Chapter 14 #2
“She let you have her phone?” Eloise asks, back to signing the words. “That’s crazy. Her whole life is on that thing.”
“No, I grabbed it when they wheeled her out,” I say, dumbly. “I thought she might need it. You know, once she was feeling better.” I flip it around and show her the incoming call.
“It’s Justin,” Poppy says.
I try not to make a face.
Eloise snatches it out of my hand and answers. “Hello?”
Pause.
“No, it’s her sister, Eloise, sorry. Raya had a sort of . . .” She looks at Poppy like she has no idea how much to say, and I wonder if she regrets answering the call.
Poppy mouths the word episode.
“Episode,” Eloise says. “We’re in the emergency room waiting to find out.
Someone mentioned maybe it was a—” She pauses again.
I wish she’d put the guy on speaker. I want to make up my own mind about him.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, we don’t know yet, but we hope so.
” Pause. “Right, okay, I’ll let her know.
” She looks up. “Okay, bye.” She pulls a face.
“What did he say?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant.
“He said to tell her to text him when she’s better,” Eloise says.
Poppy and I look at one another.
“That’s it?” Poppy says.
Eloise shrugs.
“Did he even ask what was wrong with her?” Poppy asks.
Eloise shakes her head. “He sounded very . . . busy.”
I huff out a breath, irritated. I already don’t like this guy.
“I mean, they are new, I guess?” Poppy says, like she’s trying to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, but seriously, the guy should at least want to make sure she’s okay.
The doors to the hallway open and a nurse in blue scrubs walks toward us.
We all stand—and I’m not sure how I’ll react if the news is—
“Are you here for Raya Hart?” he asks.
Mrs. Hart signs the question, then continues signing as she says, “Yes, we are.”
“She asked me to come out and give you an update,” he says. “I’m Matt.” As if sensing the question hanging in the air, he holds up a hand. “It wasn’t a stroke.”
I exhale—we all do—as a huge weight seems to be lifted out of the room.
“So what—she’s faking it?” Eloise cracks, and Poppy hits her on the arm.
“I’m guessing you’re Eloise,” Matt says. “Raya told me not to listen to anything you say.”
Eloise’s laugh sounds accidental, and it makes the rest of us laugh too. Relieved laughter, tinged with gratitude, ripples through the room.
I immediately like this nurse. He’s diffused the tension and made the whole family—and me—feel better in three sentences.
“So what was it?” Raya’s mom asks. “If it wasn’t a stroke?”
“Hemiplegic migraine,” he says, as Poppy signs. “It’s a big word that means a really, really bad headache.”
“Oh, thank the Lord,” Raya’s mom says softly.
“Good news is that she’ll be totally fine.
Hemiplegic migraines caused her exact symptoms: numbness, tingling, clouded vision, and it is often mistaken for a stroke, but it’s not.
” He scans our small circle. “We’ve got a few more things to check on, but you should be able to head back and see her pretty soon.
She’s in great hands, and she’s going to be just fine. ”
Mr. Hart stands and holds out a hand, face stoic. Matt takes it in a firm handshake. They nod at each other—a silent, respectful thank-you—then he says, “We’ll see you in a bit,” and turns to leave.
Raya’s parents sit back down, and there’s a moment where we all just look at each other. Then her dad smiles in relief as the sisters hug, and her parents hold hands.
I feel like I shouldn’t be here. The moment is private, and I’m not family. But I don’t want to go—not yet.
Eloise pulls back from the four-way hug and frowns at me. “Wait a second.” She cocks her head to the side, slowly, like she’s shifting gears. “What were you doing in her office? Please tell me you’ve proven yourself and are now having an illicit affair.”
“Eloise!” Poppy pushes her. “Time and place!”
“What?” Eloise pushes her back, playfully. “Raya could use a little shake-up.” She shoots me a look. “And we’re pulling for you.”
I shake my head. “Sorry to disappoint you, but no. No illicit affair.”
Eloise pouts, but their dad gives me a firm nod, like I’ve passed some sort of test I didn’t know I was taking. If he knew how much I think about his daughter, he might not feel that way.
