Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(102)

Amber has attempted conversation a few times but I’ve reciprocated with only two-word answers, losing myself in the emergency cases walking through the door—everything from children with fevers to open forehead gashes. Jesse seems content just to sit beside me. He drifted off a few times, falling onto my shoulder.

I didn’t push him away. I didn’t want to.

I’m on my feet the moment Meredith emerges, taking slow, even steps toward us. She’s trained to give news—both good and bad—to families, with minimal emotion. As a result, I can’t guess what she’s coming to tell us, her face an unreadable mask.

Until she slumps into the chair across from me. That’s when I know.

“We found a sizeable tumor inside Ginny’s head. That’s what caused the herniation in her midbrain, which put her in a coma. We’ve relieved some of the pressure in her head. But . . .” Her voice grows hoarse. “It’s unlikely she’s going to wake up and, if she does, we expect that she will be severely disabled.”

What? “No . . .” My head shakes back and forth. “She was fine last night. She was talking to me and yelling at them,” I throw a loose hand toward Jesse and Gabe, who stands beside him now. “She was fine.”

Meredith nods. “She was. And now she’s not. Sometimes that happens with these kinds of things.”

“Is the tumor cancerous?”

“We’re still running tests.”

“And you had no idea? Wasn’t she here just a few months ago?” Gabe presses.

“For her gallbladder,” Meredith snaps. “We weren’t doing CT scans of her brain.”

Silence settles over our small group, and I try to process this. Ginny is a part of my life. A foundational pillar. I feel like everything’s about to topple.

“But . . .” Jesse rubs my back with his hand. “No. She needs to come home and make her tree quilts and feed Felix and see the barn that’s going to be full of horses and complain about Jesse’s car being too loud, and . . .” Tears stream down my face. “She needs to come home.”

“I wish I could give you a—”

“She’ll wake up.” I wipe both eyes with my palms and set my jaw stubbornly. “You didn’t think I’d wake up, and I did.” Meredith gives me a solemn nod.

“Can I see her?”

Meredith takes a deep breath, sharing a glance with Gabe. “Come on, I’ll take you.”

I turn to Amber. “The horses need—”

“I’ll go bring them in. Feed the dog . . . all that.” She pulls herself to her feet, passing her parents without a word.

I follow Meredith as she leads me through the ICU, the sterile smell, the low buzz of machines and voices, the long, monotonous halls, all sparking my earliest memories.

“She’ll have some bandages on her head, but otherwise she looks fine,” Meredith cautions as we enter the room. The machine beside Ginny beeps rhythmically. The sound used to be a lullaby for me.

“Visits are supposed to be kept to ten minutes, but I’ll ask them to leave you alone.”

“Thanks.” It sounds hollow but that’s all I can manage, wandering over to the chair beside Ginny’s bed.

“I understand that you’re angry with us, Water. But please give Jesse a chance to explain. His motivation—all of our motivations—came from a good place. One that meant you well.”

I simply nod, unable to process my own personal turmoil right now.

The door closes softly.

And I simply stare at the small, frail woman lying there, unconscious, the lump in my throat growing larger and larger until I can’t swallow without tears springing to my eyes.

The reclusive, ornery woman who in reality was brimming with life. Who spent decades hiding behind dead trees and scraps of quilts and an abrasive disposition. If only she had let that tree bud again, maybe others would have had a chance to see it, too. Reaching forward, I slip my hand within hers. A giggle escapes. “Boy, will you be mad when you wake up and find yourself in here.”

And then I bow my head and cry, because somehow I know that Meredith is right, and I’m never going to argue with Ginny again.

Jesse and Gabe are still in the waiting room when I emerge, my cheeks sore from the burn of so many tears.

Sickness churning in my stomach, I’m terrified of what this vault inside my head doesn’t want me to see. But I also made a promise to Ginny last night, and I intend to keep it.

I settle eyes on Jesse. “I need to know everything. Everything.”

The weathered totem pole stands proud among the trees at the dead end of the road, its paint faded. A shiver runs down my back as I lock eyes with the hummingbird that sits on top, staring down its long, pointed beak at me.

Is that just a coincidence?

“When I was about twelve, a couple of teenagers from Sisters came up to Black Butte to camp. They had a campfire—they weren’t supposed to, it was too dry—and it started a forest fire. They died in it. I remember the day the town put this up here as a memorial,” Jesse explains, staring up at the totem pole.

“Why did you bring me here?”

He reaches for my hand and I let his fingers graze mine for a second before I pull it away. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about Jesse right now, except that there must be a good explanation for all of this.