“We still need to talk,” he whisper-croaks, and I nod.
Because yesterday was fantasy.
Today is reality, the hard part of our story.
“I know.” My hair falls across my face and I don’t move to brush it away. It provides me with a little shelter. It shields me from what I’m worried he’ll see in my gaze—a fear of falling. Fear of falling too hard, too fast.
“I’ll catch you, Ellie.”
And just like that, I feel I can manage again.
I blow him a kiss, which Joel catches and places against his heart, and it’s so corny I roll my eyes. Then, when his eyes close one more time, I do the lamest thing I’ve ever done. I take his T-shirt from where it rests on the floor and hug it to my chest. Right now, I just want to take a little piece of Joel home with me.
I start the long walk back to my car, back to my life, back to reality. The sun is just winking out over the horizon, so it’s not hard to see the nuances of the path. The air is so crisp and chilling that it somehow makes me feel fresh, as if I haven’t just had wild monkey sex with the man I love, swam in a saltwater lagoon and basically moisturised my face with pizza oil without taking a shower in between.
When I reach the lot, my car doesn’t have a ticket, despite being parked in the spot much longer than would legally be allowed. I took a chance. I took a risk.
And everything worked out.
Now I just need to work out how I’m going to deal with the rest of life with Joel.
Still, as I drive back home I feel as if nothing can drag me down. My phone is plugged in on charge, music blaring out the car speakers. I’m in love. I’m happy. And there’s still a chance the doctors could be wrong. Doctors are wrong all the time. And sure, Joel says he’s done chemo and all that medical stuff, but maybe he could try an organic diet. Less pizza and beer.
More sex in tents ...
My head is so far in the clouds that when red and blue lights fly past me, a silent wailing, I barely give it a second thought. I do my cursory pull over as they pass, then move back onto the deserted road, heading for home. Everything is so perfect. Everything is looking like it could be all right.
And then all at once, it comes crashing down.
The red and blue lights illuminate the skin on my hands.
The men run inside.
Run.
I pull up outside my house. Somehow, I stumble from the car, the door left open. Without looking inside the building, I know exactly which apartment these men are going to. Exactly where they’re headed.
An officer puts out his arm, trying to stop me from entering the stairwell. “Ma’am, you can’t—”
“Move.” The voice isn’t mine. I don’t scream at policemen. I don’t swing their arms out of the way and barrel up the stairs, despite being told not to.
But somehow I’m in the stairwell, taking the concrete steps two at a time, then flying down the corridor where the door to Zy and Dani’s apartment is wide open.
“Dani!” I scream, barrelling inside.
In front of me, three men and a lady in blue hover over a prone figure on the floor. Bags and a board lie to their side, and they’re speaking in short clipped tones, efficient and official.
In the middle of it all is my sister.
She’s still.
Too still.
“No,” I whimper, and clutch at my shirt. It’s stiff from exposure to life, and I feel so stupid, so damn idiotic for thinking this didn’t matter just a short few minutes ago. How can I be here, messed up from too much pizza, swimming and sex when my little sister ... my little sister ...
They say sticks and stones can break your bones but words can never hurt you.
They’re wrong.
True pain can only be inflicted by words.
Words like “Resuscitate.”
Words like “Gone.”
I crumble to the shag-pile carpet floor. My knees smart as they make contact with the wool, and then a hand is on my shoulder, trying to get me up, trying to get me away.
“Ma’am, we need you to—”
“Eleanor.” Arms wrap around me. Cocoon me. Save me. “She’s the ... she’s her sister.”
“I’m sorry, but we still need you both to wait outside.”
“Okay. Okay. I got this. Eleanor, can you stand?”
They’re all just words running through my head. Dialogue in a book. Meaningless. Because that’s my sister lying there on the lounge room floor, and I can’t handle that.
“Come on, Eleanor. I got you.” Two hands shift under my armpits and then lift me to my feet. My knees fall out from under me, but Zy somehow pulls me to him so he half-carries, half-walks me out the door and down the stairs.
When we reach the grass he lowers me down, sitting with me. He smells of smoke, and booze, and all things bad. All things that could be partly responsible for what happened up there.
“Bastard!” I slap at his chest. “How could you?”
Zy clutches his chest through his black T-shirt. “Eleanor, I didn’t know.”
“What happened?” Agony rings in my voice, and I’m speaking far too loud, and the crowd of early-morning walkers and neighbours who have gathered at the police vehicles gaze over at me. Their stares make me angry, even though they shouldn’t. Even though I know better.
“We were at a party. I wanted ... I wanted to leave. She wouldn’t come home with me, so I left her out.”
Torment scrawls across Zy’s face, and even though I want so badly to hate him right now, to blame him for what happened, I can’t. He’s already doing enough of that himself.
“I woke ...” He chokes, and I flash my eyes to him. Steely brown eyes look back at me, angry, trying to tamp down the hurt he so obviously is feeling. “I woke up to get a water, and she was in the living room ... like that.”
“Hey.” I place my hand on his arm. “You ...”
I don’t have the words to finish that sentence because just then, the paramedics take Dani on a board down the stairs into the back of a waiting ambulance.
