Edgewater (24 page)

I never knew what to say when my house's reputation preceded me. Per usual I looked at the ground and didn't say anything at all.

“Why don't we sit down?” Cheryl Hillman said. She beckoned me toward a set of chairs in bright primary colors.

“But Susannah—” I started.

“Dr. Cortes will be in soon,” Cheryl said. “And George can wait with her until he comes. Right, George?”

“Yeah, sure,” Teddy-Bear Scrubs said.

“All right, Lorrie?” Cheryl asked.

“Yeah, all right.” I followed her to a blue plastic chair underneath a Winnie the Pooh decal. Cheryl pulled a cherry lollipop from her breast pocket and held it out to me. I didn't think it was possible to feel any more diminished than I did right then. “Aren't those for the little kids who come in here?” I asked.

“They're for anyone who needs a little pick-me-up,” she said. “I hear you've had a rough night.” I didn't move to take the lollipop from her, even though I was starving, and she left it on the table between us. There were a couple of gossip magazines on the table, too, I guess for parents to read while they were waiting for news of their children. The headline on the top one proclaimed:
DATE NIGHT FOR SHELBY AND HAYDEN. EXCLUSIVE PICTURES!
I wondered if Charlie had seen it—not the magazine in particular, but the news in general that Shelby Rhodes and Hayden O'Conner had apparently been out on a date. And I wondered how he felt about it and if he'd thought about me at all when he heard. Was he thinking of me now the way I was thinking of him? I wished I was next to him, instead of next to Cheryl Hillman. I was
supposed
to be next to him—at Lennox's for dinner. I wondered if they'd eaten without me, and what excuse Lennox had made up for not being able to get in touch with me, and if Charlie was worried.

“Dr. Cortes filled me in a bit on what happened,” Cheryl Hillman said. “I just wanted to meet you and see how you're feeling.”

“I'm fine,” I said. “I mean, my hand hurts, but that's to be expected.”

“We can get you something for the pain.”

“That nurse who was just here? George? He gave me a little something.”

“He told me you were very brave.”

My burns were all superficial. The worst one was a fiery blister in the center of my palm. George had covered it in ointment, wrapped it up with gauze, and given me Tylenol. Meanwhile my sister was in a hospital bed with tubes running in and out of her.

“Not really that brave,” I said.

“Being brave doesn't mean you can't also be scared.” Cheryl Hillman had one of those soft, measured, teacher-ish voices, and I could tell it was a line she'd delivered a few hundred times. “This is the top-rated hospital in the area, and Dr. Cortes said you and your sister are expected to make complete recoveries.”

I curled my right hand, my bandaged hand, into a ball and felt a sharp pain. I uncurled it, then curled it again. Pain.

“You're safe here, Lorrie. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And at home? Any problems there?”

I shook my head.

“Are you sure?”

I knew she was only asking because my home had a reputation. The crumbling house that was bringing down the value of all the other mansions lining the road by the ocean. Surely the girls who lived there weren't really fine at all.

And we weren't fine. Especially not now. We were in a hospital,
for God's sake. My sister had come up to the attic with a candle because it was getting dark and she knew I couldn't just switch on a light like a normal person. It struck me that I wouldn't have minded so much if the whole place had gone up in flames. But since my sister was the spark of the fire, I'd had to put it out. I'd thrown myself over her, and together we'd rolled on the floor until the flames died down. The tip of Susannah's braid was on fire, and I'd cinched it with my hand.

None of it would've happened if our mother hadn't left.

Cheryl Hillman leaned in close. “You can talk to me, Lorrie,” she said.

The words were on the tip of my tongue, and the tears were welling in my eyes, and I wondered how I'd possibly start this story. What words would I say? I never spoke the truth about my house. I only said things to cover it up.

But if I told her now, then what? It wasn't like Mom would come back, or that I'd get to go back to Hillyer. And if they managed to track down my alcoholic father, there was no way he'd sweep in and rescue us. He'd been off the scene for a decade and a half, and besides, I knew now that he wasn't even related to Susannah.