I lean forward. “I did bring her chocolate, though.” I say this quietly, because I don’t want my humiliation broadcast to the entire hospital, but Eloise lets out a sound that can only be described as a squeal.
“You did?”
“The dark chocolate ones, like I told you?” Poppy says, leaning in.
I nod. “She didn’t get to eat them, though. All this happened before she could.”
“It’s the thought that counts?” Poppy says.
I nod. “I’m trying to do what you guys said—show up for her. Be her friend.”
Eloise sucks in a breath. “I’d say you got more than you bargained for today.”
Maybe, but I’m glad I was there. If I hadn’t been, would Raya have come to the hospital at all? I feel bothered. I’m glad the nurse gave us the update, but I need to see her for myself. It’s the only way I can know for sure she really is okay.
I stand and brush my hands down my thighs, mostly because I’m a ball of nervous energy and need to send it somewhere. “I’ll go find us something to drink.” I want to be useful, but also I need a change of scenery. “Anyone want anything?”
They give me their orders, and I start down one of the halls, walking aimlessly, hoping the movement quells my fidgeting the way it usually does.
Hockey helps. Plus, you get to hit things and people.
As I walk, I think about my family, my brothers, and the homemade rink in the backyard at the ranch. Oh, the knock-down, drag-out brawls we would have there, skating until the sun went down, parking the trucks in a row to shine the headlights on the rink so we could play in the dark.
My oldest brother, Quent, could never beat Hunter, and that always ticked him off.
The oldest was supposed to be the best—but none of us were a match for Hunter.
I smile to myself. I can’t count how many sticks he snapped, swinging it at the fence after the game, or how many fights broke out on that rink.
We played something fierce—but we loved each other something fierce too.
The dull ache of grief that always comes attached to these memories pings its way around my chest, and I have to distract myself so it doesn’t get a hold on me.
After a few minutes of aimless walking, I locate a vending machine. I buy three bottles of water, a Dr Pepper for Eloise, and an Orange Crush for me. I’m not in a hurry to get back to the waiting area, so I go a different way, and when I round a corner, I hear a man’s voice say Raya’s name.
“Yes, that’s me,” she says.
“I’m Dr. Gilroy,” he says. “Feeling better now that you’ve got some fluids?”
“Yeah, but honestly, I’m itching to get out of here. I’m not the best in hospitals.”
I stop moving. I shouldn’t eavesdrop. It’s rude. And probably illegal, since this is a hospital and there are HIPAA laws and all that.
But here I am, not walking away.
Because I need to see for myself that she’s okay.
“Great,” the doctor says. “We’ve gone over the MRI results already, and the echo just came back, and that looks clear too.”
My shoulders relax. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine. I know they told us that already, but hearing it again doubles my confidence. I turn to go when the doctor says, “But I’d like you to seriously consider taking some time off.”
I hear Raya’s sardonic laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I’m not,” he says tersely.
“I thought you said things are clear,” she says. “Don’t you think we’re overreacting to a headache?”
“These headaches—they can be brought on by massive amounts of stress, disrupted sleep patterns, anxiety.” A pause. “They can even cause issues for people who don’t have good outlets for bottled-up emotion. This is no small thing, Miss Hart.”
My stomach drops. I silently pray that Raya will bend. That she’ll stop defending her position, and let someone else take the reins. Just once.
“Stress is a legitimate issue that can be incredibly hard on your body—physically and mentally. If you don’t make some changes, this could happen again, and next time, it could be an actual stroke—or worse.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“You need to take some time off,” he says. “No stressful situations, no adverse conversations, nothing that will spike your cortisol or adrenaline levels.”
“Time off?” I can hear the look on her face without even seeing it. “Dr. Gilroy, no offense, but that’s just—impractical.”
“I understand,” he says. “But it is something you need to explore. This isn’t something you can just ignore.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath, probably because I should not still be standing here. I start back the way I came, exhaling a long, slow breath as I go.
Raya, take time off? Right.
I know she needs it.
I also know there’s absolutely no way she’s going to let that happen.