“I love you, Maisie. I love you so much,” her dad said, but his eyes were red and watery.
“Don’t cry, Daddy. Please don’t cry. I can be strong enough to protect both of us.”
He took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. “I know you can, peanut, but you don’t have to be. And you shouldn’t be. That’s my role—to be strong enough for both of us. Thank you, Katelyn.”
“You’re welcome. What she did today was pretty amazing. Keep things light, Cal—stress can be contagious.”
“Wait!” Maisie grabbed Katie’s arm. “You’re leaving?”
“You don’t need me anymore, sweetheart. Your dad’s here, and he’s going to take you to your mom. And you, Ms. Maisie, should be very proud of yourself.”
“Will you come up with us in the elevator? You’re so calm and you make me feel stronger and with both of you, I think I can do it.”
Her dad and Katie looked at each other.
“Of course,” Katie said.
They stepped into the elevator. The door closed, and she clung to her parents’ hands. Her parents. Her dad pushed the button. Was the elevator moving? It didn’t seem to be. Should she panic? Was something wrong? Was it stuck? If it was stuck, why didn’t the door open?
“Remember to keep breathing, Maisie,” Katie said, and then she started humming “My Girl” as Uncle J would do.
Her dad kissed her head, and Katie rubbed her back. If one word could describe all her jumbled-up feelings, what would it be? Loved.
The elevator doors slid open, and they walked out together. They were in a quiet corridor with a super shiny floor.
“This way,” her dad said.
Two men dressed in black pushed a woman on a hospital bed. Her eyes were closed, and her skin was gray. Wheels squeaked as they went down the corridor, and Maisie read the white letters on the backs of the men’s shirts: Critical Care Transport.
People die here. Lilah and Theo will die, and it’ll be my fault.
“I should leave,” Katie said. “I’ll wait in the car, and you can text me when Maisie’s ready.”
“Please don’t go.” Maisie tightened her hold on Katie’s hand.
“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”
They stopped in front of a pair of big black doors. Her dad pushed a buzzer and spoke into it. A nurse appeared and let them in, and the doors closed behind them. It was quieter here, and there weren’t so many people. Two nurses were talking behind a long counter. One of them laughed.
“Do you want to meet Theo afterward?” her dad said.
“Yyyes, please,” Maisie said. “But does it involve more elevators?”
Her dad laughed. “You don’t have to wait for her,” he said to Katie. “I’ll drive her home when she’s ready.”
“You’re coming home, Daddy?”
“Your mom insists. Apparently we all need to get maximum shut-eye before Theo comes home and no one sleeps.”
They followed the corridor into another corridor, and it was a bit confusing because there were lots of doors—some open but with big white curtains across, and some closed. Gosh, thank goodness her dad was here to steer them in the right direction. A nurse walked by and smiled. “Good afternoon, Callum,” she said. “You must be Maisie. Nice to meet you at last.”
“You too,” Maisie said. When the nurse had gone, she whispered to her dad, “How does she know me?”
“I’ve told everyone all about you.” Her dad grinned and looked super proud.
And suddenly she was super proud. She had done it! Done something she didn’t think she could do. If Uncle J were here, he’d be celebrating with his happy dance, which he only did on very special occasions. He called it the moonwalk.
Maisie bounced on the spot—higher than Tigger! “Katie promised me nail polish.”
“Did she indeed?” Her dad looked at Katie with that half smile he had sometimes.
“I mostly definitely did, and she’s earned it.”
“Yes, I did!” She and Katie slapped their hands together in an awesome high five, which also stung a bit.
“Out-gunned. I guess we could stop at the mall on the way home.”
“We can? Oh my gosh, you’re the best, Daddy.”
“Isn’t nail polish girlie girl?” her dad said.
“According to Uncle J, not if I get black. Isn’t that right, Katie?”
Her dad smiled again. “I need to have a talk with your uncle Jake.”
They stopped by an open door, but she couldn’t see around the huge curtain.