Instead, there'd be social workers dispatched, and Susannah and I would be taken out of Gigi's custody and put into foster care. They'd probably split us up. And foster parents don't necessarily sign up for being pet caretakers on top of caring for the kids they take in. I could practically hear my sister begging—screaming—to be able to take all her pets with her. The thought made me cringe.

I wouldn't be able to keep Orion, either. So maybe the
house of horrors that we knew was better than what we didn't.

I curled and uncurled my hand again. Ironically the pain turned off the tears. “No problems at home,” I said.

“You really can tell me anything, Lorrie. It's my job to make sure you and Susannah are getting the care you need.”

“We are,” I said. “We're fine.”

“With all due respect, Lorrie, you and your sister are in the hospital right now.”

“We'll
be
fine,” I clarified. “This was an accident. Accidents happen. You must see a lot of them.”

“You're right, I do. And sometimes they're truly unavoidable. But you and your sister came in here alone. As I understand it, you drove yourself to the hospital.”

“I was the only one home.” I'd screamed and screamed for Gigi, but she hadn't come.

“Why didn't you call an ambulance?”

“I . . . I thought it'd be faster,” I said. I couldn't bear to tell her we didn't have a phone.

“In these situations, we're often acting on adrenaline.”

“Exactly.”

“But if an adult had been present, perhaps he or she would have had the presence of mind to make the call for help. After all, I assume you're not trained for medical emergencies. Susannah could have gone into shock and needed attention while you were behind the wheel.”

“But she didn't,” I said, my voice low.

“It seems to me that you have a lot on your shoulders. Sometimes what happens is a sign that we should intervene before there's a next time.”

“Listen, Ms. Hillman . . .” She looked back at me with eyebrows raised. “Or is it Dr. Hillman?”

“Lorrie, I'm Cheryl.”

“Cheryl,” I repeated.

And now I knew why she'd told me to call her by her first name. It had nothing to do with being a doctor or a nurse. It was to disarm me—to give the illusion of familiarity between us, so I'd feel comfortable telling her my family's deepest, darkest secrets.

“I know you're just doing your job, and I'm sure you've seen kids with terrible home lives who need your intervention. But my sister and I aren't two kindergartners who were left home alone and didn't know how to use the oven. I'm seventeen, and Susannah is fifteen. We do plenty of things on our own. And that's not because we're victims of neglect. It's simply because we're practically adults.”

“All right, then,” she said. She paused and looked down at her clipboard. I could tell she was just fake-reading, buying time before she said what came next. “Lorrie, I know you have a lot on your mind right now, but I just wanted to check—it says here that your insurance is Blue Cross.”

“That's right. I don't know the policy number—the card is at home. But I know it's Blue Cross from when I've filled out my school insurance forms, and George said it wouldn't be a problem to call and get the policy number.”

“You fill out your own medical forms for school?”

“Yes. Why?”

“No reason. It's just usually a thing a parent does.”

“Our aunt is our guardian.”

Cheryl nodded. “Yes, I know.”

If she knew, then why did she mention the thing about a parent?

“So I'm going to be completely honest with you. We have a problem. We spoke to Blue Cross, and they said your family's insurance policy has been canceled.”

My cheeks heated up as if the room was on fire. “I'm sure when my aunt gets here, she'll clear everything up,” I said.

“But she wasn't home when this happened?”

Jesus. We'd been through this. “No.”

“What makes you think she'll be home now?”

“I . . . I don't know . . .”

“She hasn't answered any of our calls. The phone just rings and rings.”

“It's a big house,” I said. “If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to Susannah now. I know George said he'd stay with her, and he seems like a really nice guy, but the truth is, he's virtually a stranger to us, and I think I should be there in case Susannah wakes up.”

Cheryl Hillman stood and offered me a hand. But I shook my head; my legs worked just fine. I walked back down the hall, knowing she was watching. When I got to Susannah's room, George gave up the bedside chair to me.

