11. WILLIAM
WILLIAM
The elevator buttons in Saint Agnes are worn down to near-blank from years of pressing, and the corridor on Charlotte's floor smells like floor cleaner with the faint ghost of whatever was delivered for breakfast.
I left after Charlotte woke up. She surfaced for about twenty minutes, groggy, irritated and demanding to know if her partner was okay, which told me what I needed to know. She’s going to be fine.
Went home, showered, changed, and drove back in clothes that didn't smell like a waiting room.
I'm reaching for Charlotte's door room handle when I hear her laugh.
The full sound of it, unguarded, real. She's going to be fine.
The weight I’ve been carrying since I got the phone call releases in one fast move before I've registered it's happening.
Then I push the door open and see who she's laughing with.
Sienna is sitting on the edge of Charlotte's bed, sideways, one foot tucked under her, leaning in with something she's saying that I haven't caught. They're mid-laugh, both of them, the easy helpless kind that's been going on for a while.
The warmth in my chest from the laugh closes off and something colder takes its place.
They both look up.
The laugh stops.
Sienna gets off the bed.
I don't know why but the way they both react bothers me.
"You're back already." Charlotte says with the same voice from when I caught her sneaking in after her curfew. "I wasn’t expecting you back so soon."
"Clearly." I mutter while I cross the room, lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. Her color is better than last night. The monitor beside her bed gives its steady quiet beat.
Silence settles.
"Well," Sienna breaks the silence, "I should get going. I just wanted to check in. And drop off Keith."
I turn around.
"Keith?"
Charlotte lights up, which does something to my irritation that I don't appreciate.
She points at the cabinet beside the window where something green is sitting in a terracotta pot against the morning light.
"The plant Sienna brought. I think it looks like a Keith.
" She glances at Sienna with the expression of a private joke I’m not privy to. "Don't ask why. It just does."
Sienna glances back with amusement dancing in her eyes, which means she absolutely knows why.
They have a whole conversation in that look.
I've missed whatever percentage of my sister's life contains a language I don't speak.
"Most people bring flowers," I say. "They're more cheerful."
I'm not being amiable. I'm aware of that. But Sienna's jaw tightens slightly and I find, that I'm glad that I rattled her.
"Clearly you don't know much about plants." She narrows her eyes at me. "Studies show that post-surgery patients with plants in their room have better mood outcomes, lower analgesic requirements, fewer complications, and shorter stays."
I make a scoffing sound.
She takes a step toward me. Her hands go to her waist. "It's true. Research it."
"I'll put it on my list."
I can see the effort it takes Sienna to control herself. She turns to Charlotte and says, “I hope Keith can help you with your mindfulness practice. Komorebi, ok?”
“Great, now she speaks in code…” I can’t seem to stop from trying to get a reaction from her.
"William." Charlotte's voice carries tired patience. And then she turns to Sienna and says, "I love it. What type of plant is it?"
"Snake plant," Sienna says, without taking her eyes from me.
"Snake," I almost snarl. "How appropriate."
"Oh, for—" Sienna starts.
"William." Charlotte again. Different tone this time. Less patience, more plain. "Behave. Sienna is my friend."
I look at my sister.
She has the hospital blanket pulled up to her waist, her arm in a sling and dark circles under her eyes. She's looking at me with an expression I've seen before many times. The please-don't-do-this-right-now expression, the one she uses when I'm about to make a situation worse than it needs to be.
I exhale. I nod.
"Besides," Charlotte says, and her voice shifts to the careful register she uses when she's about to say something she's been sitting on, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you about—"
"It's fine." Sienna cuts across her, not looking at Charlotte, looking at me. "I already told him. That we never stopped being in touch." A forced smile. "That we stayed friends."
She says the last part while looking pointedly at Charlotte. And, just like that, they are having another private conversation right in front of me.
"Yeah." Charlotte settles back into the pillow. "We have. For a long time."
Sienna picks up her bag. "Like I said, I'm heading out." She steps to the bed, leans down and kisses Charlotte's cheek. Whatever she murmurs is too low for me to catch. Charlotte reaches up and squeezes her hand once.
"Look after Keith." Sienna slings her bag onto her shoulder. At the door she turns, levels a look at me and with exaggerated sweetness says, "Bye, Billy."
She winks.
She leaves.
The door closes.
I stand there.
Behind me, Charlotte makes a sound. Soft. Controlled. Absolutely laughing.
I stare at the closed door.
"I'll be right back," I say.
"William—"
I'm already in the corridor.
She's at the elevator bank, her bag over one shoulder, her weight easy on one hip while she waits. There are two other people near her. She hears my footsteps, looks back, and her expression shows resignation and that she is not surprised.
"What now?"
I take her gently by the arm, just enough to steer us a few feet down the corridor and out of the immediate orbit of the other people waiting. She lets me.
I release her, take a breath and I look at the middle distance for a moment instead of at her because I need a second to find the right register for this.
The problem is that when I look back she is watching me with those big brown eyes.
A strand of hair has come loose from the ponytail, sitting against her jaw, and there is no justifiable reason for my attention to snag on that specific thing.
I look back at the middle distance.
"It seems my sister maintained a friendship with you." I coach myself to be nice. "Against my—" I stop. Adjust. "Despite what I asked—"
She opens her mouth.
I hold up a hand to stop her. I need to say this.
"I'm glad she has someone she trusts. Someone to call when things go wrong." I say it because I mean it, even though it stings, so I add, “Even if that someone is not me”
“She only did that to protect you. She knows you had your fair share of bad news and she didn’t want you to hear it from someone “official”.”
I understand that. But, understanding doesn't take away the hurt or make it easier to accept.
"The thing is—" I start and stop. Try again.
"When you came back into her life. At fifteen.
She was—" I'm struggling to find the right words.
"Charlotte has always been shy. She's not someone who makes friends easily.
And you came back and she was happy." A beat.
"And then you kept cancelling on her. Wouldn't show up.
She'd call and you didn’t answer. More than once. "
Sienna stands still, but I can see that her breathing turned shallow..
"And it gutted her." The words come rough and bitter. "Every time. So I told her to stay away from you."
Sienna's eyes are shining with tears.
"My sister is a good person," I say, quieter. "You can't blame me for being protective of her."
She looks at me for a moment. "Yeah," she says. "Charlie is pretty awesome."
The simplest possible answer, and somehow the one I didn't expect.
I look at her. The tears in her eyes, the even set of her voice and the fact that she didn't argue a single piece of what I said, just stood there and took it. I don't know what to do with that.
I extend my hand.
"Truce?"
She looks at it. Then at me. Then she takes it.
Her hand is small. Warm. She shakes once, firm, the shake of someone who means it.
I don't let go.
I'm aware that I'm not letting go. She goes slightly still. Her eyes come up to mine.
Deep brown with long lashes. I’m trapped in her eyes.
The elevator chimes and the sound makes me let go of her hand.
She steps in. Other people move around her. She turns when she's inside and her eyes find mine without effort, like she didn't have to look for them.
The doors start to close.
She holds my gaze until they do.
The metal closes. The mechanism hums. The corridor is the same corridor, same overhead light, same floor cleaner smell.
But, everything seems different now.