Chapter 2

The next morning, two hospital administrators came in and immediately began taking the coats out of my closet.

I pushed myself up on the edge of the bed, my arms trembling. "What are you doing?"

The supervisor held out a tablet. "I'm sorry, Ms. Adams. Your private nursing care has been canceled, and you need to vacate the suite. We're moving you to a shared room on the seventh floor."

I looked at the room transfer confirmation on the screen.

My father's name appeared in the requester field.

My mother came in with an insulated bag and stopped when she saw them packing. "Why so early? Wasn't the move this afternoon?"

She made it sound as though she were asking on my behalf.

She came quickly to the bed. "Why are you sitting up? Why do you look like that?"

Her fingertip brushed the needle marks on the back of my hand, then pulled away. "Isabella's surgery is tomorrow. She cried all night. She says the regular rooms are too noisy, and she can't sleep."

I looked at her. "So you want me to move out?"

She didn't answer right away.

She opened the insulated bag and took out a bowl. The scent of cream of mushroom soup drifted up. It had been my favorite when I was little.

After my first heart surgery, I was in too much pain to eat. My mother blew on every spoonful, fed it to me, and said she would do anything if I would only take one sip.

Now she held the spoon to my mouth, her voice still soft. "Have a little. You went all night without eating again, didn't you?"

I didn't open my mouth.

The spoon tapped the rim of the bowl several times.

A flicker of pain crossed her eyes, then disappeared beneath her own distress. "Insurance doesn't cover a private room, and money is tight. Let her have this one. She's never had such a major operation before, and she's truly scared."

"I was scared the first time I went into the ICU, too." I sniffled. "You held me all night and wouldn't let go. Do you remember?"

Her hand froze in midair, and her eyes reddened.

Then my father called. She listened for a few seconds before saying quietly, "I'm talking her into it. Isabella won't have to wait."

After she hung up, she held out the spoon again.

"Anna, don't put your mother in this position."

I raised a hand and pushed it away.

Her eyes filled with tears. Finally, she said in a low voice, "Anna, why do you always throw other people's kindness back in their faces? Lucy gave her life for you. She didn't do it so you could turn into this."

She had brought up Lucy after all.

I twisted the sheet in both fists. "Howard was the one who saved me. Lucy went back for the medication because you told her to. The fire killed her, not me!"

Every bit of color went out of her face.

A nurse wheeled me up to the seventh floor anyway.

As we passed the private wing on the third floor, I saw that the door to Isabella's new room was open. Salmon-pink balloons hung throughout the room, and lead-gray wrapping paper was piled on the table.

My father was opening an enormous package. Howard lifted the mounted vellum leaf out of the box.

"Look at this, Isa. It's a leaf from Shakespeare's First Folio." He ruffled her hair. "For getting into Stanford."

I had circled that same leaf in an auction catalog on my birthday last month.

Howard had closed the catalog and said there was no point in a patient buying an antique they couldn't eat or use.

Now the vellum was going into an expensive climate-controlled frame.

Isabella put a hand over her mouth. "Howard, you're so good to me."

Then she looked up, saw me, and grabbed his cuff. "Anna..."

Howard turned and filled the doorway. "One look at you, and she thinks you're here to take something from her. Her surgery is tomorrow. Can't you let her have a few peaceful days?"

The nurse lifted the transfer sheet. "Mr. Adams, this is the only route to the seventh floor."

His gaze swept over the thin blanket covering my legs and the cardboard box, and his expression softened. He crouched and pulled the blanket higher around me.

"I'm not throwing you out. There are more nurses on the seventh floor, so you'll be better cared for there. Isa's surgery is tomorrow, and she can't handle any more stress."

As I watched him tuck the blanket around me, my throat tightened.

"She can't handle any stress, so I get stuck in a drafty shared room?"

His hands stopped.

"You've always been able to handle more than she can."

So in their eyes, the fact that I could endure more was somehow my fault, too.

Before the door closed, I saw Isabella hug the vellum to her chest.

It didn't matter.

I was going to die soon anyway. Whether I fought for the room and the vellum or not, it would all end the same way.