Chapter 20
I am the worst person in this entire hospital. What is wrong with me? All that planning—the pep talk I gave myself—all of it, useless.
The door clicks open. Whoever it is walks in quiet, like I’m asleep. A calloused hand slides down my arm. Dad.
“You okay, kiddo?” he murmurs. “How’d it go with Officer Briggs?” Warm tears slip down the sides of my face and into my ears. He wipes them away with his thumbs.
“That good, huh?” He sinks into the chair the cop left, legs squeaking on the tile floor and sips his coffee, making a face like he’s drinking poison. “Wanna tell me about it?”
My dad’s the kind of guy trees would confess their secrets to—believe me, I’ve seen him talking to them. He doesn’t push—just waits, clothes smelling of pine needles and campfire. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.
“It was bad—like worse than bad.” I say. “I didn’t tell him one good thing about Grover. And Barney Fife? Total fake-out—went full attack dog. If Grover goes to jail, it’s all my fault.”
Dad sips again. “This hospital coffee is terrible,” he says. “Is that your fault, too?”
I roll my eyes, and he winks. “Darcie, Grover made bad choices. That’s on him. He may have had his reasons, but a bear is a bear no matter how pretty you dress it up.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t hurt us! He saved Amelia. If he hadn’t pulled that tree—” I stop because Dad’s eyes say the thing neither of us wants to say. We wouldn’t have been anywhere near that tree if Grover hadn’t taken Andrew.
“And if Mom and I hadn’t gone to the gala. If we’d gotten a different sitter. If your friends hadn’t invited you—”
“They’re not my friends.”
He nods. “Point stands. We all carry responsibility for our own pieces of what happened—but only our own pieces. Not everyone else’s.” He studies me. “Is there anything you told the officer that was untrue?”
“No. But there were good things that I left out.” So I tell him. All of it. And the longer I talk, the smaller the room gets and I’m right back inside that cave. The beeping monitor brings me back and I tuck my arms beneath the covers.
“I never thought I’d care so much about two smelly old cave dwellers.” I whisper. “But their story—I don’t know. It flipped something in my brain, you know? Made me see them different. Does that make sense?”
Leaning forward, Dad kisses my forehead, the four-day stubble on his face rubbing against my cheek. “It makes perfect sense.” He drains the last of his coffee. “So, what’s next?”
Suddenly, I sit up. “I need to talk to Amelia. Maybe she can convince Officer Briggs better than I did. He saved her life. That’s gotta count, right?”
Dad ruffles my hair. “Good plan—and the hallway’s clear—nobody outside her door. By the way, I love the new hairdo. Very…chic.” He pats my cheek. “I’m gonna get more of this horrible coffee. We’ll regroup later.”
I slide off the bed, more confident now, and head next door.
Amelia’s brand new cell phone is the only light in the room. She’s alone, curled up on the bed, eyes on her screen. She raises her head for only a second, then goes back to whatever she’s doing.
“Hey,” I cross to the bed. “How’s your leg?”
“Oh, it’s great. Couldn’t be better. Thanks for asking.” Her snippy voice stuns me.
I take a step back. “You mad, bro?”
She sighs in that overly dramatic way, turns her phone face down, and glares at me. “No. Just bored—I swear, if I have to spend another day cooped up in here alone, I’m going to go completely nuts. It’s worse than the cave!” She flops back against her pillow—pink satin.
“You do know you’re not alone right this minute, right? I mean, Hello.” She doesn’t react. “Where’s your family? My room is like an ant farm. I’ve only been alone like ten seconds.”
Her eyes roll back in her head like I just asked the dumbest question on Earth. “Did you want something?”
“Just stopped over to say hi.” I hesitate. “Did you, um…talk to Officer Briggs yet?”
“OMG!” Her eyes widen as she covers her mouth with newly polished pink nails. “Did you do that to your hair on purpose?”
I reach up, tugging at the ends. “Mom said it was crammed full of stuff. Basically unsalvageable. Plus, this gash—” I turn around, pointing to the stitches, “had to be shaved.” I wrap my finger around my ear. “Yours looks…perfect. As always.”
Smiling, she grabs her mirror from the bedside table. “My grandmother hired an entire fleet of people to come in here and get me presentable. Everything from my hair to my toes has been cleaned and polished. I should have sent them your way.”
“So, have you talked to him yet?” I ask again, shifting my feet.
She flips back the covers, showing off her brand-new pink satin nightgown. I glance down at my Hello Kitty PJs and duck behind the bedside table.
“Talk to whom?” she asks mildly. “You’re not being very clear, Darcie.”
“The officer. About Grover.” I fold my arms, trying to cover myself. My stomach cramps. If she told him the wrong thing, everything unravels.
“Oh, him. Yes. Ages ago. Why?” she sniffs, looking over my head to the doorway.
“So you told him how Grover saved you?”
She laughs, “Darcie. Please.” Then slides into a matching robe and fuzzy slippers—hospital socks are clearly beneath her. “I told him the truth. Grover kidnapped Andrew and forced us into the cave. And that woman he called Mommy was—well, horrible.”
Her words stab into me like a handful of tacks. How could she not tell him what he did for her?
“What did you expect me to say?” She fans her silky robe across the bed as she sits, back straight, head high.
