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Waiting for her to get back seemed to take an eternity. I paced, and paced some more, checking my phone even though I knew she wasn’t supposed to text while driving.
“She’s okay, bro,” Trenton said.
“I know. I know she is.”
The room was somehow quieter without her there even though she’d barely made a peep before. I tried not to look at Camille, because every time I did, it sent a wave of panic through my body.
My phone pinged, I read it and sighed. “She made it there. Waiting on food.”
Dad smiled, tired but relieved. “She’ll be back in no time, son.”
Within twenty minutes, she was back, divvying out our food. We ate in silence, cleaned up in silence, and the time seemed to pass from one nurse or doctor’s visit at a time.
After another hour and a few more tests, the staff informed us they’d be moving Camille upstairs.
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Trenton asked.
The doctor took a breath and shook her head. “The brain is complicated. The swelling is going down, and her brain function is great, so that’s good news. She’s healing. Her brain is likely keeping everything shut down while she does—also good news. We got her a room in four-fourteen. It’s a corner suite. Really nice, and more room for your brother and dad to pace.” She winked and nodded once before leaving the room.
I gently patted Trenton’s good shoulder for encouragement, and then nurses arrived to gather Camille’s monitoring devices and IV poles.
They worked fast, unlocking her gurney in preparation for the trip upstairs before we realized they were ready.
We followed the nurses out, waving to Katie and Rosh as we passed the ER staff’s station. When we reached the elevator, everyone immediately saw a problem. Camille’s gurney and Trenton’s wheelchair wouldn’t fit in the same elevator.
“We’ll see you up there,” the nurse said, her strawberry blond hair grazing her shoulders.
Trenton used his good hand to push up.
I rushed to lock his wheels, and the nurse’s eyes grew wide.
“Please don’t!” she said.
Trenton hobbled into the elevator, steadying himself with the railing on the gurney. He nodded to me. “See you up top.”
The elevator doors swept closed, and I waited three seconds before pushing the button again.
Abby huffed.
“You’re still angry?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but yes. I can’t help but think she doesn’t deserve all the fuss he’s making over her. And then Thomas …”
“Tommy? What about him?” I asked.
“He should be here by now. That’s all I’m going to say,” she grumbled.
The other elevator opened, revealing an empty space. Abby guided Dad on, and I pushed Trenton’s wheelchair in after them.
“I don’t mean to talk bad about her while she’s practically in a coma … God, I’m an awful person. It’s just … Never mind.”
“Tommy’s flying here, Pidge. It’s going to take him awhile. He’s probably sick with worry.”
“Sure he is.” She said it under her breath, but I still caught it.
I started to defend him again, but Dad spoke up.
“I understand, sis,” Dad said. “It’s an emotional day. Sometimes it just feels better to blame someone. It’s the only way we can make sense of it all.”
