Page 9

ABBY STEPPED THROUGH the sliding glass doors and paused as the hospital A/C hit her with a blast of cool air.

“Apparently summer is arriving early this year,” she said to Gen, pacing at her side. “Leave it to Charleston to hit eighty-five degrees in April. I bet the humidity is at least eighty, too.”

The dog shook, collar jingling and paws sliding on the smooth, tiled floor, her fur fluffing as if to let the artificially chilled air reach her skin.

Liam had pulled through, another miracle in a long line of them.

Ethan, gaining strength again, had already promised to be ready the next time Liam needed him.

Their mother, well aware Liam lived on borrowed time, didn’t have the heart to tell them otherwise.

The last time Abby had visited, they’d been busy making plans for a great nerf battle when Liam could go home.

The depressing cycle could be overwhelming, as Liam improved only to get sick again.

She’d seen it before: the hope, the brilliant smile, and the belief they’d finally triumphed over the disease ravaging their body.

Then it would come back, making them ill and weak.

She wasn’t sure how many more times she could bear it.

How many more times it would take to break Ethan’s heart once and for all.

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, raising her chin and pasting a bright smile on her face. No matter how much it hurt, these kids needed her, needed the hope and comfort she and Gen represented. She couldn’t forget that.

The doors slid open, and Abby stepped out of the elevator, only to be whacked in the chest with a small foam football.

Gen’s whole body wriggled, an undulating motion that started at her tail and rolled through her whole body.

Snatching the offending toy in her mouth, she glanced sideways up at Abby, then pranced forward a few steps.

“What...” Abby trailed off as she surveyed the chaotic pandemonium before her.

Streamers in silver and black hung from doors, walls, and light fixtures; large boxes over-flowed with silver and black sports jerseys, stuffed birds, and posters; and small foam footballs whizzed back and forth all over the place.

She stepped forward as the elevator doors threatened to close on her.

Three more footballs pelted her, and she laughed as Gen chased down each one and crammed them into her already full mouth.

The nurses at the station across from the elevator looked up and grinned at Abby as she continued laughing. They still had jobs to do, but Abby couldn’t believe they could work through this noise.

Then again , Abby thought as she took in the black marks painted under each of their eyes, maybe they’ve already had their fun.

“What is going on?”

Linda, the head nurse, waved down the hall. “Outreach and PR arranged a little surprise for the kids.”

A chorus of cheers erupted from the direction she gestured, Cara’s voice audible even above the general tumult.

Abby turned and started down the hall, ducking the flying foam footballs that continued in a steady stream between rooms and up and down the corridor.

Gen, still wiggling in joyful abandon, dropped both the balls she’d managed to pick up and leapt into the air each time a new one sailed by, teeth snapping in a vain attempt to catch them all.

Abby didn’t have the heart to correct the behavior, even if it wasn’t professional.

Professional appeared to be out the window, today, anyway.

Cara staggered out of the mass of people by the door as Abby arrived and lit up at her friend’s approach. “Abby, you’re here. Quick, look!” Breathless and smiling, her hair slipped out of its sleek and tidy bun in all directions.

Abby stood on tip toe to peek over the heads of the children, nurses, and parents crowding the door and gasped in surprise.

Tiny, frail Liam perched on the shoulders of one of the burliest men Abby had ever seen.

Not fat, but three hundred plus pounds of pure muscle, and well over six feet tall.

Liam’s head brushed dangerously close to the door jamb, even slumped over, his weakness still apparent.

An over-sized silver and black t-shirt had been draped over his small frame, a raptor in full steep emblazoned across his chest. Beside him, Abby recognized Dylan on the shoulders of another, more slender man, and both boys studied their opponent.

Ethan held one of the ubiquitous foam footballs, the over-long sleeves of his shirt tangling in his elbow as he prepared for a throw.

Abby’s breath stuttered. Wearing his own number seven, gleaming in silver against the stark black of his jersey, Scott coached Ethan.

A strange pressure built in her chest, and her heart threatened to burst through her ribs.

She remembered the sensation, remembered the person who had made her feel that way.

Then, it had a different, more clinical flavor, but the result had been the same.

Her eyes misted and, for a moment, she pictured a different face.

Then, they cleared, and Scott had his hands wrapped around Ethan’s, guiding his hold.

As Ethan drew his arm back, the gathered crowd cheered. He loosed the ball.