“Dani.” I scrabble to my feet and limp over to the car, but once again I’m met with resistance. “I’m her sister, please,” I beg, but the look on the policeman’s face tells me everything I need to know. It’s pity and hesitation all at once.
“No ...” I shake my head slowly, then race back and forth. “No, no, no.”
“I need you to—”
“NO!” I scream.
The ambulance doors slam shut and the siren starts up, a chilling morning prayer to an otherwise quiet street. It races off, gravel flying from under the wheels, and the sucker punch in my stomach transforms into an internal bleed.
I double over for a moment, leaning on my knees. How did this happen? How did life go from getting under control to even worse than I’d ever imagined?
“Ma’am, they’ve taken her to Wilfred Barrett Hospital. Are you okay to get there yourself?” A paramedic from the second ambulance shadows me. I look up, unsure how to answer. Because no. I am not okay.
“I’ll drive.” Zy’s voice is flat and emotionless, and I look up at him and nod. I don’t have the energy to form words.
He walks over to my car, and I follow behind. When he turns the engine, I voice the words I’ve been most afraid to ask. “Has someone told Mum?”
He gulps. “She’ll meet us at the hospital.”
And so begins the longest short drive of my life. The whole trip, only one thought races through my head.
I’ll never be forgiven for this.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I haven’t been in a hospital since Dad died. As soon as I step foot in the linoleum-floored building, memories smack me in the face with the intensity of a 747. There’s a jetliner’s worth of heartache I’ve hidden in this building, and I’m only realising it just now.
Zy walks up to the desk and does all the talking while I stand slightly back. I smell things that remind me of my father. Antibacterial. Instant coffee. I hear things
that remind me of him. Beeps. Murmured voices. Shoes squeaking against clean floor.
“Come on.” Zy grips my hand and zombie-walks me to the hard plastic chairs. I do what I’m supposed to do. I sit.
Even though I’m paralysed with fear.
Even though this is the last place I want to be.
I open my mouth to speak, but my tongue feels thick, heavy. “How long?”
“They don’t know.” He steeples his hands at his nose. “They’re doing everything they can. She’s ...” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
A beep comes from the bag Zy’s holding, and it’s only then I realise he’s been grasping my handbag this entire time. He’s such a picture of masculinity, all big, broad shoulders, tattoos and piercings, that the image somehow seems so very wrong. I laugh, and he gives me a strange look, as if maybe I’ve lost it.
Maybe I have.
I take my phone out and swipe across the screen.
Joel: Can’t stop thinking about last night. When can I see you again?
Joel. Somewhere in between my driveway and the emergency department, I forgot all about him. Forgot that there’s another person in my life who will soon end up in a place like this.
Acid coats my mouth. I bite down on my lip as hard as I can, so hard I taste blood. It’s a salty sweet release of the pain I want to feel.
“Hey.” Zy shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”
Obediently, my lip pops out of my mouth. Zy takes my phone and looks at the screen. “Joel, hey?”
I don’t answer. I’m trying to focus every part of my body on my sister pulling through this. Surely, if I concentrate hard enough, I can make it happen. I can will her to stay alive. To keep with me.
Right?
“Is he your boyfriend?”
“Mm.”
Please just fight. Keep fighting. Push. Keep pushing.
Breathe.
Keep breathing.
The clip of heels across the floor mixes with the floral scent of Chanel perfume. I lift my head to see my mother strutting through emergency, somehow managing to look as if she just stepped off a catwalk. She makes eye contact with me and gives a slight arch of a perfectly manicured brow, then goes to the nurse at the reception desk before coming back to join us.
She crosses one panty-hosed leg over the other and clasps her hands together, a resounding noise that echoes throughout the room.
Keep breathing.
“Where were you?” She narrows her eyes at me.
I shrug.
Keep breathing.
“Hello? Answer me.” She jabs at my shoulder, and I try to pretend I don’t feel it. I don’t have energy to feel.
Keep breathing.
“Leave her alone, June. She’s in shock.” Zy. My unlikely protector.
“Well at least she’s in the right place. Should we get someone to treat her for that?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Zy says.
“Nurse.” Mum’s on her feet, calling across the room. “We need something for—”
From the corner of my eye, I see the doors to the hospital swing open. A man in scrubs walks out. He has a clipboard in his hand and a cool, calming demeanour, his expression not giving a single thing away. “Mrs Mayfield?”
As one, Zy and I rise, even though it’s not either of our names that were called. Mother clips across the floor to the doctor and I shuffle my feet, barely moving one in front of the other. I want to slow this moment down. I want to delay what this could mean.
Right now, uncertainty is a gateway to hope.
By the time I reach the man, he’s already shaken hands with Mum, and turned to face Zy and me.
“My daughter and Danica’s friend.” Mum gestures to Zy and me.
“I’m Dr Jones.” The doctor nods, but doesn’t extend his hand to shake. “Danica is going to be okay.”
All the air releases from my lungs in a whoosh so powerful the papers in the doctor’s hand ruffle. She’s going to be fine. Danica is going to be fine.
The words repeat themselves in my brain. I haven’t lost her.
Not any more than I already had.
