59
Sage
Two days later
Mom let me and Bonnie watch as much TV as we wanted while we were in the hospital.
Bonnie told me I could pick the shows. I chose the ones I knew she liked— My Little Pony and Puffin Rock —but neither of us were really paying attention to the screen above our beds.
Mom was with us most of the time, but when she stepped out of the room, Bonnie kept finding my arm across the gap in our beds. I could tell that she was still scared. And from the way I was glad she kept doing it, I could tell that I was still scared, too.
I ’ d thought that once we were safe, once we got out of that hole, everything would be okay.
And I was really, really glad we were out of that hole. But today was the second morning in a row that I ’ d woken up sweaty and panicked, twitching my bandaged hands up and down like I was still digging into the plywood.
For a few seconds when I woke up this morning, I wasn ’ t sure whether the clean hospital room—or the bunker—was real.
Hot tears slid down my cheeks. This is real , I told myself again and again while I tried to get my breathing back to normal so I wouldn ’ t wake Mom or Bonnie. It was still early—barely light outside the sheer curtains covering the windows in our hospital room.
But no matter how many times I repeated those words to myself, no matter how many times I looked around at the quietly whooshing machines and breathed in the smell of some kind of cleaner, it sort of felt like part of me was still stuck down in the hole.
So I did the only thing that helped when I actually was stuck down in that bunker. The thing Ms. Jessa told us all to do. I thought about the good things. And unlike two days ago, there were so many good things all around me now. I thought about what I was going to choose for breakfast from the hospital menu—waffles with whipped cream and Nutella. How good it would feel to jump on the trampoline when I got home, pumping my legs and swinging my arms until my fingers brushed the tips of the maple leaves above me. How I could feel Bonnie ’ s hand in mine, clean and warm and no bandages when we both were better.
I could hear Mom sighing in her sleep on the other side of me, her dark hair spilling across the white sheets covering my legs. I was safe. Bonnie was safe. This is real .
I had barely closed my eyes again when a knock on the door sent them flying back open.
Bonnie startled and gripped my arm. Mom made an “ oh ” sound and sat bolt upright, her eyes blinking fast like she was waking up from something she ’ d rather not be dreaming about, too.
When the door opened, I saw the police officer from the hall, a nurse— and Grandpa.
Both me and Bonnie must ’ ve been making silly faces, because Grandpa tilted his head and boomed out a laugh in the quiet room. “ Don ’ t look so damn happy to see me,” he said, shuffling toward us. Then, “ There ’ s my girls,” as he pulled Mom into a hug while keeping his eyes on me and Bonnie.
“ Papa, you ’ re here!” Bonnie squealed in surprise.
I was surprised, too. Although not as surprised as the last time I ’ d seen him—in the hallway at Cherished Hearts, with the gun in his hand that he ’ d taken from Greasy Hair. Mom had explained to me and Bonnie why he was there—and why she was driving toward Cherished Hearts already when I talked to her on the phone. That Grandpa ’ s Alzheimer ’ s had gotten worse, and then she ’ d gotten that ransom note from the kidnappers, and then something about a Rolex watch. I ’ d sort of stopped listening to all the details. Because seeing him—and then Mom—there that night felt like me and Bonnie were the runaway bunny from the children ’ s book they read to us at bedtime sometimes. It didn ’ t matter where the baby bunny went—his mom would find him, no matter what. And that ’ s how I wanted to remember that night.
The nurse smiled and carefully closed the door while Mom guided Grandpa to a chair. His eyes crinkled at the corners, sending deep wrinkles fanning out above his cheeks the way they did when his mind was clear, and he was happy.
“ We ’ re still sorting everything out,” Mom said to me and Bonnie, leaning in to make sure we were listening, “ but one of the doctors at Cherished Hearts was reviewing Grandpa ’ s medications and saw that two of them might have been making his sundowning a lot worse.” She looked at me and Bonnie, like she wanted to know if we remembered what that word meant.
We nodded to show her that we did, so she kept talking, glancing between us and Grandpa. “ Grandpa still has Alzheimer ’ s,” she said, and her voice broke. “And we ’ re going to have to keep taking things a day at a time. But … the doctor is optimistic. So for right now, he ’ s only going to visit Cherished Hearts during the daytime. He ’ ll come home every night when you two get home from school and sleep at home with us.”
“ When we get home from Bright Beginnings, you mean?” I asked, feeling a lump in my own throat when I said those words.
Mom shook her head and looked between me and Bonnie. “ You two seem pretty grown up to me these days. Sage, I was thinking maybe you could look after Bonnie. And I ’ ll pick Grandpa up when I ’ m done with work. No more Bright Beginnings for you two.”
Grandpa opened his mouth like he wanted to add something, but his eyes were shiny, and he just nodded his head and smiled so wide without saying a word.
“ Oh, Mom. Oh, yes,” Bonnie said, letting go of my arm for the first time in two days so she could hug Grandpa.
I swallowed that big lump in my throat and felt proud and scared and surprised all at once, suddenly thinking about how Harriet the Spy had said, “ Life is very strange.”
I didn ’ t really understand what that meant when I read it the first time.
I did now, though.