Katie let go of her hand and said, “Follow her lead, Cal.” Then she kissed Maisie’s cheek. “Never forget how awesome you are, Maisie. You are brave, you are a fearless warrior, and when the voice insists you’re a failure, that’s your answer. Repeat it back to me.”
“I am brave, I am a fearless warrior. And I’m getting nail polish even though I’m not twelve!”
Katie laughed and motioned her forward with a finger. “I’m leaving now, but I’m only ever a text or a phone call away. And tell your dad,” she said in a stage whisper, “it has to be at least two colors of nail polish.”
“Thank you for helping me.” Maisie grinned. “I think you’re pretty awesome, too.”
Behind her, a curtain whooshed open, and Maisie spun around. The room was big and white with lots of high-tech stuff. And filled with flowers, and even a balloon saying, Get well soon. And Katie had been right! There was a flat-screen TV, and Star Wars was playing!
“Hey, there’s my little M&M,” a pale figure said from the bed.
“Mom!” Maisie ran toward her. When she turned, Katie had gone.
THIRTY-SEVEN
KATIE
Katie waited for the elevator to arrive along with grief, her old nemesis. Unlike an intrusive thought, grief wasn’t something you could boss back, out-logic, and wave off. Grief was no place you wanted to be and no place you could leave.
A slideshow of random snapshots played in her mind: the last Valentine’s Day dinner with Cal, the tug of Maisie nursing, the three of them sitting on the beach at Ocean Isle. Riding up in the elevator with Maisie and Cal. Watching Maisie run to Lilah.
The elevator arrived, and she stepped in with a stooped white-haired man. Had he also come from the ICU? Steadying himself with the handrail, he limped to the back of the elevator, taking with him the smell of mothballs.
“How’s it goin’?” His greeting came with a tired smile. “Ground floor, please.”
“Tough day?” She pushed the button, and the elevator door closed.
“Was visitin’ the wife.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“And you, tough day?”
They began a jerky descent. “Emotionally tough, but also . . . miraculous.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Them miracles happen. My wife, she’s the proof. Wasn’t expected to live this long.”
Katie shoved her hands in her pockets. “What’s her name? I’ll pray for her.”
“Nora. And thank you kindly for the consideration.”
The elevator stopped on the second floor, the doors opened, and no one got on. They rode the rest of the way in silent camaraderie. Hospitals had a way of doing that, of binding strangers through suffering. Or maybe this wasn’t suffering. Maybe this was the hope of healing. Yes, she had walked away, but this time she had healed the family she’d broken. She had helped them reconcile.
The elevator doors dinged open, and she turned abruptly. “Want to grab a coffee and something in the café? Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll have chocolate chess pie.”
“That’s a mighty fine offer, but I need to go home and mind the cat. You have a blessed day, miss.”
“You too. Take care.”
He walked slowly through the revolving door and limped toward the bus stop. Did he have a neighbor to bring him dinner, a friend to offer him a hug?
She tugged out her phone to text Ben, a knee-jerk reaction. She had to stop doing this: yanking him into her
world and then spitting him out. Thinking hard about what to say, Katie paused with her finger over the tiny keyboard, then typed:
Sorry for being a bitch earlier. Hope you dried out. Catch up soon?
The message was marked as delivered and read. He didn’t respond, but he’d probably made dinner plans with the pretty blonde. Which made absolute sense: single guy, attractive woman, Saturday night. Consenting adults.
Katie slipped on her sunglasses and stepped out into late-afternoon air heavy with gas fumes and city heat. The old man had disappeared, but a long progression of people headed toward the parking deck. Visiting hours must be over. Katie dawdled, and why not? There was no one waiting on her. A pair of crows cawed, and she stopped to admire a huge concrete planter filled with Japanese blood grass, purple coleus, and a lime-green potato vine. The potato vine was peppered with slug holes.
A text came through, but not from Ben.
You done real good, sugar, Jake had typed. Thank you.
