JODIE
Ifeel nothing as I sit in Toby’s BMW and he drives out of the hospital toward where I know Mum is going to be anxiously waiting for me.
With one hand firmly on the wheel, his other is locked on mine. His silent support means everything to me right now. I’m pretty sure I’d have drowned already if it weren’t for him.
“Are you hungry?” he asks quietly so as not to scare me.
“Uh…” My throat burns once more and I swallow, hoping that it eases soon. That and the pain that shoots through my chest every time I suck in a breath. “Not really, but if you wanna hit up McDonald’s, I could probably use a strawberry milkshake.”
“Sounds like a plan, baby.”
He shoots a left instead of taking the right that would lead us home. We’re through the drive-through in only minutes and I’m clutching my ice-cold milkshake in my hands as if it might magically fix my life while a bag of food for Toby warms my feet.
Mum is at the front door the second we pull up. I don’t even get to lift my hand to attempt to let myself out before she’s there, doing it for me and taking everything from me.
Toby joins her in only seconds, pulling me from the car as if I’m made of glass and wrapping his arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the house behind Mum.
“I’ve set the living room up so you should be comfortable. Your bed has new sheets and I’ve—”
“Mum,” I stop her, resting my hand on her forearm. “Everything is perfect. It’s just a little smoke inhalation. I’m okay,” I assure her, ignoring the pain from the cuts and bruises that litter my body.
I was lucky, unlike Sara, that I somehow managed to stay away from the worst of the flames. The only burns I have are superficial and will be gone in days.
If by some miracle Sara does survive this, I fear that her life is going to look very, very different.
I may not have wanted to hear the details of her condition—the facts are just too much to process right now. But I do know that the burns to her hands and arms could have life-changing effects.
My heart aches at the thought of her surviving but not being able to create. From as early as I can remember, all she’s wanted to do is draw, paint, anything that involved making marks on a page or a canvas. I can’t imagine she’d want a life without that.
I let out a heavy sigh, and Mum pulls me into her arms. But I don’t cry. I can’t. I think I’ve run out of tears at long last.
“Mum,” I sigh, emotion clogging my throat when she ushers me into the living room to find it exactly like it used to be when I was a little girl having a sleepover with my friends.
With Sara.
The sofa is covered in pillows and the spare duvet, there are candles flickering, drinks and snacks cover the coffee table, and she’s even dug out some of my favourite old-school chick flicks that I used to love as a kid.
“Throwback to when things were easier?” Mum offers with a sad smile.
“Thank you,” I whisper, unable to get any more words out.
“Now, you two go and get yourselves comfortable and I’ll leave you to rest. But I’ll only be in the kitchen baking, so if you need anything just shout, okay?”
“You don’t need to,” I say, knowing that she’s going to go and cook up a storm of my favourite treats, most of which I’m probably not going to be able to eat for a few days with the state of my throat.
“Trust me, baby. I do. Stella and Maria are going to pop around later and take some of it to everyone else, to Jesse and his boys.”
My eyes burn as I stare at her.
“It’s the least I can do.”
“Thank you, Joanne. I’m sure everyone will really appreciate it,” Toby says gratefully.
With one lingering look at me, Mum slips out of the room. When I turn back to Toby, he’s dragged his hoodie off, leaving him in just a fitted t-shirt that’s damn near moulded to every toned inch of his body, and he’s pulled the duvet from the sofa.
“Come on, baby. You need to rest.”
I’m too exhausted to do anything but follow his orders.