Chapter 7 - A Room With an Open Door
Beth arrived in jeans and a winter coat over her pajamas.
She walked straight past Andrew.
Then she knelt in front of Lily.
“Can I hug you?”
Lily nodded.
The second Beth’s arms closed around her, the whole terrible night finally reached her.
She cried against the familiar wool coat.
Nobody told her to calm down.
Nobody reached for a medicine bottle.
Beth held her until she was finished.
Andrew stood by the desk.
“I didn’t know you’d called.”
Beth looked up.
“You answered two of them.”
“I meant lately.”
“You always mean lately.”
Claire arranged for Lily to spend the weekend with Beth while an independent pediatric rehabilitation doctor reviewed her care.
Andrew agreed.
Lily hated him a little for how easy agreement suddenly became.
At Beth’s apartment, the bathroom doorway was narrow and the elevator smelled like onions.
There was no marble.
No private nurse.
Beth took the bedroom door off its hinges so Lily could turn her chair more easily.
“Sorry,” she said, holding the screwdriver.
“This place wasn’t designed by anybody who needed to live in it.”
Lily laughed.
It surprised them both.
Rosa and Noah stayed for breakfast.
Noah ate four pancakes before he realized people were watching.
“Sorry.”
Beth handed him the last two.
“Be sorry about leaving me one.”
At ten, Dr. Patel called.
She had reviewed the hospital discharge summary and wanted to see Lily that afternoon.
“Your injury was incomplete,” she explained at the clinic.
“That means some signals still get through.
Recovery varies.
Standing once doesn’t tell us how much walking you’ll regain.”
“So he didn’t fix me,” Lily said.
Patel glanced at Noah.
“No.
He reminded you of a skill you’d already practiced.”
Noah shrugged.
“My mom taught her.
I just remembered.”
Patel asked about the drops.
Rosa provided the bottle.
The doctor read the label, then requested the prescribing records.
Her face stayed calm.
Her voice became very precise.
“Who told you this was necessary before every therapy session?”
“Dr. Keller.”
“And when did formal therapy stop?”
“Four months ago.”
Patel looked through the pages again.
“This note says your father declined additional treatment.”
“He didn’t,” Lily said.
Patel turned the document toward them.
The signature looked like Andrew’s.
But the contact email beneath it belonged to Grant.
Then Beth’s phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
She answered on speaker.
May you like
Grant’s voice filled the exam room.
“Bring my niece home before this gets ugly.”
