Harbor Pointe (Hope Harbor #12)

Chapter 1

Her sister was in a coma.

Sucking in a lungful of Oregon seaside air, Devyn Lee swung into a parking space, turned off the engine of her rental car, and unclamped her white-knuckled fingers from the wheel.

How could so much change so fast?

Last night, she’d been dancing the title role in Giselle at Lincoln Center.

Now, she was sitting outside the Coos Bay hospital where her sister lay unresponsive after tripping on broken pavement.

There was only one word to describe all that had happened in the past eighteen hours.

Surreal.

As the sequence of events scrolled through her mind, she closed her eyes and kneaded the bridge of her nose.

A late-night call from a neurologist at this hospital.

A frantic online search for the next available flight from New York City to Oregon.

A midnight phone conversation with the ballet master to alert him that an understudy would have to dance her role for today’s final performance of the spring season.

A futile attempt to catch three hours of sleep before her dawn flight on this last Sunday in May.

Nine-plus travel hours from boarding to arrival, followed by a short drive from the North Bend airport to the hospital.

Hectic as her typical days were as a principal dancer with one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the world, none of them had ever been this chaotic or frenzied.

Calling up every ounce of her waning stamina, Devyn reached for her purse.

It might only be two in the afternoon in Oregon, but it was five o’clock New York time.

And whatever energy boost she’d gleaned from the turkey wrap she’d gulped down in San Francisco between flights had evaporated hours ago.

Yet as she slid from behind the wheel and walked toward the hospital entrance, a tingle of anxiety-laced adrenaline vibrated through her nerve endings.

Because in mere minutes, she’d be face-to-face with the sister she hadn’t seen since their father’s funeral thirteen years ago.

Stomach knotting, she walked through the doors that slid open as she approached. Stopped at the reception desk to get directions. Strode toward the elevator as the questions that had plagued her since last night’s summons looped through her mind yet again.

Why had she been listed as Lauren’s emergency contact instead of her sister’s husband?

And why had she gotten a “no longer in service” message when she’d called the number she’d long ago tucked away for Dennis?

Frowning, she pressed the up button.

What was going on with her sister’s marriage?

A call to Mom at the crack of dawn Paris time to share the news about the accident hadn’t provided any clues. According to her, Lauren hadn’t been in touch for months and had snubbed her during their last exchange.

No surprise there. Mom and her oldest offspring had never been close.

Nor had her two daughters.

Regrettable . . . but understandable. It was hard for sisters who not only lived on opposite sides of the country but in two different worlds to form a close bond—especially when one of them made it clear she wasn’t all that interested in being chummy.

The elevator doors slid open, and Devyn stepped inside. Pushed the button for the second floor.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried to connect with Lauren through the years. But when every attempt she made to reach out was rebuffed, it had been easier to use the hectic pace of her life as an excuse to backburner any further efforts to mend their frayed bond.

She leaned a shoulder against the wall of the elevator. Sighed.

In truth, it was hard to fault Lauren for resenting the younger sister who’d usurped their mother’s attention and whose ballet aspirations had made any semblance of normal family life impossible.

But after she woke up, maybe they could initiate a few repairs in their relationship—a task that had suddenly taken on new urgency.

And her sister would wake up. Any other outcome was unthinkable.

The elevator doors parted, and Devyn stepped out. Clenching her fingers around the strap of her purse, she approached the ICU. Stopped beside the intercom. Took a steadying breath and depressed the button.

When the doors swooshed open, she forced herself to walk through.

A scrubs-clad woman at a central station looked over. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I’m here to see Lauren Collier. I’m her sister.”

“Oh yes. I spoke with you when you called from San Francisco.” She circled around the counter. “I’ll take you back.”

“How is she doing?” Devyn followed the woman, lungs balking as she waited for the answer. Hopefully no complications had arisen since she’d checked in during her layover.

“No changes. All her vitals remain strong.” The woman paused by a room with glass doors. “I’ll let her neurologist know you’re here. She wanted to speak with you as soon as you arrived.”

A surge of unease zipped through her. “Why?”

“To discuss her treatment, I expect.” The woman motioned toward the room. “Feel free to talk to your sister. Often people who are otherwise unresponsive can hear what’s being said. Would you like a soft drink or water? We also have coffee and tea.”

