Staff came and went. Emily desperately wanted reassurance, but no one had answers for her questions.
At one point a nurse dimmed the lights, gave Emily a blanket and advised her to sleep, but she was too afraid to close her eyes, so she curled up in the chair, holding Lizzy’s hand in hers.
Outside the wind howled and whipped the rain against the window, and she recited Green Eggs and Ham quietly, wondering how her life could have changed so much in less than a month.
She thought about the night she’d arrived, and how much she’d wanted to return to the safe, predictable life she’d carefully constructed for herself. She’d struggled against it, but gradually her new life had peeled away the layers of protection she’d worn for so long.
She’d believed that having Lizzy was the worst thing that could have happened to her, but it had turned out to be the best.
Despite her attempts to stay awake, she must have dozed for a little while, and when she opened her eyes Lizzy was looking at her.
“Why are you sleeping in a chair?”
“I didn’t want to leave you.” Groggy, Emily shook off the fog of sleep and felt Lizzy’s chest. Her skin was cool to touch, and the rush of relief was so acute her eyes stung with tears. “How are you feeling?”
“I had a bad dream.”
“Oh, baby—” Emily scooped her into her arms and held her. “You’re safe. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
“Why doesn’t Ryan come? I love Ryan.”
Emily held her tightly. Cold spread across her skin and penetrated her heart, and she realized with a rush of alarm that she’d made a mistake letting Ryan become so closely entangled in their lives. She’d only thought about herself, not Lizzy. Their relationship was fun, but she knew that for him it ended there. He didn’t want the responsibility of anything more.
“I know you like Ryan a lot.”
“I don’t like him, I love him. And he loves me. He reads to me, and he takes me to see the puffins. He taught me knots. He’s going to teach me to sail this summer. He promised.”
Guilt sucked her down like water in a whirlpool. How did you explain to a child of six that a man had other things to do with his time?
She stroked the child’s hair, trying to calm her. “There are lots of people on the island who can teach you to sail. Rachel, for instance.”
“I want Ryan to do it. I love Ryan and so do you.”
“That’s not true.” How could the words of a child cause this sudden feeling of panic? “I like Ryan a lot, but I don’t love him.”
“Yes, you do. He makes you smile. That day on the beach when you were sick, he took care of you. And he taught you to swim. You wanted him to do it and no one else.”
“I—”
“Rachel says it’s because you trust him. And that’s why you wanted him to take us in his boat.”
“Trust, yes. But not love.” Emily’s mouth was dry. She told herself children said things they didn’t understand. “I don’t love him.”
“Why doesn’t he come?”
“Because he doesn’t know you’re in the hospital.”
“He’d want to know.” She said it firmly, and Emily forced herself to breathe slowly.
“It’s complicated, Lizzy. When you’re older, I’ll explain it to you.”
“I already know why.”
“You do?”
“Yes. It’s because he’s scared of hospitals. He said so.”
“That isn’t why. We’re his friends, Lizzy, but we’re not his family. He doesn’t love us in that way.”