed and promised he would update my friends, and I left it at that, too tired to worry about any logistics beyond booking the first flight to Marseille.
“I could come with you.”
I felt his gaze on me as I stared out the window while he drove me to the airport. Then and now, I’m as fragile as a house of cards. I could only shake my head, no. He didn’t understand the maelstrom I was walking into. The anger in my mom’s voice—the accusations and blame—were already making me feel nauseous with guilt.
