I exhale, surprised but relieved that he didn’t leap at the chance to bail. “It’s fine if you stay,” I say before my mom can answer. I think she was trying to be polite, not attempting to get rid of him, but she does look confused.
We fall into silence, and I close my eyes again.
It takes another twenty minutes to get me changed into a gown (while Hunter and my mom wait out in the hall) and for Winny to hook me up to telemetry.
Once the leads are all attached and turned on, the screen above my bed flickers to life, sketching my heart function in a jumble of thin lines. Mom watches the screen with the laser focus of a hawk searching for any hint of movement in a vast field. She’s become an armchair expert on telemetry over the years; she can read my results almost as well as the telemetry techs who have been trained to do it professionally.
Meanwhile, Hunter watchesmewith a hooded expression, his eyes roaming over the many cords snaking around my body. He admitted to hating hospitals too. Now that I know he blames himself for his sister’s death, I wonder how hard it is for him to be here.
“It’s probably going to be a while before we get any answers, and it’s pretty boring around here,” I say before I can second-guess myself. “You can totally go. I’ll text you when I hear anything.”
Surprise and a shadow of something else—something I can’t quite identify—flickers across Hunter’s face. “Oh ... if you’re sure.”
“My mom is right—you’ve done more than enough today.” I force a smile. He has endured plenty of suffering. I don’t need to add to it.
His eyebrows pull together. “If you’re sure,” he repeats, and I can only clamp my teeth together and nod.
His eyes roam over my face, intent, searching. The corners of his mouth tighten. “I probably should go finish up some work. I’ll check in with Lou in a bit if I haven’t heard from you.”
After the door closes behind him, my mom softly comments, “It seems I was right after all.”
I shove the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing myself to get it together before asking, “About what?”
“You and Hunter.”
“There is no ‘me and Hunter.’”
My mom snorts delicately. “You mean that young man who bent over backward to help you all week, then completely changed his entire schedule to take care of you today, andthenrushed you to the hospital and didn’t want to leave your side until you told him to go?”
“Youforcedhim to stay with me today,andyou told him to go first!”
“Only because I was testing him,” Mom says. “Finding out if he reallywantedto stay or only felt obligated to be here. He passed, by the way.”
“You’vegotto be kidding.” I let my head fall back against the hospital bed, still covering my face with my hands.
And of course, Dr. Thorup chooses that moment to knock and then bustle into the room. Even though Dr. Thorup is a brilliant, world-renowned heart surgeon, I still miss Dr. Nielsen and his kind bedside manner. After I graduated from high school, I couldn’t go to a pediatric doctor any longer. He recommended Dr. Thorup, and that was that. Now my doctor is shorter than I, fifty-something, and about as friendly as a bristle brush.
“Well, these results are not ideal, but not as bad as they could be,” he says without preamble. No, “Hey, Olivia, it’s been a while,” or anything; Dr. Thorup goes straight for the jugular, so to speak. Which I supposed is an effective time-management strategy. But it does make for jarring visits. “Your white blood cell count is at 17,200, so there’s clearly aninfectious process happening. Your influenza test came back negative, but you tested positive for strep. The good news is that we can get you on an IV antibiotic and hopefully nip this in the bud. Of course, we’re going to have to keep a very close eye on that WBC and any other infectious markers to see if there’s something viral going on here too. As far as your heart goes, everything else is currently holding steady. Initial telemetry reports look solid.”
I blink, trying to take in the rapid fire of information.
“Winny will be back in to start the IV and get the antibiotic going. We’ll also give you some fluids to try to bring your fever down. I’m going to have her do a few more blood draws over the next few hours to make sure your WBC is dropping. You know the drill if it doesn’t. As long as everything holds steady, I’ll check back on you in a few hours. If things take a turn, I’ll be back sooner.”
I barely have time to say, “Thanks,” before he turns and marches back out, already making notes on the notepad he holds. “I miss Dr. Nielsen,” I say.
Mom sighs. “Not all brilliant surgeons can also be as thoughtful as he was. What matters is how good your doctor is at keeping you healthy and alive, not his personality.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I look out the window, at the cloudless sky visible through the double-paned glass. “You should probably go back to the ICU, stay with Farmor now that we know it’s not that serious.”
“You’re not in the clear yet,” Mom argues. “That WBC wasn’t great.”
“I don’t want her to be alone,” I say to the blue sky that is out of my reach—at least for now. I don’t finish my thought:in case she doesn’t make it.
No one should die alone.
“I’ll go back to check on her once your IV is started and I know you’re stable.”
I know it’s the best I’ll get from her.
