“Preparing for the storm?” The cashier grins as he begins to ring up my selection.
“Trying to. Just in case, you know.”
“No worries. It will likely blow over before midnight.”
“Before midnight?” I study his dark eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah. They never last too long. Maybe even sooner.”
“Do you know how long it takes until the airlines start running again?”
“Hmm …” He’s bagging my stuff. “It depends.”
I frown as I hand him a credit card.
“You’re in a hurry to leave the island?”
“Yes.” Then, without even meaning to, I pour out my story about how Fran needs to get out of here and back to her doctor. “I may just book an air ambulance … but that’s so expensive.”
He nods with a furrowed brow. “Oh, yeah. Terribly costly.” His eyes brighten. “I have an uncle with a charter airline.” “Charter airline?”
“He island hops, but he sometimes flies to the mainland too. He flies a lot of the guests in this hotel.”
“Do you think he could get us to Miami?” I ask eagerly. “Tonight?”
“Maybe so.” He pulls out a pad of paper, writing down a name and phone number. “You call him. Tell him Bart told you about his business.”
Chapter
18
my mom demands after I’ve spilled my new idea for getting Fran off the island.
“I tentatively booked a charter flight out of here tonight,” I say again.
“What kind of charter?”
I repeat what Bart told me about his uncle. “He uses small, fast jets. And the good news is that, thanks to the storm, he’s not booked.”
“You plan to take Fran on a small charter plane and fly through a hurricane to Miami?”
“That’s not exactly how it’s supposed to go.” I explain how the charter service is tracking the weather and the path the hurricane is taking, and how they wouldn’t do anything risky. “Their planes are valuable, Mom. It’s not like they want to go up there and crash.”
“I don’t know, Erin.”
“What are you two talking about?” Paige emerges from her bedroom looking slightly better than she did this morning. I quickly replay my evacuation plan for Fran.
Paige frowns. “Are you nuts?”
I glance at Mom. “Did you tell Paige what’s really wrong with Fran?”
“You asked me not to mention it, Erin.”
So I quickly spill out Fran’s story, at least parts of it, and Paige is totally stunned. “No way,” she declares. “That makes absolutely no sense. Fran’s just had a bout of the flu. I heard it’s been going around.”
“Have you even seen Fran once since we arrived here?” I challenge her. “Do you know what you’re talking about?”
Her brow creases. “Now that you mention it, I guess I haven’t actually seen her since we got here. But she looked fine then. In fact, she looked pretty great.”
“You mean because she’d lost weight?” I shake my head. “Don’t you get that it’s because of her leukemia? She also lost her hair—because of the chemo treatments.” I realize I’ve probably said too much.
“The point is, Fran is very sick,” Mom concurs. “She needs to get home. But I’m not sure about this plan, Erin.”
“And what about this hurricane?” Paige looks worried now. “You can’t fly out in weather like this.”
I turn to Mom. “Please, explain it to her. I need to check with Fran and see if I can book a flight from Miami to LA tonight—otherwise it’s pointless to try to get to Miami.”
I head back to my room. And when I check on Fran, she’s still resting quietly. I hate to disturb her. “Fran?” I whisper.
She opens her eyes, but they have an empty look now, almost as if she’s given up.
“Here,” I say as I help her sit up, “drink some tea.” I hold the now-lukewarm cup to her lips and wait as she takes some slow sips. “You need to get your strength up a little … so we can get you out of here and get you some medical attention.”
“I don’t want to go to the hospital here,” she protests.
“I know. I mean Los Angeles. We’re taking you home, Fran.”
Her eyes brighten just a little. “Home?”
“Do you think you’ll be strong enough to fly? I booked us a flight that will leave as soon as Hurricane Bruce moves safely away.”
“Yes.” She nods and reaches for the cup of tea. “I’ll be strong enough.”
“Okay. For now, just keep resting. I want you to try to eat some of your fruit from lunch. And I’ll get you a yogurt from the fridge.”
