Chương 5
My hand stopped moving over Holly’s skin.
“What are you saying?”
“The lender sent attachments.”
A chill moved through me.
“What attachments?”
“One of them was a letter supporting the projected value of Holly’s trust.”
I frowned.
“From who?”
“That is the problem.”
Calvin took a slow breath.
“The letter appears to have been signed by me.”
I looked at the phone.
“You didn’t sign it.”
“No.”
Outside the window, the hospital parking garage glowed under rows of white lights.
A car alarm began chirping somewhere below and stopped abruptly.
I pressed my thumb against Holly’s small knuckle.
Calvin said, “Tomorrow morning, I’m bringing the original trust documents, the lender’s packet, and a forensic accountant.”
I stared toward the doorway Derek had just disappeared through.
“What happens then?”
“That depends on what your husband forged.”
I did not sleep after that.
I sat beside Holly until the window turned from black to charcoal, then gray, then the washed-out blue of an early hospital morning.
Nurses changed shifts.
A janitor polished the hallway floor with a machine that made a low mechanical hum.
Someone delivered breakfast trays that smelled faintly of eggs and burned coffee.
None of it seemed connected to my life, though all of it kept happening anyway.
Holly woke a little after six.
Her eyes opened slowly, and she looked toward me with the dazed suspicion she always had after heavy medication.
I leaned close.
“Morning, bug.”
She blinked once.
Then twice.
Her fingers moved against the blanket.
Leah had explained before that Holly could sometimes answer yes-or-no questions by squeezing my hand.
I offered her two fingers.
“You want me to stop calling you bug because you’re eight now?”
She squeezed once.
I smiled despite myself.
“One squeeze means yes.”
Another squeeze.
“Wow.”
I lowered my voice.
“Cold.”
Her eyes softened.
She squeezed twice.
“No?”
Twice again.
“So I’m allowed.”
One squeeze.
I laughed quietly.
“Your system has flaws.”
For several minutes, we did nothing important.
I combed the hair away from her forehead with my fingers.
She watched a cartoon without sound on the television mounted across the room.
A blue dog chased an orange bird through a kitchen while subtitles flashed beneath them.
Holly’s attention drifted in and out.
At one point she looked toward the empty chair near the window.
I knew who she was looking for.
“Dad went home for a while.”
Her eyes stayed on the chair.
I hated myself for how carefully I had chosen the sentence.
It was technically true.
That was the kind of language people used when truth felt too sharp for children.
She looked back at me.
I squeezed her hand.
“He loves you.”
The words came out before I had decided whether I believed them.
Maybe he did.
Love had never prevented anyone from being weak.
By seven-thirty, Dr. Patel arrived with a resident named Morgan and a tablet tucked under one arm.
He was a narrow man in his fifties who never rushed when he entered Holly’s room, even when I knew he had too many patients.
He checked her chart, listened to her lungs, and watched the monitor for longer than usual.
“We’re going to try reducing the respiratory support a little this morning.”
I stood.
“Is that good?”
“It means she’s stable enough that we can test what she does with less help.”
“That sounds good.”
“It is better than the alternative.”
That was Dr. Patel’s way.
He never gave me false comfort, but he never stole real comfort either.
I nodded.
“And Boston?”
He glanced at Holly, then at me.
“The trial coordinator called me at five-forty.”
My heart jumped so hard it hurt.
“They have a provisional opening.”
“Provisional?”
“They need updated imaging, current labs, and confirmation that she can tolerate transport.”
“When?”
“If everything lines up, forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”
I almost sat down again.
“That soon?”
“That’s the point.”
His expression remained careful.
“They are moving quickly because her window may be narrowing.”
The words pressed the air out of my chest.
He waited.
I nodded.
“What do I need to do?”
“Nothing financially this morning.”
I nearly laughed.
If only he knew.
“They’re still reviewing the coverage structure and philanthropic funds.”
“Coverage structure?”
“Some of the intervention may be covered through the trial, some associated care may not be.”
“How much?”
“We don’t have a reliable number yet.”
“I have money.”
My voice sounded too fast.
He looked at me.
“I’m not asking you to commit anything right now.”
“I’m telling you I can.”
He paused.
“All right.”
I hated the pity that flickered across Morgan’s face.
Maybe it was not pity.
Maybe I had become so raw that every soft expression felt like pity.
Dr. Patel continued.
“The more immediate issue is Holly’s condition.”
He tapped the edge of the tablet.
“Transport has to be medically safe.”
“What could stop it?”
“Infection.”
He glanced toward the IV lines.
“Respiratory decline.”
My stomach tightened.
“Anything else?”
“Several things.”
He did not list them.
I appreciated that.
There were already too many ways to lose her.
After he left, I stood at the sink and washed my hands because I did not know what else to do.
The soap smelled like nothing.
Hospital soap never smelled like anything.
My phone vibrated on the windowsill.
Calvin.
I answered immediately.
“I’m downstairs.”
“You’re here?”
“I said I would be.”
“You said morning.”
“It is morning.”
I looked at the clock.
Eight-oh-three.
“I need coffee.”
“So do I.”
Ten minutes later, Calvin entered carrying a brown leather briefcase that looked older than some of the residents.
He wore a navy suit, no tie, and the same wire-frame glasses he had worn at my mother’s funeral.
Age had rounded his shoulders, but nothing else about him seemed softer.
He looked at Holly first.
He always did.
He approached the bed and placed two fingers gently against the back of her hand.
“Captain Bun still employed?”
May you like
Holly’s eyes opened.
She saw him and squeezed my fingers once.