Words from the man’s mouth echo in my brain. Activated charcoal. Intubation. Rest. Then finally, “She’ll be able to go home most likely tonight, provided she keeps improving.”
“Should we go and come back?” Mum cocks her head.
Should we go and come back.
All my life I’ve played it safe. I run from confrontation; I don’t run toward it.
But when she says those words, something inside me breaks. And I don’t know if it’s ever getting put back together again.
“Can’t you just be here for your child for one day?” I spit.
“Eleanor.” Mum’s eyes widen, the unspoken reprimand clear in her gaze. “We can talk about this in private. Later.”
The doctor clears his throat, and Mum turns her gaze back to him. I don’t, though. I keep my eyes glued on her. Guilt churns in my stomach. Why didn’t I say something? Why didn’t I just tell the truth about what I suspected sooner?
“Is this sort of behaviour normal for her?” the doctor asks. “We need to talk about follow-up care and—”
“She does not have a problem. Whatever this is.” Mum gives a little laugh, as if the very idea is absurd. “I will talk to her about it though. Of course.”
It’s just about as much of her bullshit as I can take. I turn on my heel and walk back toward the plastic chairs, slamming my body down into the nearest one. A few moments later, Mum sweeps past, arching one of those beautiful eyebrows at me as she goes. Zy still stands where the doctor left him.
Slowly, he walks back to me, sinking into the seat beside mine. “I think it’s time to tell the truth.”
My heart is heavy in my chest.
Because I know deep down he’s right.
It’s a truth I’ve been running from. A truth that reveals I’ve failed at my task. They say the truth will set you free ... won’t it?
So why does the truth feel so damn wrong?
Mum walks over and sits beside me. “I know you think this is all my fault.”
I shake my head and gaze up at the roof. “No. It’s mine.” I swallow the metallic taste down. “I knew she was doing drugs. I should have said something. I should have—”
“Anyone could see she was having problems, Ellie,” Zy says. “June, you saw her at your events. She was drunk half the time. You had to know that.”
Mum sniffs, and a slither of vulnerability weakens her gaze. Underneath it all, she’s just as scared as I am. As we both are.
“I just ... God.” I rest my head in my hands. My stomach aches at the thought of the what ifs. “I should have told you.”
The sounds of heels clicking away echoes in my mind. Each step sears my soul.
***
Joel’s phone goes straight to voicemail every time I dial. I shake my head and glare at the screen, as if that will somehow make the damn thing connect. As if that will make a difference at all.
“Is this the time I should be saying ‘maybe he’s just not that into you’?”
This time, my glare is directed at Zy. “I think it’s more likely that he’s just not that into charging his phone, given that he’s camping down at the Basin.”
“Fair enough then.” He offers a wry smile. “I think we should talk to her. Tell her to stop. Together.”
“Like a united front kind of thing?” it makes sense. After all, so far I haven’t had much success solo.
“Absolutely.” Zy props one foot up on the seat next to him, then pulls out his phone and starts streaming some football game. We sit there in silence for the next little while, Zy no doubt wondering who’s won, the Tigers or the Knights.
Me wondering how the hell I’m going to convince my sister that this time, she has to stop.
Ten minutes pass, and Dr Smith is at the doors again. He beckons us forward and lets us know we can see her now, giving
us the room number and directions to help us find her.
The walk to Danica’s room is long. I’m rushing and slowing, stopping and starting, desperate to see her and terrified of it.
Finally, the curtain is pulled back—
And there’s my sister.
She’s so small in the big white hospital bed. Her golden skin is somehow pale, as if the sun has been sucked right out of her, along with the contents of her stomach. As if all the light left within has been dimmed.
When she sees us, her eyes don’t fire with her usual exuberance. Instead, she gives a small wiggle of her fingers hello, a weak smile curving her lips.
“Hey.”
And all the composure I’ve been working so hard to keep, all the walls I’ve erected to keep me safe from hurt, break.
I run to the bed and wrap my arms around her neck, squeezing her tight. “Thank God you’re okay.”
Her hair smells like vomit, and Dettol, and her body shakes ever so slightly under my grasp. It’s just another reminder of how frail this girl really is. I give her a tighter squeeze, as if that will somehow help hold her still. “I love you so much.”
“You’re hurting me,” she says, but her voice is muffled by my shoulder.
“Shut up.” I pull back and look her in the eyes. This time a little hint of the usual Dani sparkle is there. “You’re ruining the moment.”
She manages a laugh and I pull away, clasping my hands in front of me. Dani’s gaze travels from me to Zy, then back again. “Where’s Mum?”
Oh.
“She’s ...” I work my jaw, trying to find words to fill the empty space that follows.
“Ha!” Dani snorts, shaking her head. “I guess I have to actually have a terminal illness to warrant that kind of attention.”
I lean forward and squeeze her shoulder. “She’s coming back. She just had a thing to do.”
Dani shakes me off and levels her gaze at me. “I guess this event isn’t important enough for her to attend.”
It’s a statement I don’t have an answer for.
Shuffled footsteps from the hall, the beeps from the machines, the whirring of telephones—they all create this symphony that reminds me where we are. And just how far we have to go.
The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2) Page 15