I get her settled then return to my room to finalize our travel plans. But first I pray, asking God to make this work. It feels like it’s against all odds that we could get off the island as well as connect with a flight in Miami. I know I’m in over my head. It will take a miracle. But to my relief, the first airline I call, the one we usually use, has two first-class seats on a flight to LA. Unfortunately, that flight doesn’t leave until 6:10 tomorrow morning. Even so, I book it. Then I call back the charter service and explain.
“That’s probably better anyway,” he assures me. “The hurricane will be well on its way by then. We’ll plan to fly out of here around three in the morning, which will put us at the airport by four. That should give you enough time to check in and make your next flight. We’ll call ahead for assistance. Someone can meet you at our terminal and get you to your next connection.”
“Okay,” I say firmly. “Book it.” Then he gives me some directions, which I write down. Next, I call JJ, who’s still in the lobby with the crew, and explain that Fran and I need a ride to the airport tonight.
“The airport? You can’t fly out of here tonight.”
Once again, I explain everything. And this time I tell him the truth about Fran. “Her condition has really deteriorated … she needs to get home to her doctor.”
“I didn’t know. Of course I’ll drive you guys. No problem.”
“The storm is supposed to have passed by then.”
“We heard it’s supposed to be on the way out by midnight.”
Now I remember the crew is staying at another hotel. “You guys can use my room, if you want to weather out the storm tonight. Or maybe Paige’s room, since it’s bigger. She and Mom can bunk together.”
“I’ll tell the others.”
Next I call Fran’s doctor. I tell her exactly what’s going on, and she sounds astounded. “Fran is in the Bahamas?” she says for the third time.
“Yes. And she’s really not well.” I go into some more details.
“I’m not surprised she’s failing. She was insane to make that trip. I told her explicitly that it would be too much. I can’t believe she didn’t listen.”
“She was just being optimistic,” I say defensively. “She wanted to believe she was getting better.”
“But it was too soon. She should’ve known — ”
“The thing is she needs your help, Dr. Marshall. I’m trying to get her back to LA as soon as possible. We’re flying out late tonight—after the hurricane passes,” I say quickly before she can question that too. I glance at my notes. “We should make LA around eight in the morning. I think she’ll need to see you immediately.”
“I want you to get her to Cedars-Sinai Hospital. I’ll call over there and get it set up.” She pauses. “Are you sure she’s healthy enough to make the flight?”
I honestly don’t know the answer to this, but for Fran’s sake, I say yes.
Hurricane Bruce is pounding down full force on the island by seven o’clock. JJ and the rest of the crew take occupancy in the suite, while Mom and Paige move into my room and I move in with Fran.
It’s going to be a long night. Our room service meals finally arrive and we share them all around. With that and the provisions I snagged at the hotel store, no one goes hungry. Everyone is torn between watching the coverage on TV and looking o
ut the window. But in Fran’s room, except for the sound of the TV music, it’s quiet and the drapes are drawn. I think I’ve done all I can to make Fran comfortable and I’ve packed us each one small bag. I know I’m not going to be able to sleep, so I go check on Mom and Paige.
They’re in bed eating chocolate bars and watching an old Bette Davis movie. I just stand in the doorway, looking in.
“Come on in,” Mom calls to me. “There’s room.”
So I join them and they share their chocolate with me. “How’s Fran?” Paige asks.
“Resting. I think I’ve got what we need to travel all ready.”
“And I’ll pack up the rest,” Mom says. We’ve already worked this out.
“The hotel was supposed to bring up a wheelchair — ”
“Oh, yeah.” Paige is looking at her iPhone now. “It came a little while ago. It’s outside the door.”
“So you really want to do this?” Mom asks me again.
I don’t even answer. We’ve been over it before.
Paige shakes her phone. “I just don’t get where he is.”
“Who?” But even as I ask, I know.