After declining that offer, Devyn took a slow breath and entered the room.

The woman in the bed was Lauren, no question about it. Same pert nose. Same naturally long, curving lashes. Same high cheekbones.

But her big sister had aged.

A lot, for someone who was only thirty-five.

Though her features were slack in repose, the embedded twin creases above her nose were new. So was the fan of fine lines at the corner of each eye. Her once-long dark hair was gone, replaced by short-cropped locks containing a few strands of silver.

The past thirteen years must have held some serious challenges for her, even if she’d never indicated there were any problems in her clipped responses to phone calls and texts.

Yet though the changes wrought by time and stress were apparent, there was little visible evidence of the injuries she’d suffered in the fall, other than an elastic bandage on her left wrist.

Except for all the medical devices she was hooked up to.

Devyn took a quick inventory.

Heart and blood pressure monitor. IV drip. Nasal cannula. Oxygen monitor on Lauren’s finger.

The rest of the equipment was unfamiliar.

And what other stuff was attached to her beneath the sheet?

Devyn groped for the bottom of the bed. Held on tight.

Hard as she’d tried to prepare for this moment, seeing her sister comatose was like a punch in the gut.

Maybe she and Lauren weren’t as close as they could have been for sisters separated in age by a mere two years, but with Dad gone, Mom remarried and living a new life in Paris, and Dennis apparently out of the picture, the only real family the two of them had was each other.

Lauren had to recover so they could make a new start.

Blinking back the sudden mist in her vision, Devyn moved beside the bed and laid her hand over Lauren’s.

Tried to call up a cheery tone. “Hey, sis. It’s me, Devyn.

I heard you were off in la-la land and decided to come out here to keep an eye on you.

And I’m sticking close until you decide to rejoin the human race.

We have a ton of catching up to do. I’m between seasons now, and I plan to stay awhile. ”

“That’s good news.”

The voice of the neurologist who’d called last night spoke from the doorway.

Devyn twisted sideways. “Dr. Sherman?”

“Yes.” The white-coated woman, who looked to be in her fifties, remained on the threshold. “Having family on hand is always helpful during a health crisis, especially with head injuries. Why don’t we talk for a few minutes? There’s a small lounge near the ICU.”

“Okay.” Devyn leaned close to her sister and brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, sis.”

The doctor led the way down the hall, out of the ICU and to a small, deserted lounge. “Have a seat.” She motioned to one of the chairs and took the adjacent one. “Thank you for coming so fast. I’m sure you’re exhausted after our late call and your cross-country flight.”

Devyn waved that aside. “This is what family does in an emergency.” Not counting Mom, who’d said she’d wait for an update before embarking on the long trip from Paris—no doubt hoping Lauren would wake up, rendering such a trek unnecessary.

“Not always.” The doctor’s lips morphed into a rueful twist, leveling out as she continued.

“I was just leaving the hospital when I got the call you’d arrived, and I decided to come back up to talk with you in person.

I’ll try to use layman’s language, but don’t hesitate to stop me if I start to throw in too many medical terms.”

“I already did some research on comas during my flights, but the information I found online was kind of mind-boggling. And scary.” To say the least.

“Brain injuries are complicated. On the plus side, your sister didn’t suffer any other trauma beyond a few minor bruises and a sprained wrist. That lets us concentrate on the brain.

As I told you last night, the original CT scan showed minor swelling, but there was no indication of major structural injuries or bleeding.

Your sister’s pupils are responsive, her reflexes are functioning, she reacts to pain, and she’s breathing on her own.

Those are all hopeful signs. Our goal now is to reduce the swelling to prevent any potential damage from intracranial pressure. ”

“Have you tried diuretics and steroids?” Based on her in-air research, those were the first line of attack for brain swelling.

“Yes. They haven’t had any effect. And the newest CT scan indicates that the swelling has increased. We’re concerned about a reduction in oxygen supply and blood flow to the brain, as well as brain stem issues.”

Devyn fisted her hands until her nails bit into her palms. Every site she’d found said brain stem issues were a recipe for disaster. “So what do we do?”