The Stillwater Girls(36)

Rising, I follow the girls and the nurse down a stark white corridor and into the third door on the right. The exam room is close quarters, but we all manage to fit.

“I’m Becca.” The nurse removes the silver stethoscope from her neck and smiles a careful smile at Wren. “Would you mind having a seat for me on the table? I just want to listen to your heart and get a quick blood pressure on you.”

The girls don’t speak, don’t move.

“It’s okay,” I tell them, my voice a gentle push. “Nobody here will hurt you.”

The nurse glances at me before turning back to them and offering a nervous smile. I imagine she was briefed before we got here, but nothing could’ve prepared her for seeing these two in the flesh.

“I’ll go first,” Wren says to her sister, climbing onto the end of the table. The crumple of thin paper beneath her fills the small room along with the trace of musky, unwashed hair.

The nurse places her metal bell against the back of Wren’s chest, instructing her to take two deep breaths, and then she places the blood pressure cuff around her arm, explaining every step of the way. When she’s finished, she has Wren step on a scale so she can get her height and weight. Becca scribbles the numbers on her clipboard before setting it aside and turning her attention toward Sage.

Glancing at the paper, I spot #95 and 62 inches scribbled in blue pen.

Underweight. As if we needed a scale and a ruler to confirm that.

“Sage, are you ready?” Becca asks, replacing the paper on the exam table with a clean pull. Sage hesitates before obliging, and the process is repeated.

A quiet knock on the door precedes the entrance of a white-haired doctor with dark pink lips, striking hazel irises, and clunky silver earrings. She moves to the sink first, washing her hands with an overdone thoroughness before turning to offer the girls a grandmother-like smile.

“I’m Dr. Halifax,” she says. “You can call me Dr. Corinne if you’d like.”

It takes a second for me to realize another woman is standing behind her. With dark circles under her kind, hazel eyes and bushy brown hair that suggests she skipped a shower to come straight here, she wears exhaustion like a second skin, but the laminated badge hanging from her neck identifies her as Sharon Grable, LISW. The hospital must have assigned them a social worker.

Dr. Corinne grabs the nurse’s paperwork and takes a seat on a rolling stool, scooting closer to the girls, and Sharon leans against the wall, keeping out of the way.

“This is Sharon,” Dr. Corinne says, pointing behind her. “She’s here to help you.”

The social worker steps forward. “We’re all here to help you. Whatever happened . . . whatever you’ve been through, I want you to know you’re safe here, and we’re going to see to it that you have somewhere safe to go.”

“Our sister,” Wren says, her voice cracking from too much silence. “Her name is Evie. Is she here?”

“Deputy May mentioned you were looking for your mother and your sister,” Sharon says. “We’re going to do everything in our power to find them, but we need to take things one step at a time. As soon as Dr. Corinne is finished, the police are going to ask you some questions—questions that could help us find them. But if at any time you’re feeling overwhelmed or you need to take a break, you let us know, okay?”

The girls nod, and Sharon moves back to the wall, her off-white sweater fading into the cream-colored walls.

“So I understand you two were in the woods,” the doctor says, crossing her legs and running her hand along the stethoscope that hangs over her shoulders. She smiles, the lines beside her pretty eyes crinkling. “Can you tell me what you were doing there?”

The room is hushed as we wait for a response. Over the years, there have been all kinds of stories, mostly local lore, about the Stillwater Forest and the kinds of people who may or may not reside somewhere deep inside. It seemed like most residents laughed at the stories, but some took them so seriously they wouldn’t step foot beyond the hiking trails and the little rusty children’s park beside the seldom-used campground.

Brant says it all started after someone’s baby was taken from that park, and the rumors grew from there.

Wren clears her throat, her shoulders almost slouched and her posture less intense, which I hope is a good sign.

“We had to leave our home,” she says, swallowing, her eyes dancing between Sharon and the doctor. “Mama took Evie to town because she was sick. Then a man came. And he wouldn’t leave. He was going to take us, so we waited until he was sleeping, and we left.”

The doctor tries her best to keep an unfazed expression, but the veins in her neck pulse, and she has to look away.

“How long have you lived in the woods?” Dr. Corinne asks once she’s gathered herself again.

“When can we leave?” Wren ignores the doctor’s question. “We need to find our family.”

Sharon takes a step away from the wall, her palm raised. “Girls, more than likely you’ll be kept here tonight for observation. You’ll see another doctor, and there’ll be some tests. They just need to make sure you’re healthy before they can release you.”

Wren slides down from the table. “No.”

She reaches for Sage, whose dark brows are angled inward, and takes her by the hand.