“Dylan, of course. He’s not answering. Did he say where he was going after you guys finished up Britain’s Got Style?”
I glance at Mom and I can tell she doesn’t want to answer either.
“I think he had some things to take care of for his show.”
“He probably got stuck somewhere,” Mom offers. “Because of the hurricane.”
“What do you think the hurricane will do to the rest of Fashion Week?” I say to no one in particular. Mostly I want to change the subject. “Will they cancel shows?”
“Good question,” Mom says. “I assume it will depend on the damage.”
“I heard a guy on the local news saying that they get these a lot,” Paige tells us. “And that in a day or two, you can’t even tell the island was hit.”
We chat and visit until it’s so late that I can tell they’re both half asleep. I return to Fran’s room and sit in the chair by the window, looking out to where the wind actually seems to be slowing down some. I think perhaps Bruce is finally on his way to wreak havoc elsewhere. I’ve set the alarm for two, just in case I fall asleep. But my plan is to start getting us out of here a little sooner than that. In the meantime, I am praying.
I am so relieved when we are finally loaded into the first-class section of the big jet. Despite how smoothly everything else went, it was nerve-wracking and I know it has taken a toll on Fran. But, other than initially protesting the use of a wheelchair, she’s been a real trouper.
“Just sleep,” I tell her as I reach across and push the button to lean her chair back. “It won’t be long now.” I’ve given her half a sleeping pill. She insisted a whole one wouldn’t be too much, but I’m worried. She seems so fragile. And thankfully, the half dose seems to be working.
I go over the details in my head as the jet takes off. I’ve already asked the flight attendant to radio to LAX so there will be wheelchair waiting at the gate. I’ve arranged for a town car to meet us at passenger pickup. Then it’s on to the hospital. I cannot wait to feel the relief of knowing Fran is getting the care she needs.
To my surprise, I fall asleep as well. When I wake it’s to the sound of the pilot announcing our arrival in LA. I am so happy I could cry, and I close my eyes and thank God.
“We’re here,” I tell Fran as I put her seat back into the upright position, which wakes her up. “It won’t be long now.”
After a slightly bumpy landing and a long taxi, we finally pull into the gate. And because we’re in first class, we get to exit first. The flight attendant helps me get Fran into the wheelchair, which is right outside the plane as promised.
“Good luck,” the attendant calls to us. With Fran’s bag over one shoulder and my bag over the other, I wheel her through the tunnel and on toward ground transportation, where the town car is waiting. The driver helps Fran in, and we are on our way to the hospital.
By nine o’clock, Fran is checked into Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. Dr. Marshall shows up shortly afterwards to examine her.
I know I could probably leave now, but it feels weird after all we’ve been through to simply leave Fran here. So I sit in the waiting room and try to wrap my head around the fact that I’m no longer in the Bahamas, the hurricane is over, and I’m home in LA. I call Mom and give her an update.
“Oh, I’m so glad to hear it, Erin. You must be exhausted.”
“Yeah. Pretty much. As soon as I hear how Fran is, I’ll go home and shower and maybe sleep for a week.”
“It’s really a mess here,” Mom tells me. “Power is out in places, lots of damage, beach homes destroyed, some shows are cancelled. And there’s something else.” She lowers her voice. “Dylan is missing.”
“Missing?”
“Paige has tried and tried to call him. And she’s checked his room and all around the hotel. It’s like he’s just vanished.”
“Oh no. Do you think he was out in the storm?”
“I have no idea. Paige is frantic.”
“Did you mention about him going with Eliza yesterday?” I ask carefully.
“No, no … I don’t see how that can help matters.”
“No, I don’t think it would either.”
“I’ll let you know if we hear anything about him.”
“Yeah. Give Paige a hug for me. Tell her I’m praying for him.”
We hang up and I do pray for Dylan. First I pray for his safety and then I pray that he doesn’t break my sister’s heart. Then I call Mollie, who sounds shocked to hear my voice.
