6. Compression
CHAPTER SIX
COMPRESSION
Claire
“We could sell our kidneys,” she says.
I laugh. “Barely legal.”
“Barely.”
I rub my temples, a familiar headache blooming. It feels like I’ve spent every minute of the last three weeks in this room, staring at the same widening funding gap. Even the memory of Ethan handling Ellie’s school conference—another thing I’d missed—is just one more failure in a month of them.
A scream tears through the ceiling above us. My body goes rigid, then I’m moving before I even form a conscious thought.
One second, I’m staring at a budget shortfall, and the next I’m running upstairs with my legs barely keeping up with me. My gut instinct screams that whatever is happening, it’s not good.
Marisol and I find a group of girls huddled outside a bathroom.
I push through and find Heidi—on the floor—pulse thready. My knees hit the tile.
“Heidi.”
Compress—one, two, three, four, five. The rhythm of breathing, counting and compressions takes over. At some point there are hands on my shoulders, pulling, and I’m fighting them, still counting, still—Sirens. My hands won’t stop shaking.
Someone says, “Stable,” and the word doesn’t register until I’m suddenly bent over, gasping, relief like a fist in my throat.
I’ve been sitting in the same chair for almost three, maybe four hours. The hospital waiting room is bright and too cold. I replay every missed sign and conversation. Every warning I walked past.
“Claire.” I don’t look up. A warm hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch as my brother-in-law eases into the chair beside me.
He’s wearing scrubs with his hospital ID clipped to his chest. Someone in the emergency department must have recognized my name.
In Juniper Ridge, family relationships are common knowledge. “How is she?”
I swallow. “Stable.”
“Good.”
I nod once, twice, then stare straight ahead again.
Jensen studies me. “Have you eaten?”
I don’t answer.
“How long have you been here?” he asks after a beat. I honestly don’t know. He sighs.
“Claire.” His voice is soft as my composure shatters. “Hey, I’ve got you.” A sound tears out of me, something between a gasp and a cry. He moves closer, putting one arm around my shoulders.
Before long, I pull back, swiping at my cheeks. “I missed it, Jensen. The cut on her cheek… she came home from school, and her story just didn’t add up. I should have pushed.” The words feel like a confession, admitting to weeks of ignored fear.
He allows my tears to fall without a single word of interruption. Sometimes, that’s the kindest thing someone can do.
“She survived. She’s alive because of your quick action,” he reminds me.
“Tonight.”
“Tonight matters.”
He pulls out his phone. “I’m going to make a call,” he says, his voice steady with determination.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when I hear familiar footsteps.
When I look up, Ethan’s standing across from me, his eyes moving over me like he’s checking for damage.
His clothes are wrinkled and askew, as if he ran out of the house in a hurry.
“Ethan.” My voice breaks on his name, and he crosses the room in seconds. The next thing I know, his arms are around me.
“Claire.” His voice is gentle but firm, the voice he uses when he needs me to hear him. “You got her here to the hospital. You did everything you were supposed to do, and she’s okay.”
Eventually, Jensen reappears. “Heidi’s doctors and caseworker said they’re keeping her overnight at a minimum. After that, she’ll be transferred to an inpatient facility for a temporary stay.”
I nod, still unable to speak.
Ethan glances at him. “I’ve got her.”
“I figured.”
The two men exchange a look—something I can’t read, though I suspect it isn’t meant for me.
Jensen squeezes my shoulder. “Go home, you two.”
I start to protest. “Claire.” The quiet warning in his tone is enough. Ethan helps me to my feet as my legs feel unsteady.
Outside, the parking lot is empty. Ethan opens the truck door for me, then circles around and climbs in beside me.
“I’m failing everyone.” The words are tough to admit.
He turns his palm upward. I understand the invitation without a word. “No, Claire. You’re not failing anyone. You’re trying to carry everything yourself. Let us help you.”
I stare out the window, too worn out to argue.
When we get home I go straight upstairs. I listen to Ethan moving through the house below me, the familiar sounds of the last lock, the last light. He finds me sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”
I don’t answer. I cross the space between us, my hands finding the sides of his face, and pull him into a kiss that’s more desperation than affection. A raw sound tears from my throat as our clothes become obstacles to be discarded. This isn’t about love; it’s about oblivion.
“Please,” I say against his neck. “I just need to not think. Just for a little while.
His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer in a silent, urgent agreement. “I’ve missed this,” he says into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”
The next morning is stilted, an awkward dance around the intimacy of the night before. Soon enough, the next three days become a blur of hospital visits and hushed phone calls.
I finally walk through our front door a few nights later to find Ethan and Ellie in the family room. He’s sitting on the couch and she’s sprawled beside him. Some terrible reality show is playing on television. The sight makes me smile. “Hey,” I say, and they both look up at the sound of my voice.
“Mom,” Ellie says as she jumps up and hugs me. The gesture surprises me. I hold on a little longer, as I can’t remember the last time she hugged me first.
I kick off my shoes and join Ethan on the couch. “How were the auditions?”
Ellie’s face brightens. “Successful. I got the role of the Queen of Hearts!”
“You did?” I ask. I’m thrilled for her. Alice in Wonderland is the perfect play for the program.
“Yup,” the pride in her voice squeezes my heart.
“That’s amazing.”
They both tell me about upcoming summer rehearsals. Ethan gives me his thoughts on the set construction. A few minutes later, Ellie heads upstairs and silence settles between us.
Then his phone lights up. I watch him glance down, a faint smile touching his lips before vanishing. The phone vibrates again, and curiosity gets the better of me. “You look happy. Good news from work?”
He looks up, startled, as if he’d forgotten I was in the room. He quickly flips his phone face down. “Nobody, just a question about the set construction.”
The answer feels strange, but I tell myself I’m imagining things.