She scooped him up in her arms. Holly appreciated that Officer Beale didn’t comment on how big Jack was, or how he was too old to be carried. Then again, unless the policeman was a complete fool, he’d probably already grasped how laborious it was for Jack to move anywhere on his own.
She took the elevator to the nurses’ station, still carrying Jack. She needed to see Eden before she left, to hold her, if she could. The same doctor who had spoken to her before was standing outside a patient’s door. When he saw her, he frowned, and the bottom dropped out of her world.
“Eden,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
But no. “Ah, Mrs. Darling, good,” he said. “I wanted to confirm—could you tell me how old your daughter is?”
“She’s two,” Holly said. She wouldn’t let herself think about Eden’s chubby arms, the cloud of curls that wreathed her face, her funny high-pitched voice. The way she’d looked on the ground under the tree.
The doctor raised an eyebrow. Slightly, but Holly saw it.
“My daughter has a rare disorder,” she explained. “It causes her to grow faster than other children her age.”
“Is she seeing someone for it?”
“She has a specialist in London.” She tried to calm her breathing. She should have expected the doctor to notice—in the panic of Eden’s fall, she hadn’t been thinking clearly.
“Well. You may want to have them consult on this. Just in case.”
Holly nodded. She didn’t say that she’d stopped taking Eden, that the specialist hadn’t been able to find anything to explain her rapid development. But Holly knew exactly what—and who—had caused it. And there was no one who could help, not now.
* * *
Officer Beale’s niece was on the front steps of Grace House when they arrived. A tall girl with flaming-red hair, she waved when she spotted them. Beale made the introductions and left. Standing inside the house, Holly caught Mallory’s horrified gaze at Jack and realized he was still covered in blood.
“Jack, let me wash you up, all right?”
“No.”
“Come on, baby, you’re all dirty. At least let’s change your clothes.” Holly moved to pull his jumper over his head, but he scooted away across the floor on his bottom. His lower lip was trembling.
“What’s the matter?”
“Don’t want to.”
Holly hesitated. She couldn’t leave him like this. She looked at his pants again. The knee was torn—he must have cut himself when he fell. Some of the blood was his.
“Does your leg hurt? Let me see.”
He didn’t answer. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed, his eyes bright. He looked as if he was running a fever.
“Jack.” She took a step toward him.
“NO!” The force of it startled her—it wasn’t like him to be so intractable. She backed away, spread her hands to show she wouldn’t touch him. “All right,” she said. “Stay like that, if you want.”
She told Mallory not to worry, that she’d bathe Jack when she got home, whenever that might be. Luckily the girl was fine with spending the night. Holly packed a quick bag, kissed Jack, and left.
On the ride to hospital, she checked her voicemail messages. Nothing from the doctor, but there was a message from her mother, full of cool concern and a promise to arrive first thing in the morning. Don’t rush, Holly thought bitterly, then immediately felt guilty. Jane had been a rock star after the car crash, moving Holly and Jack into her London house and helping them through the worst days. But things had changed between them since Eden’s birth. And maybe it wasn’t entirely fair to blame Jane for the distance that had grown between them.
At hospital, Holly checked in at the nurses’ station first. There’d been no change, no sign of Eden awakening, which was unusual but not necessarily alarming. Another scan was scheduled for the morning, the nurse said, but at the moment Eden’s vitals were good.
“Poor little angel,” she said, her voice sympathetic.
And when Holly entered Eden’s room, her daughter did look angelic. Someone had washed the blood from her scalp, and her blonde halo of curls spread across the pillow. Holly crawled into bed with her, careful not to dislodge the IV and monitors. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past two years, and one she almost could not stand to use again. She tried not to think of Isaac, not to think of Robert, but to be here, present, with Eden.
Instead she listened to Eden’s breathing, reassured by the quiet regularity of it, by the warmth of her skin, by how, even in the antiseptic atmosphere of hospital, she smelled like fresh air, like cut grass and sunshine.
“Hey, sweet girl,” she whispered. “Time to wake up now.” She talked of Jack, who missed her, reminded Eden of the kittens they’d found playing in the hedge yesterday, of the cold ocean water and fresh air that waited for her at Grace House. She painted a story for her tiny girl to anchor her firmly to this world and keep her from leaving.
But Eden didn’t respond. Holly slipped an arm under her, curled her body closer. Eden was so warm nestled against her. It was the first time Holly had stopped moving since Eden fell, and she was exhausted. The beeps and clicking of the monitors turned into the warning calls of the birds among the branches, the draft from the hallway into a cool breeze as Holly fell asleep.
Sunlight dapples the leaves as she and Eden and Jack climb the branches of the giant elm. The sky is so blue, and somewhere in the distance a rooster crows, making Holly uneasy. Peter? No. She hears the bells of a wind chime, like tiny musical laughter, but she can’t see anyone but her children.
They’re all going to jump, and this time Holly’s going to fly with them. She takes a deep breath. The ground is so far away, and then she’s plummeting through the air toward it. Eden’s giggling, but Holly is holding her hand and she knows that she’s dragging her daughter down. She wakes in panic, heart pounding, just before she hits the earth.
A thin gray light is coming through the window, and a nurse is checking Eden’s IV bag.
“All right, love?” the nurse asks, and Holly nods, her mouth dry and sour. The dream is still with her. Eden must have been so terrified when she fell. She hit the ground so hard. Hard enough to knock herself unconscious.
Hard enough to break her arm.
Holly slides her hand out from beneath Eden, pulls down the sheet that’s covering her, and stares at her daughter’s left arm. Runs her fingers gently down it. There’s no bump, no swelling, nothing to indicate it’s injured at all. Holly thinks back to how it looked right after Eden fell. It was twisted at such an unnatural angle it must have been broken. So how is it fine now?
She tries to recall what the doctor said when she’d asked him—something about an old break at the spot. But Eden’s never broken a bone before in her life. She’s barely ever had a scratch. Aside from her precocious growth rate, she’s always been a healthy child.
She stares at Eden’s face, at the dimples in the corners of her cheeks, the long-lashed lids. She looks as if she could be five years old, easily. There’s a whisper of unease in the back of Holly’s mind, trying to break free, but Holly won’t let it. She can’t right now. If she does, it will drown out everything else, and she doesn’t have the strength for that. She tells herself instead that whatever is causing Eden’s growth, whatever is keeping her from waking up, cannot possibly be related to who her father is.
It can’t.
* * *
She spends the next few hours at Eden’s bedside, talking and singing to her until her throat is hoarse. Holly’s waiting for the nurses to take Eden for another scan when the phone rings. It’s Jane, who is now at Grace House.
“Everything is fine, but if you can leave, I think you should come home,” her mother says without preamble.
“Is Jack all right?” Holly can’t bear to think anything else could have happened.
“Yes. But there’s something you need to see.”
Holly presses her, but Jane won’t elaborate, only repeats that there’s something Holly must see.