Katie replied with the thumbs-up emoji. Running away in the dark and staying hidden for nine years would never be okay, but leaving had been the right course of action. Her family was in a good place, and thanks to her, a new baby had joined the world. Theo.
Mother knows best after all.
Up ahead, a young couple walked slowly, hands entwined. The guy, who was carrying a diaper bag, had a loping gait that suggested a neurological problem; the woman was wearing a baby carrier. Hopefully they would make it as a family.
Katie joined the crowd heading toward the pedestrian crossing and reached the sidewalk outside the parking deck, now in the deep shade of a dying day. A day that spoke of miracles. She might have lost her Catholicism while living in a tent, but today she had found a different kind of faith: faith in herself. She would never be Maisie’s real mom, not in everyday ways such as helping with homework, but she had finally behaved as a mother. And yes, she was proud, too. With a glance up at the Carolina sky, Katie thanked God silently.
A motorbike roared away from the traffic lights behind her, and she turned with a smile. But the bike was big and flashy, and the guy straddling it wasn’t wearing a helmet. Ben never went anywhere without his helmet. He didn’t take risks.
With a sigh, Katie entered the parking deck, where rows of vehicles greeted her, many of them black trucks. Why had she not paid attention when they arrived? She glanced over license plates and then bumper stickers until her eyes lingered on one that said Coexist.
Coexist. As she walked, she pictured the poster on her fridge, the mock-up she had created after Ben suggested she start a support group. She thought about the old man going home to no one but a cat. It was her choice to be alone, her choice to shut out Ben, but what if you had no choice? What if she could help others feel less alone?
Her phone rang, but yet again, it wasn’t Ben.
“You doing okay?” Delaney said.
“I can’t believe it, but I got Maisie inside the hospital.”
“Duh. I knew you would. You’re a total badass.” Delaney giggled. “Sorry. Patrick’s being inappropriate. Want to come over and celebrate? He’s throwing together a hearty Irish stew that we’re going to consume with a shitload of Merlot. You can eat yourself into a food coma and sleep over.”
“Appealing offer, but no, thanks. I’m not up for playing third wheel.”
Aha! There was the truck. Balancing her phone between her shoulder and her ear, Katie pulled out her keys. “Once I get home, I’m going to reflect on where I go from here. Double down on my search for a decent therapist I can afford, think more about this idea of starting a support group, and, first thing Monday, call my primary care physician. See what I have to do to get back on meds.”
“You go, Sis.” Delaney giggled again.
“Have fun with your wild Irishman.”
“Oh, I will.” Delaney paused. “Seriously, you okay?”
A woman and a little girl skipped by, swinging hands and singing. Not a worry between them. Katie closed her eyes and remembered Maisie’s hand squeezing her own as they’d walked through the hospital lobby.
“Yeah, I am. I really am. Maybe I won’t even need meds this time.”
She hung up, and a text came through from Ben. One word, Sure.
Without thinking, she typed, I miss our friendship, and hit “Send.”
He didn’t reply, and the voice seized his silence. Snatched it up to pummel her with a new cycle of worry. Stole the joy of all that she had achieved, and found its new target: Ben.
THIRTY-EIGHT
CALLUM
“Not every day you see a Porta-John hanging from a crane,” Jake said.
Callum followed Jake’s gaze to the huge windows on the far wall of the psychologist’s waiting room. They were on the third floor, but rather than a panorama of the city, the view was of a giant construction site. Nothing on the drive over had been familiar, although it must have been ten years since he’d visited the area around Duke University Hospital. In another ten years it would be unrecognizable again. Ten years. Theo would be ten. The age he was when . . . Tingling shot down his arm, his heart fluttered to a discordant vibration.
The vise tightened in his chest.
He reached for Maisie’s hand. She was squashed between him and Jake on a surprisingly comfortable two-seater. Her feet didn’t touch the carpeted floor.
“That fear thermometer you talked about in the car, is it still high?”
Maisie nodded and stared at her unopened library book. Her legs started swinging.