A polished, deliberate voice cuts in from the doorway. “Yes, young lady. What did you expect?” Amelia’s grandmother glides into the room. Expensive perfume hangs in the air. She’s the exact opposite of Amelia in looks—small and squatty with short blond hair—but the snobby attitude is spot on.
Heat crawls up my neck and I can’t make my body move.
“We don’t get the luxury of being careless in this family.” Her eyes narrow. “Not with the kind of name we carry. People remember when someone steps out of line, and we can’t risk that. You understand.”
A loud buzzing runs through my head, and I cover my ears. This woman is exactly who Amelia described. Reputation is everything. I glance over at Amelia. She turns away, chin raised to the ceiling. Oh, so we’re doing that again? Perfect.
Straightening my shoulders, I push past the older woman. “Never mind. Sorry to bother you.” Clearly, I’m not getting any help for Grover here, and friendship with Amelia right now is just too exhausting. Forget it. I’m done.
My ears are buzzing when I make it back to the doorway of my room. Dad and Andrew sit on the floor, building one of their LEGO masterpieces. Mom and Stuart hover nearby, arguing over which towers will survive the next wobble. Something inside me cracked under the weight of Amelia’s cold world. But this? This is real. This is my world, and I love it. I tiptoe in.
“I’m saying it can hold if you tweak it,” Stuart says, nudging a brick into place. “Even a shaky tower can survive if you adjust it here and there.”
“Humph.” I slide in beside Dad. Does that logic apply to friends?
Stuart perks up then, “Darcie!”
Dad runs a hand over my head. “How’s Amelia?”
“She basically blew me off—not to mention the fact that she let her crazy grandmother go off on me.” My voice raises an octave, “Like, ‘A family’s dignity is to be protected above anything else.’ Ugh. No way Amelia’s helping with—” I stop suddenly, glancing down at Andrew who’s happily stacking blocks like nothing in the universe is wrong. “—you know.”
“Mealya not nice a-gain, Ozzie?” He pads over, and climbs into my lap, hugging me like that’s his job. “It’s okay. Stu’s here now.”
I kiss the top of his head, breathing in the clean smell of baby shampoo. “You’re right, buddy. Stuart’s my real friend.” Stuart’s ears glow bright red, but he’s smiling, so I count that as a win.
Standing, Mom pats Stuart’s shoulder. “We’ll finish the tower building later. I think my girl needs some friend-time.”
Dad, Mom, and Andrew move toward the door and I move over to the bed.
“We’ll be in the cafeteria if you need anything.” Dad winks at me as he swings Andrew onto his shoulders, one-handed, his other hand resting on Mom’s back.
The silence inside the room is heavy as I scoot my feet under the covers. Stuart, I guess is waiting for me to start the conversation. “So,” I say quietly, “you were right, Stuart. About everything. I’m an idiot.” My fingers find a snag in the blanket, and I pick at it like a scab that I can’t leave alone.
“I don’t recall using the word idiot,” he says, sitting on the bed at my feet.
I shift my leg to make room, but keep my eyes on the bedspread, tracing the pattern like there’s a hidden message there. Finally, I look up. He’s staring at my hair.
“Yeah. Apparently, it was full of junk from the cave,” I say. “Plus, I got stitches. It’s kind of uneven.” I tug on the ends.
“I love it,” he says, like he really means it. “I always thought—you were probably better looking than you let yourself be. But without the glasses, and with the hair out of your face? You’re…beautiful.” His ears turn red again.
Mine probably do too. Me? Beautiful? That’s…surprising. I look away fast, but it’s nice being with him again. It feels…safe. “My glasses got smashed in the cave—it’s a long story.” I scoot over and pat the space beside me. “I have so much to tell you.”
He settles in, and I fill him in on everything. Seriously. All of it. From lying to my parents to betraying Grover, to losing Amelia—again—and how much that hurts, especially after everything that happened.
“It was the worst and best experience of my life,” I say. “Not best in a fun way—just…I don’t know…”
He turns to face me. “I’m just—I’m really glad you made it back. What if something—” He drops his head, then tangles his fingers in mine. “I was really worried. Some of us from school even searched the forest. We were out there for hours.”
“You were worried about me?” I say, staring down at our fingers. “Kids from school really searched for us?”
He nods slowly, “From all the groups.”
“Even the Peaks?” My voice squeaks.
“Even the Peaks.” And then Stuart Foster does the unthinkable. He leans in and kisses me—right on the lips.
I don’t really know what I’m doing, and I think he doesn’t either. I almost laugh because it feels so weird at first. Not bad weird—just…I wasn’t expecting it. It’s not like in the movies—it’s way more awkward and messy—but special, you know? Because it’s my first one.
Stuart pulls back slowly, eyes doing this nervous flutter. “I’m sorry—no, I’m not sorry—wait. I am sorry if that was unwelcome, but also I really wanted to—”
“Stuart. Breathe.” My cheeks ache from smiling so big. “And for the record? I liked it.”
His thumb glides across my knuckles, and we sit there for about thirty seconds, until the plink, plink, plink of worry becomes the soundtrack on my heart monitor. “I’m sorry,” I say, “but I can’t stop thinking about Grover. I’ve got to figure out a way to help him—got any ideas?”