“Now we have the same birthday,” she said. “Kind of.”
Graham turned away and looked very hard at the window for a while.
On Day Four, at two in the morning, Harper’s fever hit 105.
I was asleep on a pullout chair in the family lounge when Graham shook my shoulder.
“They’re moving her to the ICU.”
We ran down the hall. Wyatt was already there. He’d been sleeping on the floor outside her room in his hoodie. Nurses were wheeling her bed out fast. Machines on the bed with her. Diane running alongside, holding Harper’s hand.
Harper’s eyes were open. She looked at Wyatt as they went past.
“It’s working,” she whispered. “Right? This means it’s working.”
“It means it’s working,” Wyatt said. His voice cracked. “You’re beating it.”
The double doors closed behind her.
The ICU waiting room at two in the morning is the loneliest place in the world.
