“Amen to that,” Phee mutters as the door closes behind him.
Allie leans back against the pillow and closes her eyes, looking exhausted and fragile.
“So when are they going to spring you?” Phee asks, thumping the bag down on Allie’s bedside table and unpacking breakfast sandwiches and hash browns. “Figured you’d be hungry this morning. Hospital food sucks.”
Allie rewards her with a faint smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Hey, that’s what family is for,” Phee replies, laughing.
“I don’t know if she’s supposed to eat yet,” Braden objects. “We should check with the nurse.”
“Are you hungry?” Phee asks.
“Totally.”
“Perfect. Then she’s supposed to eat. It was an overdose, Braden. Not a burst appendix or cancer or something.”
Allie is already eating, and Braden’s mouth is watering. Greasy and salty turns out to be the perfect comfort food. When the nurse comes in a few minutes later, all three of them stare at her, guilty, crumbs and empty wrappers all that is left of the transgression.
She laughs. “I was about to ask if Allie would like some breakfast, but I see the answer to that. So, how about a shower?”
“Please,” Allie says. “That would be amazing.”
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest?” the nurse asks Braden. “Doctor says she can probably go home this afternoon.”
“I’ll stay,” Braden begins, but Allie cuts him off.
“Dad. I’m fine.”
“You’re no good to her if you get sick yourself,” the nurse admonishes.
Phee takes his hand and tugs. “Come on, Braden. You need to rest. We’ll come back for her when they’re ready to let her go.”
“You’ll call if there’s any problem?” Braden asks the nurse. “Even the tiniest setback—”
“Of course! I promise. Go on, now. Shoo. Let the girl shower in peace.”
“What time do you think she’ll be released?”
“Not before three or four, I wouldn’t think. I’ll call you if there’s any change to that plan as well. All right?”
Braden stands by Allie’s bed, dares to stroke her hair. He wants to hug her more than anything in the world but tells himself he won’t corner her, trapped as she is in the hospital bed.
“I love you, little bird,” he says, and then the miracle happens and she lifts her arms to him, like she used to do when she was a little girl.
He stoops and gathers her against him, her arms tight around his neck as they cling to each other for a long moment. She doesn’t say she loves him, but he thinks, maybe, he feels it in the rapid beating of her heart.
Chapter Thirty-One
ALLIE
Allie’s new reality is as fragile as a spiderweb. All of the things she knew about life used to make a solid tapestry; now she feels as if somebody has unraveled the whole thing, handed her the threads, and suggested she weave them back together without a pattern.
A gift, she realizes with surprise. Her life, to be shaped and re-created however she chooses. The emotional place she was in when she swallowed the pills belongs to another girl in another life.
She’s not numb anymore. The encounter with death has flayed her wide open. Grief hits her in huge, swamping waves, but there’s compensation. The sky outside her window is outrageously blue. Even the faded colors in her hospital gown are beautiful, and she gets caught up in tracing the patterns with her eyes.
Best of all, her anger toward her father is not just muted but gone, washed away by that one bright moment of comprehension just before the pills sucked her into unconsciousness. He loves her. Has always loved her. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll be able to make music again someday.
After her shower, she’s more than happy to climb back into bed, still weak from the overdose. All afternoon, she drifts in and out of sleep. Nothing to do, nothing to worry about, nowhere to be.
It’s a relief to be away from Ethan. He’s alive, and that’s all she wants to know about him right now. She’s glad to be away from the house, away from the cello, away from the guilt about Steph and school. There’s nothing she can do about any of it here, so far away, and that makes a quiet place in her brain that hasn’t been there since the accident.
A shadow, the scuff of a chair moving, alert her to someone in the room, and her eyes flicker open to see Steph sitting in the chair watching her. It takes her a minute, blinking and clearing her eyes of