“Guess what?” I say lightly.
“I don’t know,” she snaps back at me.
“What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” She sounds seriously angry. “What’s wrong is that I’m in labor—and it hurts!”
“Labor? As in having your baby?”
“It’s not like I’m laboring to build a brick wall.” She makes huffing noises now and I realize this girl is serious. “And if you’re calling to tell me about how lovely it is in the Bahamas—I do not want to hear about it.”
“Where are you?” I ask her. “I mean, are you really having the baby right now?”
“On the way to the hospital,” she huffs.
“You’re driving?”
“No!” More huffing. “Mom’s driving.”
“Which hospital?” I ask.
“Cedars-Sinai,” she growls. “Like it matters. I gotta go, Erin. Have a great day!”
I cannot believe it—Mollie is on her way here, right now. I rush back into Fran’s room, where she and the doctor are quietly discussing something. “Sorry to interrupt,” I say as I start to back off.
“No, it’s okay.” Fran waves me over, properly introducing me to her doctor this time.
“So you’re the angel,” Dr. Marshall says to me.
“Not really.” I wrinkle my nose. “Although I’m certain there were some real angels involved.”
“Maybe so.” The doctor smiles. “I was just telling Fran that I think we’ve found a bone marrow donor match.”
“Really?” I look down at Fran and she has tears in her eyes.
“We need to get Fran stabilized first and get her blood counts leveled out, but we’re feeling hopeful.”
“Thank you so much for getting me back here,” Fran tells me. “Thank you for everything, Erin.”
Feeling uncomfortable with all this attention, I decide to change the subject, so I quickly tell them about Mollie being in labor. “And can you believe it—she’s on her way here right now.”
“Here?” Fran stares at me.
“I was supposed to be her birth coach, but I would’ve missed it if we hadn’t come home last night,” I tell her. “So you see what I mean—it really does feel kind of miraculous.”
“You’d better go find her,” Fran tells me.
“I’ll check back with you later,” I promise.
I’m surprised that I no longer feel sleepy as I hurry to the maternity ward to wait for Mollie. I cannot wait to see the look on her face when she sees me here. I realize that all this time I’ve been praying for miracles … and God was just waiting for the right time to deliver them.
Chapter
19
When I spot Mollie’s mother pushing a wheelchair containing my best friend into the labor and delivery unit, I’m so excited that I jump up and down like a five-year-old. Mollie gapes at me as if I’m an apparition.
“Wha—what?” she gasps. “How’d you get—” She stops mid-sentence and her face gets red as she reaches down to her belly, then bends over and begins to moan.
“Erin!” Mrs. Tyson looks hugely relieved to see me. “I thought you were in the Bahamas.”
“I was. It’s a long story.”
“Mollie started having labor pains last night, but she thought it was just indigestion. Then her water broke less than an hour ago and I think she’s about to—”
“Where is the doctor?” Mollie cries out now.
“Can I help you?” a nurse asks.
“Yes, we called from home,” Mrs. Tyson says politely. “This is Mollie Tyson and she is pre-registered and—”
“And she’s having a baby!” Mollie screeches.
“Let’s get her to a room.” The nurse takes over and wheels
Mollie into a room, where she is helped to a bed and another nurse starts hooking up monitors and things.
“I’ll do a quick check and we’ll see how advanced you are,” the first nurse tells Mollie, fitting her feet into the sock-covered stirrups.
Mrs. Tyson turns to me with a slightly horrified look. “I’m sure Mollie has told you … I’m not really good around blood and medical things.”
“Why don’t you sit down?” I nod to the nearby chair, but Mrs. Tyson just turns away and heads right on out the door.
So I sit in the chair. And it’s weird because I don’t even feel nervous. I think after all I’ve been through with Fran, the idea of helping Mollie have a baby isn’t all that intimidating.
“Well, well, Mollie.” The nurse stands up. “You’re nearly eight centimeters. Did you call your doctor yet?”
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