Part 2
“I’m okay,” the girl whispered.
“You don’t have to be okay,” Daniel said.
He crossed to her before the last word left his mouth. His hand went to her forehead, though he had checked her temperature less than ten minutes earlier. Lucy’s skin felt cool. That had frightened him on Monday. On Tuesday, warmth had frightened him. By Thursday, everything did.
Mara watched Lucy’s breathing, counting without appearing to count. Her expression remained composed, but Daniel saw the tension at the corners of her mouth.
Evelyn crossed her arms.
“This is precisely why I brought Corinne,” she said. “We cannot continue operating through rumor and sleep deprivation.”
Daniel did not turn around.
“No one asked you to bring security into Lucy’s bedroom.”
“They are outside the bedroom.”
“They’re standing in the doorway.”
“One of the hospital drivers reported being followed yesterday.”
“The driver reported seeing the same gray sedan twice.”
“That is what being followed looks like before it becomes something worse.”
Daniel pulled the blanket higher over Lucy’s shoulder. She watched him with tired blue-gray eyes.
“Dad,” she murmured.
“What?”
“You’re doing the blanket thing.”
He looked down. He had tucked it so tightly around her that her arms were trapped.
“Sorry.”
He loosened it.
Lucy’s fingers emerged and found the stuffed rabbit’s ear. The rabbit had once been white all over. Its left ear had turned gray from years of being rubbed between Lucy’s thumb and forefinger. Mara had offered to wash it when she first arrived. Lucy had stared at her until Mara withdrew the suggestion and said, with perfect seriousness, that some rabbits preferred a lived-in appearance.
Daniel had liked her then.
The memory irritated him now.
He stepped away from the bed and faced Dr. Bell.
“Can you verify the prescription?”
Corinne shifted the black tablet into both hands. She was a refined woman in her early fifties, with shoulder-length blonde hair that curled inward at her collar. She had advised Evelyn on medical decisions for almost fifteen years, first during Daniel’s father’s heart surgery, later through Evelyn’s hip replacement, and most recently after Lucy’s illness began. She was not one of Lucy’s treating physicians. She was the person Evelyn called when treating physicians used language Evelyn considered insufficiently decisive.
“I can review the portal record,” Corinne said.
“Do it.”
Evelyn’s lips tightened. “You could ask without issuing commands.”
“I haven’t slept more than two hours at a time in eight days.”
“That doesn’t give you permission to speak to everyone as if they’re employees.”
“No,” Daniel said. “Being Lucy’s father gives me permission to ask who changed her medication.”
Mara picked up the glass dropper, checked the measurement marks, and set it back on the cloth. Her hands were steady.
Daniel looked at them.
He had watched those hands adjust Lucy’s pillows, clean the adhesive from her skin, open juice cartons, and untangle her hair when she was too weak to lift her arms. He had seen Mara warm the stethoscope between her palms before placing it against Lucy’s back. Two nights earlier, when Lucy vomited after midnight and began apologizing for the mess, Mara had changed the bedding without once looking at the clock.
That history should have mattered.
Fear made history feel like negligence.
“What exactly are you preparing?” he asked.
Mara told him the medication name, the adjusted volume, and the prescribed interval. Her voice was clear and professional. She did not rush. She did not overexplain. She seemed to know that too much reassurance could sound like concealment.
“And you checked it against what?” Daniel asked.
“The electronic order, the pharmacy label, and the administration schedule.”
“Did anyone call the house?”
“The pharmacy technician called the main line to confirm delivery.”
“Who answered?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you speak to Dr. Kessler?”
“No.”
“Did you speak to anyone in his office?”
“No.”
Daniel looked toward the doorway. One of the security officers, a broad-shouldered man named Harris, lowered his gaze.
“Who took the pharmacy call?”
Harris touched the earpiece tucked behind his right ear. “I can ask the desk.”
“Ask now.”
Evelyn glanced at Lucy. “Not in here.”
Daniel’s head turned sharply. “What?”
“Your interrogation. Take it into the hall.”
“It concerns her treatment.”
“And she is listening to every word.”
Lucy’s fingers stopped moving against the rabbit’s ear.
Daniel saw it.
His anger did not disappear. It lost its direction for a moment, which was almost worse.
He lowered his voice. “Harris, check the call log.”
The officer stepped into the hallway.
Mara stood beside the tray, close enough to block anyone from reaching it without making the gesture obvious. Daniel understood what she was doing. The understanding increased his suspicion.
“What time is the dose due?” he asked.
“Eleven.”
He looked at his watch. 10:54.
“Don’t give it.”
“I wasn’t going to administer anything while the order was under question.”
“Put it away.”
“I can’t return it to storage until we determine whether the order is valid.”
“Why not?”
“Because it has already been prepared for administration.”
“You haven’t opened it.”
“No, but I removed it from secure storage and documented it in the medication record.”
Daniel stared at the red seal.
“Prepared by you.”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Mara’s eyes held his.
“Yes.”
The answer carried no apology. No attempt to soften itself.
Daniel heard his own breathing. The room was quiet enough that he could also hear Lucy’s monitor, the faint movement of the sheer curtains, and a delivery truck changing gears somewhere beyond the trees.
Evelyn said, “Daniel.”
He ignored her.
“How long was it out of your sight?”
Mara’s posture changed so slightly no one else might have noticed. Her shoulders straightened. Her chin lifted a fraction.
“It wasn’t.”
“You left the room ten minutes ago.”
“To wash my hands in the adjoining bathroom. The tray remained on the bedside table, four feet from you.”
“My eyes were closed.”
“I was gone less than a minute.”
May you like
“So it was out of your sight.”
“The vial was sealed when I returned.”
