Amelia and the girls living in this town was the only upside to moving back to Broadlands. Everything else was merely bearable. Sure, when Collin moved into town at the beginning of the year, life seemed to brighten up a bit, but he had such a steady course load and often had to crash at friends’ houses off campus when his study schedule became too intense. But Amelia and her family were a lovely constant in her life. They were her picture of domestic felicity and a goal for what she wanted in the future even if it meant living in this crap-tastic town. She’d always thought that even if coming back home meant putting off being a doctor, at least she had her sister.
But watching Cora comforting Kate in her sleep, Ellie couldn’t help but feel an emptiness in her own hand where Amelia’s used to be during the hard times. Ellie ran her fingers over the swooping L at her neck, wishing she’d thought to ask the hospital staff if they had Amelia’s M. She’d like to wear it at least until Amelia recovered, because watching her nieces sleep, Ellie decided that she needed to stop wondering if her sister was going to die and instead start planning for her to live.
A few silent tears rolled down Ellie’s cheeks as she rummaged through her drawers and shoved item after item into a small pink duffel bag she kept hanging in the closet. Then she stripped off her borrowed clothes, and though she wanted to throw them in the garbage can in the kitchen, she tossed them into the white wicker laundry basket so she didn’t have to touch them for one moment longer.
She even changed her underwear and bra, on which a smattering of blood had dried in an odd pattern. She’d cleaned up the best she could at the hospital but now wished there was time for a shower to ensure that every molecule of blood and fluids was off her. But the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock on her bedside table read 4:06 a.m., and Ellie knew it was more important to keep moving forward.
Without looking, she put on the first thing from her drawer, a V-necked plum-colored shirt, soft from multiple washes. Then she tossed on her favorite pair of jeans, the ones that were more comfortable than her yoga pants even if they were a size or two too big. Almost willing to skip a belt, she yanked one off the hook anyway with a tiny clank, pausing a second to check the girls and make sure she hadn’t woken them.
The old, worn belt threaded through the loops on her jeans easily. With a rush across the room, Ellie placed a gentle kiss on each of the girls’ foreheads, taking an extra moment to try to memorize their individual scents. Cora smelled of bubble gum and the chief’s shampoo, which Chet must’ve had the girls use for their baths. Kate smelled of spit, the fingers of her right hand shoved into her mouth, a small trail of drool sprawling across her cheek, and strongly of Ellie’s rosewater perfume. Ellie had loved the stuff as a kid, thinking that smelling like roses was the most romantic notion ever. Amelia would always tease her, saying the scent smelled more like decaying flowers than a blossoming rose. Little Kate always begged for a spray or two, and Ellie, perhaps with a tinge of mischievous revenge, would acquiesce.
A quick trip to the bathroom and Ellie’s bag was packed, enough for a few days. She glanced in the bathroom mirror. Her once-high ponytail hung limply to one side, and what was left of her eye makeup was smudged under her lower eyelashes like she’d been going for a smoky look but failed. She’d already packed her brush, but she grabbed her dad’s comb and unwound the tie that had been holding her hair in place all day. It took several tries to get the flimsy plastic to straighten her tangled mess, but once she got through the biggest snags, the teeth slipped through easily, and the feeling of the comb against her scalp was refreshing and relaxing.
When the rat’s nest was tamed, she used a tissue to wipe away the makeup residue under her eyes, and washed her face vigorously with the strong-smelling Zest soap they kept on the bathroom sink. She’d rather go without makeup than continually worry about her tears making her look like a bedraggled clown. She rinsed her face with cold water, dried quickly, and reassessed.
She didn’t think of herself as a beauty. Her sister always said she was the gorgeous one, but Ellie knew she was average at best. Her body was round where she’d like it to be flat, and she had hips that she usually would rather hide than accentuate. Her face without makeup looked young and childlike. Normally she used makeup to hide behind, not just her flaws but also her age and to play down her appearance of vulnerability. But standing there in her street clothes with not a stitch of makeup, she looked just as young and scared as she always felt.
Tempted to put on a quick layer of foundation and some mascara after all, Ellie stopped herself. She didn’t have time. Instead, she grabbed her makeup bag, slipped it inside the jumbled mess of her duffel, and headed out to the front room.
Travis was facing away from Ellie, sitting on the couch and talking to an awake Chet. Chief Brown stirred at his side, and it seemed like he might wake up. It was hard to tell what state her father would be in when tossed out of his routine and schedule. Ellie couldn’t imagine anything going right at the moment, so it was probably going to be rough. She quickly crossed the room and put her hand on Travis’s shoulder, which made him jump.
“Oh, you ready?” he asked, stopping for a moment when he laid eyes on her. “You look . . .” He looked her over head to toe as though she were a stranger.
“You look cute,” Chet finished the statement with his own assessment.
“Not exactly the look I was going for, but thanks, Chet.”
“I was going to say—different. You look different,” Travis said before Ellie had a chance to open her mouth and ask Chet about the day.
“Yeah, well, come find me one day when you aren’t in uniform, and I’ll tell you the same thing.” She patted his shoulder firmly like she would another firefighter. His shoulder was solid, and that made her remember crying there earlier that day, so she rested her hand on the back of the couch when she put it down again.
“How is our little M?” Chet stood and shuffled tiredly around the couch to wrap his arms around her, the stiff fabric of his uniform shirt bringing back too many memories. “Rivera here said she’s still in a bad way.”
“Yeah, she’s, uh . . .” Ellie’s rib cage shook. Chet pulled her in tighter, and Ellie closed her eyes and pretended again that her father, not her coworker, was the strong one holding her up. But her father was sleeping through the whole thing. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even understand if he were awake.
“So, are you okay staying till Steve’s parents get here?” Ellie asked, freeing herself from his arms. “They’re going to stop by the hospital first thing tomorrow, but they said they’d take the girls to their hotel and talk to them a little about what happened. You kept them away from the TV like I told you, right?”
Chet nodded, rearranging himself into his divot on the couch. He ran a finger under his nose and sniffed loudly, like his mustache made him want to sneeze.
“I kept the girls away, but while I was putting them down, Chief got the remote and the news was on. I don’t know, Ellie, I think he saw something, ’cause I heard him making some noises, and I came out here and he was shifting in his seat like he wanted to stand up. I turned it off and he was so upset, I had to give him one of his pills. He was scaring the girls, and I was afraid he was going to hurt himself.”