“She’s flying home. But she won’t get back until tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stay here. Please. I want out of here and a heating pad and a silly movie to zone out in front of. Nora. Please.”
She grabs my hand and she squeezes almost harder than she did in the bank.
“Okay,” I say, because the way she looks at me is tinged with the kind of bad that makes the back of my throat bitter. “I’ll get Lee to fix it.”
“You will?”
“Promise.”
It takes two phone calls, an argument with the head nurse, and a hushed three-way conversation with Iris’s doctor and her mother on the phone before they release Iris into Lee’s custody. When they finally come in to unhook her and let her get dressed, the smile that blooms over her face is like sunshine across miles of snow.
They put her in a wheelchair, too, but she doesn’t protest. “Where’s Wes?” she asks. “He was going to come back.”
“I saw him downstairs,” Lee says.
“We’ll get him,” I tell Iris, but Lee shoots me a look and shakes her head a little.
“He’s with his parents, Nora,” she says, like that’s going to matter to me.
“We’ll get him,” I say again, and I shouldn’t be mean when my sister looks as wrecked as she does, but I’m not leaving him after this horrible day that was supposed to start with donuts and hurt feelings and end with, I dunno, French fries and forgiveness and our friendship intact.
But here I am again, changing in the span of a few minutes and choices that maybe were bad, maybe were good, and might not be survivable.
He’s in the lobby just like Lee said he was. His parents are flanking him, as if he needs protection from the world instead of from his father.
“Steady,” Lee says under her breath as we cross out of the elevator bay and head into the lobby.
“Nora.” Mrs. Prentiss comes over and hugs me. It’s brief and achingly gentle, and it’s meant well. She always means well, I remind myself as I grit my teeth and let it happen. “And, Iris, honey, are you two okay?”
“We’re good,” I say. “We’re just going home.” I look at Wes over her shoulder.
“I’m coming,” he says immediately, and Mrs. Prentiss is right in front of me, inches away; I can see her stiffen.
“Wes.” It’s the first time he’s spoken, but my eyes narrow at the mayor.
“Honey, I really want you home with me,” Mrs. Prentiss says, and the pleading in her voice is real, because Wes is just months away from being eighteen and there’s not much she can do about the fact that he’s spent years dodging time under her roof.
“Lee Ann, please.” Mrs. Prentiss lowers her voice, her cheeks tinged with the kind of humiliation a mother doesn’t ever want to feel.
Wes bends down and kisses his mom’s cheek. “I love you,” he says. “I’ll be at breakfast tomorrow before we all have to go to the sheriff’s station to give my statement.”
She strokes his arm, her hand shaky. “Okay,” she says, trying to save face but losing the game. Behind her, the mayor is stony silent, the disappointment radiating off him. He probably wishes I had gotten shot or burned up. Things would be a lot easier for him then.
Lee pushes Iris’s wheelchair out of the hospital, with Wes and me bringing up the rear like we still need to protect each other.
The sun’s shining as we cross the lot and head toward Lee’s truck. It seems strange that it’s still bright outside, that not even a full day has passed, when everything’s changed.
Lee gets us all carefully loaded into the truck’s back cab, bruised and raw in more ways than one. It takes a while because the pain pills the doctors gave me are starting to kick in and my seat belt is not working the way it’s supposed to.
“Christ,” she says, batting my hands away gently and clipping me in. “You’re all drugged up. What about you two?”
“They didn’t give me anything but oxygen and burn cream,” Wes says, and Iris just waves listlessly, which I think Lee takes as a yes.
“You’re the designated friend, then,” she tells Wes. “Don’t let them walk into the pool or anything when we get home.”
“I’m fine,” I protest.
“I’m not.” Iris leans against the window. “I want to lie down.”
“Soon,” Lee promises, getting into the front seat. Her fingers flex around the steering wheel. “Gotta hand it to you kids,” she mutters as she starts the truck. “My life’s never boring with you.”