April blinks. “I most certainly did not—”
“She said, ‘Please stop.’ Talking, that is. Which is progress. Usually, she just makes this face, like the sound of my voice hurts her head.”
April’s face reddens. It takes me a moment to realize she’s blushing. “I do not—”
“Totally do,” Kenny says. “Anyway, I mentioned fresh air, and now she’s wheeling me onto the front porch, and since I can’t physically stop her, all I can do is protest, and she doesn’t like that. So I’m keeping quiet and letting myself be wheeled out.”
“He’s been stuck in a supply room for two days,” she says. “That is not conducive to recuperation.”
I grab the end of the rolling bed and motion for her to take the head. We navigate through the doorway as I say, “It’s warm out, so you might as well stay here, Kenny, until Paul’s gone. Apparently, he needs to speak to me first.”
April opens her mouth. I cut her off with, “Yes, and so do you. I got the message. Everyone needs to speak to me.”
“I don’t think everyone does, Casey,” she says. “I realize you’re a very important person here, but an overinflated sense of self-importance—”
“—is not a problem Casey has,” Kenny says. His voice is low, gentle, but April still stiffens. He continues with, “Casey meant that it feels as if everyone needs to talk to her.”
I expect my sister to snap something back, but she only nods. She might even look a bit chagrined. I wave her inside and make sure Kenny’s comfortable before I follow. I close the door behind me. We’re in the tiny waiting room, with the door to the exam room shut.
“Will I still be home by Tuesday?” she asks.
I swear under my breath. That makes her wince, but she says nothing.
“I know you need to get back,” I say. “Your job here is done. It’s just a little complicated with the marshal’s murder. But we did promise you. I’ll talk to Eric. He should at least be able to fly you to Dawson Monday morning, and you can catch a flight from there and be home for Tuesday. That gives us two more days.”
“It’s Sunday, Casey. Late Sunday afternoon.”
“What?” I think fast and then start cursing again. When she opens her mouth, I lift my hands. “I can do this. I’m really, really sorry. I will talk to Eric right now.…” I glance at the closed exam-room door. “Right after I talk to Paul. We’ll make the arrangements. There are more flights out of Whitehorse at this time of year. We’ll have you to Vancouver tomorrow night. I promise.”
I take a step toward the exam room.
Behind me, she says softly, “Are they going to let me leave?”
I turn. “What?”
“I realize you snuck me in.” Her hands fly up to ward off my protests. “I knew that when I came, so I am not accusing you of anything. I … understand that I sometimes speak too bluntly, and what I do not intend as an accusation may sound like that. I have been told as much in the past, but with you, I fear I slip into old habits. Isabel has spoken to me about this, and I have enlisted Kenny’s assistance in reminding me of it.”
“Kenny?” I must look confused. Kenny is not the person I would ever expect my sister to reach out to for help. She points to the front porch, as if to remind me who Kenny is.
April continues, “As I was saying, I realized that I was being brought in secretly, so I am not complaining. But these people know about me now.” She pauses. “I acknowledge that is my fault … although, I might point out that I was not fully aware of the extent of the situation and the need for secrecy.”
That’s not true. We told her more about the situation than Dalton was comfortable revealing. She just thought we were exaggerating. Typical Casey, being dramatic. I don’t say anything, though. Even admitting that she came of her own accord is progress, and I’ll take it.
“Are they going to let me leave?” she asks again.
I want to say of course they will. She came here in good faith. She came to help us. She’s my sister, and she knows nothing about Rockton that she cannot know. I would never—ever—have let her come if I thought there was any chance she couldn’t leave.
But now, as she says the words, ice nestles in my gut. It’s like when our parents would tell me not to take a shortcut to school because ten years earlier a girl had been assaulted there. I wanted to laugh and say they were being ridiculous. That girl had been attacked by a family friend who stalked her, and since then, the city had added lights and removed shrubs, making it safer than the streets. Yet once they put that idea in my mind, my heart pounded every time I took that shortcut. Every shadow made me jump.
“The council can’t keep you here,” I say firmly.
“They’re keeping Diana. I heard that. She wanted to leave, and they won’t let her.”
“That is a very long and complicated conversation, April. One I’m happy to have someday, but I have a feeling it won’t interest you.”
“Why not?”
Because it’s about me. Because nothing in my life has ever interested you, and you’ve made that abundantly clear.