I toss my phone onto the passenger seat and don’t bother to even go home and pack before I get on I-90, headed east. I have some clothes that fit me at my parents’ house, and I can always buy anything else I need.
Getting there is my only focus.
I have to stop in Ritzville for gas, and just three hours later, I pull into my parents’ driveway.
The house is dark except for the porch light and the light in my bedroom upstairs.
Someone left the house ready for me.
Probably my dad.
I lock the door behind me and shuffle upstairs to my bedroom, where I strip out of my clothes and get in the shower.
It’s almost six in the morning. The others will be waking up soon.
And I’d like to get a couple of hours of sleep.
After the long, hot shower, I dry off and sling the towel low around my hips, then walk into the hallway and to my bedroom. I lift an eyebrow when I see Maya sitting on the bed, waiting for me.
“You’re lucky I’m wearing a towel.”
“You didn’t have to come.”
“Yeah, I did.” I walk into my closet to pull on some old sweats and a T-shirt, then return to the bed and climb under the covers. “Now, leave me alone for two hours so I can feel human again before I go to the hospital.”
“It was my fault,” she says in a whisper and lies under the covers, facing me. Her eyes are so sad.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I whisper.
“It is. She was in the shower, holding onto the bars that Dad had installed. I turned away for just a few seconds to grab a towel because I forgot to grab one before I started the water, and she let go of the bar and fell.”
Her lower lip quivers.
“Have you slept at all tonight?” I ask her.
“No. I was waiting for you. Because even though you didn’t have to come, I’m really glad you did.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say again and boop her on the nose. “Now, go to sleep so we’re both human later.”
“I’m not very good at this,” she says.
“I think you’re wrong. Seriously, Maya. Sleep. You’ll feel better for it.”
She closes her eyes, and I immediately drift off.
I wake to the smell of coffee.
“Gimme,” I say without opening my eyes.
“You have to come downstairs,” Maya says. “I made eggs, too. Come on.”
I crack an eye as she disappears out the door.
When the hell did she wake up?
I check the time and swear.
I slept until eleven.
I peel back the covers and sit on the side of the bed, rubbing my hands down my face before changing into an old pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt and walking down to the kitchen where both Maya and my dad are waiting.
“Sorry I slept so long,” I say as I fill a mug with coffee. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I’ve only been up for about thirty minutes,” Maya says.
“How’s Mom today?” I take a bite of eggs and frown. “What’s in these?”
“Spinach. It’s good for you,” Maya replies.
“Your mom’s okay,” Dad says. He looks exhausted. “I told her we’d all be up in a little bit to visit. I didn’t tell her that you’re here, Gray. I thought you could surprise her.”
I nod and eat the disgusting eggs. “She didn’t reinjure the hip?”
“She landed on the other side,” Maya says, staring down into her mug.
“It was not your fault,” Dad says to her. “Your sister is stubborn and won’t listen to me when I tell her that your mom falling was not on her.”
“I was with her,” Maya says. “And I should have prevented it.”
“You’re not a nurse,” I remind her. “And I know that you’re doing the best you can.”
“My best allowed her to fall,” she insists. “If she’d hit her head or—”
“She didn’t,” Dad interrupts, his voice hard enough to get Maya’s attention. “She’s only in the hospital because of the disorientation, not because she was injured. The medication for this kind of thing can either help or make things worse, and it’s just a process of elimination to find the one that works for each patient.”
“Well, that’s frustrating as hell,” I say and push my empty plate aside, reaching for my coffee to take a sip. “I’ll be ready to go in about fifteen minutes. I just need a little more caffeine.”
“Me, too,” Maya says. “Want us to take a separate car in case you get called into work?”
“Probably a good idea.” Dad takes the last sip of coffee and sets his mug in the sink. “I’ll see you there.”
He pats me on the shoulder before walking out of the kitchen.
“I don’t want to go,” Maya says softly, and I frown over at her.
“What?”
“To the hospital,” she continues. “I really don’t want to go. I feel so guilty, and I’m not ready to see her and fall apart yet. I need a little time. Just a few hours.”