“Have you seen Jemma’s red fleece?” Sarah calls to Mom. It’s chaos this morning as Sarah runs around finding last-minute things to put in my suitcase. I seem to need an awful lot of stuff for an overnight stay.
Mom is trying to finish her own packing, and Dad is attempting to single-handedly get Olivia and Finn ready for school. My back and stomach pain are even worse, and I have this kind of fuzzy, giddy feeling. It’s definitely an infection. Sarah thinks it’s just anxiety about the day ahead. Typical. When I was anxious before, they thought it was physical, and now it’s the other way around.
“Here it is,” says Mom, handing my fleece to Sarah.
Mom turns to me and looks concerned. “There’s no need for you to be worried about today—I promise.” The pain in my back has developed into a throb, and it is spreading outward, surging through me.
I feel hot—too hot.
Someone’s speaking. Sarah is moving closer.
I think she says, “Something’s not right,” but the words sound blurry. Her face, close to mine, is blurry too. Everything is spinning.
I am vaguely aware of being lifted out of my wheelchair, faces bending over me, voices talking. Then the jolting movement of the ambulance, the gurney, the white curtains swishing, bright lights, the IV, the monitor. These are all familiar to me. I’ve spent a lot of time at this hospital.
Mom is sitting by my bed now, holding my hand. Her hand is warm and safe. I drift off and wake to find the hand holding mine is larger, firmer. Mom has been replaced by Dad. Later it is a smaller, long-fingered hand, as Sarah chats away to me.
Mom jokes about the convenience of living only a ten-minute drive from the hospital. It wasn’t something she or Dad thought about when they bought the house years ago, but it has proven very useful.
Mom, Dad, and Sarah set up a rotation. There is always someone by my side. I am so glad they are there. I would completely panic otherwise. Some nurses do stuff without even bothering to talk to me, as if there’s no point explaining anything. Whoever’s with me will ask and make sure I know what’s going to happen. I’d be terrified if some stranger just lifted my arm and started putting a needle in me or something.
Sarah squeezes my hand. She seems agitated. I can feel her pulse faster than it should be.
“You awake, Jem?” she says, seeing my eyes open. “How’re you feeling? The pain should be better after all the stuff they’re pumping into you.”
She gives a nod toward the drip and smiles.
She’s right. The pain is better, though I feel very weak and my head feels heavy and peculiar.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t realize how bad it was, Jemma,” she tells me, giving my hand another squeeze. “Your mom blames me for not spotting it earlier. I feel awful.”
Sarah thinks Mom blamed her for Finn going missing and now for this. I wish Mom would stop accusing her.
It’s only the next day, when my head is a little clearer, that I realize I missed the trip to the college. I’m not going to meet the professor.
Mom seems to realize what I’m thinking.
“Don’t worry, dear. We’ll rearrange the trip. I actually spoke to Professor Spalding, and he said he’d be very interested in meeting you.”
She isn’t saying, “And he’s sure he can help.” But at least there is still a chance.
I’m dozing, aware that Sarah is holding my hand. She’s been here for a long time. When I manage to open my eyes briefly, I see that hers are half-closing. Then suddenly there’s a voice. Someone else is in the room.
“Hi, babe,” he says. My stomach clenches.
Sarah sits up and turns around.
“What are you doing here?” she asks. It’s something she seems to say to Dan a lot.
“I was worried about you—sitting here for hours on end. And I was right to worry, wasn’t I? Look at you. You’re exhausted.”
“I’m okay,” Sarah says.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Come on, let me take you for a coffee.”
“But I can’t leave Jemma,” Sarah says, sounding shocked that he would suggest it.
“She’ll be all right,” says Dan. “It’s not like she can run off or anything.”
“Dan!” Sarah exclaims.
“Tell you what. I’ll stay with Jemma while you get a coffee,” says Dan. “That way she won’t be on her own, and you get a break. Win, win.”
“I shouldn’t…but… Oh, babe, would you really do that?” Sarah asks. He leans forward and kisses her. If there was ever a time when I most wanted Sarah’s mind-reading skills to kick in, this would be it. With every thought, I urge her to stay. I want her to see it in my eyes. But she’s not even looking at me.
“If you’re worried at all, press that button to reach the nurses’ station,” Sarah tells him. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, though.”
She turns to me, stroking my arm. I stare at her, hoping she will see the distress on my face. I even try to make a sound, but just a horrid erhhhhh comes out.
“I’ll be back in five minutes, I promise,” she assures me.
Then she’s gone.