It made an imperfect spiral across the room and straight into Liam’s outstretched hands.

“Interception!” Cara hollered, as the big man capered down the length of the room, Liam secure on his shoulders, and passed the clearly designated touchdown line.

But it obviously didn’t matter to any of the children who won, or even whether they were on the same team or not; they were all bright-eyed, flushed with exhilaration, and smiling from ear to ear.

Gen, too excited to contain herself, let out a series of high-pitched play barks. Liam turned his head, scanning the on-lookers for the dog, and Ethan wheeled toward them, peering through the adults.

With her presence thus announced, Abby pushed her way forward.

“Abby, look.” Ethan pointed at his twin. “Liam’s in the NFL.”

Abby threaded between the last few bystanders and went to her knees in front of Ethan. “I know, I saw. He caught the ball and took it all the way.” She held up both hands for Ethan to high-five, then stood, turning to Liam and reaching up so he could give her a high-five, too.

Dropping her gaze lower, she met the eyes of the man carrying him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The guy smiled and bounced Liam, not noticing the boy’s slight weight on his shoulders. “Scott set it all up. Thank him.” He jutted his chin and nodded behind Abby.

She turned, her gaze meeting Scott’s as he wove his way toward them.

“You did all this?” She stopped, words escaping her as she processed what kind of planning it must have taken, what it must be costing. “Why?”

Scott’s solemn eyes held hers. She wanted to glance away, unused to this kind of open confidence. The vulnerability and authenticity of eye contact. Most people from before still wouldn’t meet her gaze; Gen distracted anyone new before they could notice her. That’s how she preferred it.

“I know how much this place means to you. And I know how much Dylan’s fall scared me, even if it wasn’t anything compared to what these kids face every day. I wanted to do something to make them happy.”

Time froze as people swirled around them. Dylan lunged out of the crowd and swung his arms around Ethan, whooping, then Liam joined them, and all three flopped to the floor beside Gen as the dog wagged her entire body, surrounded by her favorite boys.

“It looks like Gen will be busy for a while.” Scott quirked a half-smile at the four of them. “Take a walk with me?”

Abby slipped Gen’s leash out of her loose grip and handed it to Cara. She glanced again at the smile lighting Liam’s face, then turned to Scott and nodded. “I know a good place.”

The hospital had originally been built as a squat, rectangular building, red brick and white mortar, with a small parking lot tucked behind.

Over the years, it had been renovated and added to, until only a few years before when it had undergone a major overhaul.

Now, the original wing had grown several stories taller, redone in a modern tone with expansive panels of glass, while the two wings to the east and west kept the original brick tones.

The northern wing, now called the North Tower, vaulted overhead, the opus of the new facility.

It soared several stories above its sister wings, while still maintaining an ethereal quality of grace and delicacy.

It also housed some of the most advanced diagnostic and treatment facilities in the state.

Abby described the changes to Scott as they took the elevator to the ground floor, then wound their way to a set of glass doors with ATRIUM etched across them.

The gem of the new hospital was the enclosed central courtyard.

Filled with gardens, a play structure, a few benches, a winding pathway, and a coffee stand, it opened to the sky but remained protected by the surrounding buildings.

It provided a perfect place for children to play while a hospitalized relative slept, rehabilitation patients to relearn how to walk, and doctors and nurses to take a much-needed respite from the stresses of the day.

A small fountain tucked away in a corner played its tinkling music and streamed into a small rivulet, which then flowed into a rock-lined pool to one side of the coffee stand.

Large koi swam lazy circles and searched for treats and tidbits from the surface or flagged their fan-like fins in the current.

“You’ve been here a long time.”

Abby nodded. “I started as a volunteer when I was sixteen. I always wanted to work in healthcare, so when I needed hours for high school, it made sense. That was...” She paused, tipping her head to one side. “Wow, fifteen years ago. Almost half...”

She trailed off, swallowing hard. Half her life.

Half her life, so far.

But at just past thirty, she had more than half her life still to live.

Emptiness spooled out ahead of her.

Three years of barely surviving and she couldn’t imagine another thirty... forty... fifty.

Her breath stuttered, her inhale ragged, and she closed her eyes, but the vacant black behind her lids did little to reassure her. Popping them open again, she spun toward Scott, grasping for normalcy before her brain could spin and spiral.