Page 115 of Girl, Forgotten (Andrea Oliver 2)

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The salty water had a calming tint of French blue. Andrea floated upside down, weightless and free. She could stay down here, languid and warm, but something told her not to. Her hands reached up. Her feet pushed off. She broke through the surface. The sun kissed her shoulders. She wiped the water out of her eyes as waves lapped at her chin. She turned, looking back at the beach. Laura was underneath a large rainbow-colored umbrella. She was sitting up so that she could keep an eye on Andrea. Her top was off. The scars from her mastectomy showed. A man wearing a dark hoodie was sneaking up behind her.

“Mom!”

Andrea startled awake.

Her eyes darted around the room. She wasn’t swimming in the ocean. She was in a hospital bed. An IV was in her arm. An oxygen mask covered her mouth and nose but she still felt like she couldn’t draw in enough air. The panic built like a cresting wave.

“Hey.” Mike’s hand was steady on her shoulder. He straightened the mask on her face. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Her panic slowly dissolved at the sight of him. There was a look of concern in his eyes that reached straight into her heart.

He asked, “Did you do something different with your hair?”

Andrea couldn’t laugh. The last hour flooded back in—the fire, the ride in the ambulance, the endless tests, the total lack of information. The doctor had said that Andrea needed fluids, not pain medication. Andrea disagreed. Her nose was throbbing. Her chest felt as if it was bound by rope. There was a pinching sensation in her forehead. Her lip was swollen. She reached up to touch it.

And then she coughed so hard that her eyes watered. The mask turned disgusting. She tried to push it away, but Mike lifted it off her head. Andrea rolled to her side, seized by a fit of coughs that felt like her lungs were trying to come out of her face. She tried to cover her mouth, but the IV tugged at her arm. Her feet got caught up in the sheets. The pulse oximeter clipped to her finger snapped off.

Mike was kneeling beside her, his hand rubbing her back. “You want some water?”

Andrea nodded. She watched him pick up a large pitcher by the sink. Her eyes were still burning from the smoke. She pulled a tissue from the box. She blew her nose so hard that her ears popped. The residue looked like the inside of a fireplace. She took another tissue and blew until her ears popped again.

She asked, “Is my mom okay?”

“As far as I know.” He held the straw so she could sip from the cup. Her fingernails were rimmed in black. The smoke and soot from the fire had absorbed into her skin. The nurse had given Andrea a pair of scrubs to change into, but they were already filthy.

Mike asked, “Do you want me to call Laura?”

“God, no.” Andrea gave up on the water. It hurt too much to swallow. “The fire. Did anyone—”

“Everybody got out. Bible’s hand was burned a little. Judith’s daughter ran back into the house to rescue the family parakeet. Bible ended up saving them both.” Mike sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re the one who’s good at bird jokes. Maybe you can tease him about it later.”

Andrea felt a flush of shame. He was talking about their exchange at Glynco. Mike had asked her why she had ghosted him and Andrea had hidden behind a pun.

“Syd,” was all that she could think to say now. “The parakeet’s name is Syd.”

Mike let out a long sigh. He stood up from the bed. He went to the sink to wash the soot from his hands. “The fire chief already ruled out arson. The judge never upgraded the electrical service. The box was still running on fuses. There was some medical equipment upstairs for the husband. They used one extension cord too many.”

“Yankee Cheap.” Andrea rubbed her eyes, then thought better of it. “Can you help me sit up?”

Mike’s hands were steady on her shoulders, but there was nothing he could do to keep the room from slipping sideways. Andrea nearly tumbled off the bed.

“Hey, steady now.” The concern was back in his eyes. But then a shade came down and he held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I know you can take care of yourself.”

She felt like a rock had settled on her chest. “Mike, I—”

“You managed to impress the boss.” Mike’s tone changed again. “Running into a burning building. Keeping an entire neighborhood from being leveled. You sure put all those helpless little girl rumors to rest.”

He really remembered every stupid thing she had said.

Mike returned to the sink. He pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and wet them under the faucet. “They took a chunk of glass out of your forehead. Four stitches.”

Andrea touched the stiff threads holding together her skin. She had only a vague recollection of the doctor sewing her up. “Why does my nose feel like it’s stuffed with bees?”

“It’s not broken. Maybe you smacked it when you went into the pool?”

The memory of falling into the water felt like it had happened to someone else.