On Day Six, at four, she wrote: My name is Harper Quinn and I am in Philadelphia.
On Day Seven, at eight in the morning, her hand shook. The letters came out jagged. She wrote: My nme is Harpr and I am.
She stopped. She stared at the page. She started to cry.
“I can’t remember the word,” she said. “The city. I can’t remember the word.”
They gave her medicine. They watched her all day.
On Day Eight, at noon, she wrote: My name is Harper Quinn and I am in Philadelphia and Wyatt Holt is a dork.
The nurse showed it to everybody at the station.
Wyatt kept the page. He still has it.
On the night of Day Ten, after Harper was back in her regular room and asleep, I took Wyatt down to the hospital courtyard.
It was warm. A fountain was running. Somebody had left a teddy bear on a bench.
