Burns pulled back the curtain at the end of a
hospital bed situated in the middle of the long line of beds. A tall, narrow
table stood at the end of it covered with printouts and more tubes of blood.
Henrietta lay beneath white sheets folded down to midchest, her exposed arms
punctured at intervals with intravenous catheters. Red blood flowed out of the
snaking tubes, tinted yellow fluids flowed in. Her eyes were closed, her
breathing almost imperceptible beneath the covers, her body dwarfed by the IV
stands and monitors bolted to the walls on either side of the bed. Tracings
revealed the steady blips of the EKG, the smooth rhythmic peaks and valleys of
blood pressure, the steady line of oxygen levels. All so familiar and so
foreign at the same time.
Emily forced herself to take it all in. She
owed it to Henrietta to lessen the horror by sharing it. After she focused and
let herself see, she whispered, “She’s breathing on her own.”
“Yes. We took the breathing tube out a couple
hours ago. She’s too alert to tolerate it,” Burns said softly.
“That’s so encouraging.” Emily glanced at
Derian, whose dark gaze was fixed on Henrietta’s face. Of course the racing
enthusiast, world-traveling adventurer would not be afraid to face down death,
if that was at hand.
Derian must have felt her staring and smiled
at her. “She’d probably pull it out if they left it in.”
“Go ahead,” Burns said. “You can talk to her.
She’ll know you’re here.”
Emily hesitated while Derian slipped along
the right side of the bed in the narrow space between the rails and the
curtain, leaned over, and gripped Henrietta’s fingers below the tape and
catheters. Emily eased up opposite her and grasped the rail.
“Hey, HW,” Derian murmured. “I’m here. The
doctors said you’re too tough to die, and I told them I already knew that.”
Emily really wasn’t surprised at the words,
not when she recognized the love in Derian’s tone. Derian’s tenderness
shouldn’t have been unexpected, and she chided herself inwardly for listening
to too much office gossip and believing what she read in the tabloids. A
reminder that others were rarely as they appeared on the surface.
“So I’m missing the first leg of the race for
nothing,” Derian continued, her thumb brushing back and forth over Henrietta’s
hand. “And who knows what kind of other action is going on over there without
me.”
Emily watched the rhythmic sweep of Derian’s
thumb, remembering the way Derian had stroked her cheek. Emily could still feel
it, a strong warm wave moving through her, a gentle, nearly possessive caress
that shouldn’t have had the impact it did. It wasn’t as if she wasn’t used to
being touched. She wasn’t exactly virginal. Not exactly. She just hadn’t found
physical intimacy so earthshaking that she was pressed to repeat it, not when
she had so many other things to be concerned about. And caresses and other
unimportant things were foolish thoughts to be thinking about right now.
Somehow, Derian had stirred feelings she rarely paid any attention to.