“Mine’s in the red zone,” Callum said.
“You’re anxious, too, Daddy?” She looked up, and he wanted to scoop her into his arms and run.
The elevator dinged and another family headed toward the reception desk. Callum leaned closer. “Extremely.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Jake took her other hand. “’Cause you both know I only get anxious when the Tar Heels are on the basketball court. I’m so relaxed right now, I don’t even have a heartbeat.”
Maisie frowned. “Uncle J! That does not make sense.”
“Really?” Jake grinned.
A small, plump woman in purple glasses appeared in front of them, her outfit more visually confusing than his daughter’s. “You must be Maisie. Hello, I’m Dr. Young.” The woman’s voice was high and chirpy.
Callum shot up and shoved his hands into his pockets. The tingling returned, intensified to live electricity. “Maisie’s father, Callum.” He yanked his right hand free and held it out for a handshake. “And this is Jake, Maisie’s uncle. He’s volunteered to stay with her while I bring you up to speed on our family drama. At least . . . the CliffsNotes.”
“Fantastic plan. Maisie, I’ll be back to fetch you shortly. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” Maisie sat up straight and beamed. “I like your outfit very much.”
“I like yours. See you in a few. Come on then, Dad.” Dr. Young turned away, and Callum followed obediently.
She buzzed them through a heavy door and kept walking. His heart thumped in his throat, in his ears, behind his eyes. He imagined being trapped for all eternity in a never-ending white corridor that shrank into nothingness.
“Oopsy,” Dr. Young said, and walked backward to grab a doorknob. “All the doors look the same, don’t they? We’re in here.”
He noticed the smell first: stale and anonymous. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people had passed through this artificially constructed family room—with a sofa, two armchairs, and a computer on top of a cubby. Would Maisie find it claustrophobic? She had a problem with small, windowless spaces. Although the huge mirror, dark at the edges, was large enough for a window. Large enough for observation. Was he being watched? There was no trash can. Where would he vomit? Since Dr. Young made straight for one of the chairs, he settled on the sofa. For sitting on, not vomiting in. Not that he was going to vomit. Or so he hoped.
“Thank you for fitting us in,” he said. “On such short notice.”
<
br /> “Not at all. I had a cancellation.”
Fiddling with the collar of his knit shirt, Callum glanced up at the camera in the corner.
“Used for training purposes only. And not currently switched on.”
He nodded and grabbed a breath.
“What did you want to tell me?” she said.
“It’s hard to know. Where to start.”
She smiled and waited. Was this place always so quiet?
“There’s Maisie’s biological mother, who—” Callum swallowed the words abandoned us. Even in his head, they sounded disloyal. “Struggles with OCD and recently reentered Maisie’s life. That was traumatic, for the whole family.” Callum swallowed. “And Maisie’s stepmother is in the hospital following a disturbing emergency that Maisie witnessed.” Another breath, another swallow. “And there’s the person who constructed a huge lie around her childhood to protect her from monsters when truthfully—” He stared down at his hands, clasped together. His knuckles gleamed white. “I was running from my own.”
“That’s a heavy load to unpack.”
“And I think it might help Maisie if I saw someone independently. I was wondering if anyone in this clinic deals with adult anxiety related to intrusive memories.” He glanced up; she smiled again. “Of childhood abuse. Sexual in nature.”
“I know just the person. I’ll find his card before you leave. You’ve never consulted a therapist?”
Callum shook his head. “And it’s time to accept I’m not a victim.” The tightness in his chest began to unwind; outside the door, a child giggled. “I’m a survivor.”
THIRTY-NINE
KATIE
Katie stood on Jake’s doorstep with a bottle of tequila and her phone, which she turned around and around in her hand. She had developed a new habit—Be honest, Katie, a compulsion—of checking umpteen times a day for text messages from Ben, who had been AWOL all week. Although, Trent had let slip that Ben was working late one night when he stopped by the studio.
New deal, Katie, no more checking for at least one hour.
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