Simone throws up her hands. “Guys! C’mon!”
From his lounge chair on the other side of Simone, Ethan pops up to join us. “I’ll come, too.”
I look at Annika, who shrugs like she’s totally indifferent, but I know better. I know that sly smile she tries to hide as she turns back around. She takes my hand and tugs me toward the surf, acting as if Ethan is a complete afterthought.
I lean in and whisper, “Are you going to string him along all summer?”
She shrugs. “I might. Is he following?”
I check. “Like a puppy.”
She laughs. “Good.”
We splash into the water like little kids, kicking our feet at incoming waves as we rush to meet the sea. Annika hangs back with Ethan, but I dive in the first chance I get, slipping beneath the turquoise water and swimming out until my feet can’t reach the sandy seafloor. I feel completely at ease for the first time since I arrived on Ibiza. Being in the sea will always remind me of home, and though this water is warmer than I’m used to in California, it offers the same feeling of weightlessness.
Winnie and I would spend hours at the beach together. Surfing didn’t come naturally to me like it did for her, but I stuck with it so we’d always have something to do with our dad.
I surface for air and then lounge back in the water, letting mylegs and arms splay out like a starfish. The sea current gently rocks me along with the waves, the memories mingling with the present. For a moment, I’m with her again.
I’m walking into the main entrance of the hospital with so many cardboard boxes stacked in my arms I can’t see where I’m going. Back at my car, I tried to Jenga an eye slit, but the boxes shifted and now I’m flying blind. I nearly collide with a cute family on a mission to get their fresh newborn into their idling car.
“Did you check that the car seat is installed right, Todd? Oh! And did you get that big water jug I was using up in the room? We can’t leave that behind!”
Demi is behind the security desk, her thick black braids spun into a bun on top of her head. She laughs when she sees me. “That’s more than yesterday. Your sister’s doing some real damage…”
“Someone needs to cut the Wi-Fi access to her room.”
Demi snorts under her breath as I head to the left, down my usual path to the west elevator bank, then up to the cardiac floor, all the while calling out premature apologies to anyone I might bump into on my way down the hall.
“She’s going to be happy to see you today,” a nurse says as I pass their station. It sounds like Abby, but if I turn to confirm, these boxes will tumble, and I’ve already made it this far without any major accidents. I won’t fail now.
For the last five weeks, my sister has stayed in a hospital room at the end of the cardiac floor that overlooks the gardens. My mom demanded this location because of its view, as if carefully pruned roses have as much to do with her recovery as lifesaving antibiotics.
The door to her room is cracked enough that I toe it open the rest of the way, already announcing, “You’ve done it. You’ve purchased every article of clothing on the internet. Wheel in the trophy, boys.”
My sister sits up on her hospital bed, casting aside her notebook and pen and reaching out with gimme fingers toward the boxes in my arms. “My mail!”
Elowen De Vere, aka Winnie, is one year older than me, though we’ve never had traditional big sister, little sister roles. I’ve always been protective of her, and today especially, I want to scoop her up into my arms. She looks tiny and frail in her hospital bed, nowhere near the vivacious twenty-five-year-old woman she’s meant to be. At least her complexion has regained some color, which I take as a good sign.
I try to set the boxes down on her bed, but they end up toppling over and spilling onto her legs. “Winnie! What is all this?”
She picks up the smallest box and starts tearing at the clear tape. “Nordstrom was having a sale so I scooped up a few things for this summer.”
“Afewthings?”
“Right. More like an entire summer wardrobe. I wanted options! Do you have your car keys on you? I can’t get past this tape.”
“Here. Don’t screw up your nails. I just painted them yesterday.” I root through my purse and hand over my keys knowing there’s no sense in pretending to admonish her. With everything Winnie has faced in life, I’ve never had a strong backbone when it comes to going against her. Any small joy seems worth it.
After years of listening to my parents discuss Winnie’s heart defect, I still feel like I only know the rudimentary retelling, the watered-down version of a very serious medical condition that has forced her to endure two valve replacement surgeries, one when she was only three, and another when she was a senior in high school. She’s always had to keep a close watch on her health. She’s worn a heart monitor off and on and kept up with her cardiology appointments. Still, for the most part, she’s been allowed a normal life.
Then, almost two months ago, Winnie came down with a cold, or so we thought. For a few days, she was run-down and had a low-grade fever, but none of us took it seriously until her temperature spiked past the point of ignoring. When we rushed her to the hospital, they found an infection on her heart valve, and she was nearly septic.
They started her on IV antibiotics five weeks ago and she hasn’t left the hospital since. Now, as she sits wrapped in a soft white robe layered on top of her hospital gown, you could almost forget how sick she is except for the red and yellow monitoring leads that connect to a machine beside her bed and the barely visible PICC line tunneled under her skin near her clavicle.
I can’t look at it without my stomach lurching, though my sister swears it’s not painful.
“First up, what’s it going to be…” She tears into the small box and rips through the tissue paper with the finesse of a grizzly bear. “A bright turquoise string bikini!” she explains like she’s an awards show presenter. She hangs it around her neck so it lays over the top of her robe. “Like it?”
