Cath nodded.
“You can come back now. Do you want to wait for your mom?”
Cath shook her head.
*
Wren was in a room by herself. It was dark, and her eyes were closed. Cath couldn’t tell if she was sleeping.
“Do I need to watch for anything?” Cath asked the nurse.
“No, she’s just resting now.”
“Our dad will be here soon,” Cath said.
“Okay. We’ll send him back.”
Cath sat down slowly, quietly, in the chair by Wren’s bed. Wren looked pale. She had a dark spot, maybe a bruise, on her cheek. Her hair was longer than it had been at Christmas, hanging over her eyes and curling at her neck. Cath pushed it back.
“I’m awake, you know,” Wren whispered.
“Are you still drunk?”
“A little. Muzzy.”
Cath tucked Wren’s hair back again in a soothing gesture. Soothing for Cath, anyway. “What happened?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Who brought you in?”
Wren shrugged. There was an IV in her arm and something taped to her index finger. Up close, she smelled like puke. And like Wren—like Tide and Marc Jacobs Lola.
“Are you okay?”
“Muzzy,” she said. “Sick.”
“Dad’s coming.”
Wren groaned.
Cath folded her arms on the edge of the mattress and laid her head down, exhaling. “I’m glad they brought you in,” she said, “whoever it was who brought you in. I’m … sorry.”
That I wasn’t there, that you didn’t want me there, that I wouldn’t have known how to stop you anyway.
Now that she was with Wren and Wren was okay, Cath realized how exhausted she was. She shoved her glasses into her coat pocket and laid her head back down. She was just drifting off—or maybe she’d just drifted off—when she heard Wren whimper. Cath lifted her head. Wren was crying. Her eyes were closed, and tears were running down into her hair. Cath could almost feel the tickle. “What’s wrong?”
Wren shook her head. Cath wiped Wren’s tears away with her fingers, and wiped her fingers on her shirt.
“Should I get the nurse?”
Wren shook her head again and started shifting in the bed. “Here,” she said, making room.
“Are you sure?” Cath asked. “I don’t want to be the reason you choke on your own vomit.”
“None left,” Wren whispered.
Cath kicked off her boots and climbed up over the railing, lying down in the space Wren had cleared for her. She put her arm carefully under Wren’s neck. “Here,” Cath said.
Wren curled against her with her head on Cath’s shoulder. Cath tried to untangle the tubes around Wren’s arm, then held her hand tightly. It was sticky.
Wren’s shoulders were still shaking.
“It’s okay,” Cath said. “It’s okay.”
Cath tried not to fall asleep until Wren did, but it was dark, and she was tired, and everything was blurry.
*
“Oh, God,” she heard their dad say. “Oh, Wren. Baby.”
Cath opened her eyes, and her dad was leaning over them both, kissing both of their foreheads. Cath sat up carefully.
Wren’s eyes were crusty and puffy, but open.
Their dad stood back and put his hand on Wren’s cheek. “Jesus Christ,” he said, shaking his head. “Kid.”
He was wearing gray dress pants and a light blue shirt, untucked. His tie, orange with white starbursts, was stuffed into and hanging out of his pocket. Presentation clothes, Cath thought.
She checked his eyes out of habit. They were tired and shining, but clear.
Cath felt overwhelmed then, all of a sudden, and even though this wasn’t her show, she leaned forward and hugged him, pressing her face into his stale shirt until she could hear his heart beating. His arm came up, warm, around her. “Okay,” he said roughly. Cath felt Wren take her hand. “Okay,” their dad said again. “We’re okay now.”
*
Wren didn’t have to stay in the hospital. “You can sleep and drink water at home,” the doctor said.
Real home. Omaha. “You’re coming back with me,” their dad said, and Wren didn’t argue.
“I’m coming, too,” Cath said, and he nodded.
A nurse took out Wren’s IV, and Cath helped her to the bathroom, patting her back while she dry-heaved over the sink. Then Cath helped her wash her face and change into her clothes—jeans and a tank top.
“Where’s your coat?” their dad asked. Wren just shrugged. Cath took off her cardigan and handed it to her.
“It smells like sweat,” Wren said.
“It’ll be the best-smelling part of you,” Cath answered.
Then they had to wait for Wren’s paperwork. The nurse asked if she’d like to speak to an addictions specialist. Wren said no. Their dad just frowned.
“Have you eaten anything?” Cath asked him.
He yawned. “We’ll drive though someplace.”
“I’m driving,” Cath said.