“Is that Intensive Care?” Holly asks.
“No, ma’am.”
“Good,” Holly says, and sets sail, sensible low heels clacking.
The elevator doors open on the fifth floor and there, waiting to get on, are Barbara’s parents. Tanya has her cell phone in her hand, and looks at Holly as if at an apparition. Jim Robinson says he’ll be damned.
Holly shrinks a little. “What? Why are you looking at me that way? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tanya says. “It’s just that I was going to call you—”
The elevator doors start to close. Jim sticks out an arm and they bounce back. Holly gets out.
“—as soon as we got down to the lobby,” Tanya resumes, and points to a sign on the wall. It shows a cell phone with a red line drawn through it.
“Me? Why? I thought it was just a broken leg. I mean, I know a broken leg is serious, of course it is, but—”
“She’s awake and she’s fine,” Jim says, but he and Tanya exchange a glance which suggests that isn’t precisely true. “It’s a pretty clean break, actually, but they found a nasty bump on the back of her head and decided to keep her overnight just to be on the safe side. The doc who fixed her leg said he’s ninety-nine percent sure she’ll be good to go in the morning.”
“They did a tox screen,” Tanya said. “No drugs in her system. I wasn’t surprised, but it was still a relief.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Everything,” Tanya says simply. She looks ten years older than when Holly saw her last. “Hilda Carver’s mom drove Barb and Hilda to school, it’s her week, and she said Barbara was fine in the car—a little quieter than usual, but otherwise fine. Barbara told Hilda she had to go to the bathroom, and that was the last Hilda saw of her. She said Barb must have left by one of the side doors in the gym. The kids actually call those the skip doors.”
“What does Barbara say?”
“She won’t tell us anything.” Her voice shakes, and Jim puts an arm around her. “But she says she’ll tell you. That’s why I was going to call you. She says you’re the only one who might understand.”
22
Holly walks slowly down the corridor to Room 528, which is all the way at the end. Her head is down, and she’s thinking hard, so she almost bumps into the man wheeling the cart of well-thumbed paperback books and Kindles with PROPERTY OF KINER HOSP taped below the screens.
“Sorry,” Holly tells him. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“That’s all right,” Library Al says, and goes on his way. She doesn’t see him pause and look back at her; she is summoning all her courage for the conversation to come. It’s apt to be emotional, and emotional scenes have always terrified her. It helps that she loves Barbara.
Also, she’s curious.
She taps on the door, which is ajar, and peeps around it when there’s no answer. “Barbara? It’s Holly. Can I come in?”
Barbara offers a wan smile and puts down the battered copy of Mockingjay she’s been reading. Probably got it from the man with the cart, Holly thinks. She’s cranked up in the bed, wearing pink pajamas instead of a hospital johnny. Holly guesses her mother must have packed the PJs, along with the ThinkPad she sees on Barb’s night table. The pink top lends Barbara a bit of vivacity, but she still looks dazed. There’s no bandage on her head, so the bump mustn’t have been all that bad. Holly wonders if they are keeping Barbara overnight for some other reason. She can only think of one, and she’d like to believe it’s ridiculous, but she can’t quite get there.
“Holly! How did you get here so fast?”
“I was coming to see you.” Holly enters and closes the door behind her. “When somebody’s in the hospital, you go to see them if it’s a friend, and we’re friends. I met your parents at the elevator. They said you wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes.”
“How can I help, Barbara?”
“Well . . . can I ask you something? It’s pretty personal.”
“Okay.” Holly sits down in the chair next to the bed. Gingerly, as if the seat might be wired for electricity.
“I know you had some bad times. You know, when you were younger. Before you worked for Bill.”
“Yes,” Holly says. The overhead light isn’t on, just the lamp on the night table. Its glow encloses them and gives them their own little place to be. “Some very bad ones.”
“Did you ever try to kill yourself?” Barbara gives a small, nervous laugh. “I told you it was personal.”
“Twice.” Holly says it without hesitation. She feels surprisingly calm. “The first time, I was just about your age. Because kids at school were mean to me, and called me mean names. I couldn’t cope. But I didn’t try very hard. I just took a handful of aspirin and decongestant tablets.”