“That would be amazing, thank you.” She realized she didn’t even know his name. “Officer . . .”
“Beale. Come along then.” He pushed back his chair. “I’ll fetch the car and meet you out front. I’ll give Mallory a call along the way.”
“Let me tell the nurses,” Holly said. “Come on, Jack. We’re going home.”
She scooped him up in her arms. Holly appreciated that Officer Beale didn’t comment on how big Jack was, or how he was too old to be carried. Then again, unless the policeman was a complete fool, he’d probably already grasped how laborious it was for Jack to move anywhere on his own.
She took the elevator to the nurses’ station, still carrying Jack. She needed to see Eden before she left, to hold her, if she could. The same doctor who had spoken to her before was standing outside a patient’s door. When he saw her, he frowned, and the bottom dropped out of her world.
“Eden,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
But no. “Ah, Mrs. Darling, good,” he said. “I wanted to confirm—could you tell me how old your daughter is?”
“She’s two,” Holly said. She wouldn’t let herself think about Eden’s chubby arms, the cloud of curls that wreathed her face, her funny high-pitched voice. The way she’d looked on the ground under the tree.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. Slightly, but Holly saw it.
“My daughter has a rare disorder,” she explained. “It causes her to grow faster than other children her age.”
“Is she seeing someone for it?”
“She has a specialist in London.” She tried to calm her breathing. She should have expected the doctor to notice—in the panic of Eden’s fall, she hadn’t been thinking clearly.
“Well. You may want to have them consult on this. Just in case.”
Holly nodded. She didn’t say that she’d stopped taking Eden, that the specialist hadn’t been able to find anything to explain her rapid development. But Holly knew exactly what—and who—had caused it. And there was no one who could help, not now.
* * *
Officer Beale’s niece was on the front steps of Grace House when they arrived. A tall girl with flaming-red hair, she waved when she spotted them. Beale made the introductions and left. Standing inside the house, Holly caught Mallory’s horrified gaze at Jack and realized he was still covered in blood.
“Jack, let me wash you up, all right?”
“No.”
“Come on, baby, you’re all dirty. At least let’s change your clothes.” Holly moved to pull his jumper over his head, but he scooted away across the floor on his bottom. His lower lip was trembling.
“What’s the matter?”
“Don’t want to.”
Holly hesitated. She couldn’t leave him like this. She looked at his pants again. The knee was torn—he must have cut himself when he fell. Some of the blood was his.
“Does your leg hurt? Let me see.”
He didn’t answer. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed, his eyes bright. He looked as if he was running a fever.
“Jack.” She took a step toward him.
“NO!” The force of it startled her—it wasn’t like him to be so intractable. She backed away, spread her hands to show she wouldn’t touch him. “All right,” she said. “Stay like that, if you want.”
She told Mallory not to worry, that she’d bathe Jack when she got home, whenever that might be. Luckily the girl was fine with spending the night. Holly packed a quick bag, kissed Jack, and left.
On the ride to hospital, she checked her voicemail messages. Nothing from the doctor, but there was a message from her mother, full of cool concern and a promise to arrive first thing in the morning. Don’t rush, Holly thought bitterly, then immediately felt guilty. Jane had been a rock star after the car crash, moving Holly and Jack into her London house and helping them through the worst days. But things had changed between them since Eden’s birth. And maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Jane for the distance that had grown between them.
At hospital, Holly checked in at the nurses’ station first. There’d been no change, no sign of Eden awakening, which was unusual but not necessarily alarming. Another scan was scheduled for the morning, the nurse said, but at the moment Eden’s vitals were good.
“Poor little angel,” she said, her voice sympathetic.
And when Holly entered Eden’s room, her daughter did look angelic. Someone had washed the blood from her scalp, and her blonde halo of curls spread across the pillow. Holly crawled into bed with her, careful not to dislodge the IV and monitors. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past two years, and one she almost could not stand to use again. She tried not to think of Isaac, not to think of Robert, but to be here, present, with Eden.