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Shut up, Ameline. You know that road will just drag you back to hell—not that you’re out just yet.
Chapter Fourteen
Ameline
Leaving Caleb and Cora at Piper’s is excruciating. Caleb’s anguished sobs feel like knives twisting in my heart. His little face screws up, big tears rolling down his plump cheeks. The neighbor said he cries constantly—Gabe thinks we should call the pediatrician to check if he’s colicky or sick.
Meanwhile Cora stealthily crams sandwiches and apple slices into her pockets when she thinks we aren’t looking. My throat tightens—she’s hiding food for later. My heart aches just thinking of why she feels the need to do that.
Derek, Piper’s other husband, looks at me after we see that Cora is trying to steal food from the plate next to her, too. “While you visit their Mom, figure out how often they ate,” he says almost casually.
Gabe nods. “We will. I’m afraid that the kids are malnourished, and maybe Cora doesn’t get to eat as often as she should.”
Just remembering the state of their house makes me wonder if they even have money for food. From the pro bono cases I handle, I know it happens more than anyone likes to believe—kids with empty cupboards and hollow bellies gobbling up whatever I bring like it’s their last meal. It takes patient reassurance before they trust the hunger pangs won’t return.
As we leave Piper’s house, the familiar ache of helplessness settles in my chest. My mind races with thoughts about Izzy. How is she coping? Is her illness keeping her from work, from caring for her children?
This all feels hauntingly familiar, too much like when Mom was terminally ill, refusing to face her reality. Losing her just as we were reconnecting shredded my heart.
“Is it gonna be the same with Izzy? Will she die?” The words slip out in a whisper, half to Gabe, half lost in my own fears. The dread of experiencing that kind of loss again wraps around my lungs, leaving me gasping for air.
“It’s going to be okay,” Gabe says, squeezing my hand reassuringly.
Easy for him to say. His family isn’t here suffering from something or another on the brink of losing their lives. Me, on the other hand . . . I feel like I should be earning loyalty points for every heartbreaking moment I spend in this institution—the fifth loss is free.
Pushing aside these dark thoughts, I force a smile, trying to hold onto hope. The drive to the hospital feels endless, each mile stretching on as I teeter between panic and forced calm.
We pull into Seattle Memorial’s parking lot. This is too familiar. I don’t say it out loud. We walk toward the building in silence. I step out and breathe deep, bracing for the usual wave of memories and emotions that crash over me as soon as I get that too-clean hospital scent attacking my nose.
“Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals?” I mumble, trailing after Gabe’s long strides. “So, how do you know where Izzy is anyway?”
He glances, lips pressed in a grim line. “I made a few calls.”
“So, I’m sure by now you know what happened to her. Mind telling me, please,” I ask, as we pause in front of the elevator.
He pokes the button, then turns to face me, his expression serious. “I didn’t find out much. I was told she’s in the ICU, she had a stroke.”
“Who told you this?” I narrow my gaze because his response doesn’t make sense. “Actually, is it even possible to know you’re going to have a stroke days in advance?”
“No. Why would you ask that?” Gabe tilts his head.
“She called me Monday morning. I didn’t get to her voicemail until that evening, and it was only yesterday that I decided to come here,” I explain, feeling a twist in my stomach. “But if you recall, her neighbor mentioned the ambulance only took her a few hours ago.”
Gabe studies me intently, his gaze not just on me but seemingly peering into my thoughts. As the elevator dings and the doors slide open, he gently places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward. “Something’s off,” he murmurs. “Let’s see what her doctor says.”
The elevator is crowded, so we fall into a silent understanding. When the doors slide open, Gabe’s fingers weave through mine. Gotta admit, his skin against my skin roots me in the present, keeping me from being swept away by the rising surge of panic.
As we approach the nurses’ station, my gaze lands on a pretty nurse in her mid-forties. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a practical yet stylish ponytail. The lines around her eyes, carved with the kind of wisdom that only years in a demanding job can impart, soften as she looks up at us. Her badge, stating ‘Linda’ in bold letters, catches the light as she moves.
Her smile widens when she sees us. “Dr. Decker. What a surprise. I didn’t expect you on rounds today. How can I assist you?”
“We’re here to see Isadora Lewis,” he responds with a tone I’ve never heard before. A mix of professional and dismissive.“Could you tell us who’s on her case?”
She glances at her computer, while typing on her keyboard. After a few seconds she says, “Dr. Voss, Navarra, Kovalenko, and Thibodeaux are in charge of her case,” Linda informs us.
Gabe frowns. “Voss and Navarra make sense. They’re the neurologist and cardiologist. But . . .” he trails his voice. “Kovalenko is a psychiatrist and Thibodeaux is one of the rehab specialists. What’s the deal? Who’s the internist overseeing her care?”
“You can speak to Dr. Boyd,” Linda says. “I can page her for you, if you’d like.”