Susannah was still sleeping. She looked so precious and so vulnerable lying there. A sheet had been pulled over her legs, and her torso was wrapped up in mummy-white gauze, like my hand. The singed end of her braid hung off the end of the pillow. She made a small sound when she inhaled, barely a squeak. Except for the machines, it was the only sound in the room.

Once, Lennox's mom Allyson had told us that when Lennox
and Harper had each been newborns, she'd go into their rooms in the middle of the night to check that they were still breathing. She'd watch their chests moving up and down, up and down. And if they seemed too still for a second too long, she'd wake them. Their cries were a relief.

At that moment I felt like I was Susannah's mother, consumed with the responsibility of her life, hanging on her every breath.

I wasn't Susannah's mom. I was her sister. She would never know she wasn't my full sister. I would never tell anyone.

I had no idea how much time had passed before I heard the
clack, clack, clack
of tap shoes in the hallway. Then the door opened, and Gigi came sweeping in, Brian right behind her. Her hair and clothes were wet. Brian took off his baseball cap, shook the rain off onto the floor, and put it back on.

“Darlings!” Gigi said.

“Shh, Gigi,” I said. “She's sleeping.”

But Susannah's eyes had popped open. “You're here,” she said. “Why are you all wet?”

“It started raining,” Brian told her.

“Cats and dogs out there,” Gigi said. “But not to worry. I love extreme weather. It makes me feel more alive.”

“I don't think anyone was worried about
you
,” I said.

Gigi ran a dripping finger along Susannah's pale cheek, leaving droplets that looked like tears. “Are you all right, my angel? What am I saying? Of course you're not. Just look at you. Your poor little body.”

“I'm all right,” Susannah said. “The doctor said I won't even have bad scars.”

“That's because she's tough as nails,” Brian said. He reached
out to hold the hand that wasn't tethered to an IV pole. I had to hand it to Brian. In the past few hours, he'd really come through. He had a working cell phone, which he'd answered when I'd called. He'd offered to track down Gigi, and now here they both were.

“You do look like shit, though, babe,” he said. “If I'm being completely honest.”

Now, there was the Brian we all knew and loved.

“Oh, Susannah,” Gigi said. And then she started to sing softly. “Oh, Susannah, now don't you cry for me.”

The door swung open again. Cheryl Hillman with her smart suit and clipboard. “Excuse me,” she said. “Ms. Hollander, may I borrow you for a couple of minutes? We have some loose ends to tie up.”

“I can't think about all that while my niece is lying here helpless.”

“I assure you, Susannah is receiving the help she needs,” Cheryl said. “There are just a few forms for you to fill out.”

Gigi waved her away. “I should've had Brian drive me by the house so I could've picked up that afghan you like,” she told Susannah.

“She wasn't home?” I asked Brian.

“Nope. I found her walking on Break Run, by that senator's place.”

“What? The Compound?” I asked, raising my voice.

“Ms. Hollander,” Cheryl said. “At the very least I need to get Susannah's insurance information. Lorrie said she thought you had a policy with Blue Cross, but we couldn't get a working policy number.”

“We're between policies,” Gigi said. “And Mercury is in retrograde right now, so I can't sign any new contracts.”

Cheryl Hillman's eyes flicked to me for a second, but I looked away. I would not have her thinking that I was ready to confide in her about anything. “This is a private hospital, Ms. Hollander,” she said to Gigi. “We won't turn away an emergent case for inability to pay, but for someone like Susannah, who is stable and simply requires observation—generally, in that situation, we order a transfer to the public hospital.”

So this was how it went: Out in the hall, Cheryl had been full of concern. Now she was ready to ship us out. I was glad to not have trusted her, because I knew she didn't really give a shit, and that once we were out the doors, she would simply check us off her list and never think of us again.

But this was our life. My sister's life. “You said this hospital was the best in the area,” I said.

“I'm so sorry about all this,” Susannah said, her voice thick.

“There's nothing to be sorry about,” I told her.