We sat there for six hours. The four of us. Graham with his elbows on his knees. Diane wrapped in a hospital blanket. Wyatt with his notebook open on his lap, not reading it. Me, watching all three of them.
At four, a doctor came out and said her blo.od pressure was dropping. They were giving her medicine to bring it up. And a second medicine to calm the new cells down.
At 4:40, an alarm went off behind the double doors. Then another. Two nurses ran in. A doctor followed them.
Diane stood up so fast the blanket fell off her shoulders.
Through the little window in the door, we could see Harper’s bed surrounded by people.
Diane turned around. She looked straight at my son.
“This is your fault,” she said.
Wyatt went white.
“You brought her here. You and your emails and your website. She was stable at home. She was stable. And now she’s in there with tubes in her, and it’s because of you.”
