Girls of Brackenhill(67)

Her head felt foggy, and her eyes burned. The nauseous pit in her stomach was made worse, not better, by the appearance of Alice in the doorway.

“Why are you in here? No one is supposed to come in here,” Alice said, and Hannah offered a feeble “I don’t know” before Alice turned and brusquely headed down the hallway to Stuart’s room, where Hannah followed her. She’d left the box on Ruby’s bed.

“We can’t move him. You realize that by now?” Alice’s voice was sharp, and Hannah found herself feeling chastised. No. She hadn’t realized that. She’d thought they were waiting a few days but would be making the decision—the one she’d assumed would be yes—and Uncle Stuart would move to the facility. She would go home. This was the plan.

And yet she was still here.

“He has hours. Days. Possibly a week,” Alice whispered in a hiss, held up his catheter bag. The liquid inside had turned a deep brown. “Kidneys are shutting down. His heart rate is erratic, fifty, then ninety.”

Hannah took her seat next to her uncle’s bed and again picked up his hand. His skin looked blotchy and blue; fifty thumbprint bruises dotted his arm like islands.

So she would stay. See this through. Organize another funeral, another luncheon. This time without Huck. Would he come back? She couldn’t even bear to ask him to. No, this was hers to do alone. She’d made a mess of everything, even if Huck didn’t know it yet. She’d tell him, eventually, about everything. Right now was about priorities. First Stuart. Then Wyatt. She had to close the door on him, on them. She knew she owed him a conversation. Then, home and Huck and whatever the future held for her. Would Huck stay? She didn’t know.

Alice busied herself changing saline, the catheter bag, then the blankets, snapping fresh, clean linens in the air while Hannah sat silent. The woman’s silence seemed almost antagonizing.

“Is there treatment for sleepwalking? Medicine?” Hannah asked her softly, partly to make conversation, partly because it hadn’t occurred to her to ask until this moment. Alice was a nurse. She might know.

“Is that why you were in Ruby’s room?” Alice stopped snapping the sheets and stared at Hannah. Hannah felt like a moth pinned to wax.

“Yes. I think so? I wake up in different rooms here. This didn’t happen at home.” Hannah didn’t say that at home she had six rooms in her whole condo.

“Klonopin,” Alice finally answered. A heavy-duty antianxiety medicine.

The front bell clanged, echoing through the house, and Hannah cried out, startled. Alice looked at her strangely—Hannah was so on edge. Hannah stood, letting Stuart’s hand fall by his side, and made her way to the front door.

She looked through the small window. Wyatt.

What did he want? She could refuse to answer, but if it was about the case, her sister, Ellie, Ruby, or Warren, then she wanted to know.

She opened the door, and his face was unreadable. She was still in her nightgown, no bra, and she folded her arms across her chest. Stupidly self-conscious.

“Hannah, are you okay?” he asked, his face the picture of concern. His voice low.

“I’m fine. Why are you here?” Hannah’s voice was sharper than she’d intended.

“I have . . . a development.” He stammered over his words, reaching his arm out to touch her elbow, but she stepped away. “Can I come in?”

She opened the door wide for him, and he brushed past her. He smelled like soap and Wyatt, and she instinctually wanted to hug him. Feel him against her again. She noticed how well his dark button-up shirt fit his frame, tucked into jeans, with a black belt. How long his legs looked. She closed her eyes and tipped her head up to the ceiling.

In the sitting room, she sat on a velvet armchair, letting Wyatt take the love seat alone. Her emotions were too wild, her impulses too unpredictable with Stuart upstairs and Huck radio silent, to trust herself. Physical barriers felt necessary.

“So what’s up?” Hannah finally asked when the silence grew.

“Hannah, you just left. The other day. How are you? Are you okay? Can we talk?” Wyatt leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I’m not sorry it happened. But I am sorry if it upset you.”

“Stuart is dying. Probably today,” she blurted, and his eyes softened, his face slack. “So I’m staying awhile.” She gripped her elbows with the opposite hands, her arms tucked tight against her waist.

“I’m sorry, Han. I really am. It’s a lot for a person to take.” Wyatt motioned around the sitting room. “All of this.”

“Yes. Well. Did you have news?” Hannah clapped her hands, oddly, and Wyatt looked alarmed.

“I do,” he said slowly. “But you don’t seem yourself. You seem like you’re . . . cracking.”

“Just tell me the news. I’m fine. You said there was a case development.” Hannah’s heart picked up speed and slowed down, like Alice had said Stuart’s was doing, and she wondered if she was channeling his death, or maybe she was dying too. Maybe her heart would stop right here in this velvet sitting room, on this green velvet chair, and she could just go to sleep—real sleep, instead of waking up all over the house.

“It’s about Fae.”

Hannah’s head snapped up. Fae? She’d expected Julia or even Ruby. Warren. What could possibly be advancing in Fae’s case?