“I don’t blame you,” Detective Reinhardt went on now, “if you had other things on your mind. Things you wanted to do, for example.”
Detective Reinhardt was looking intently at his cuticles. That was how Lyra understood: he was giving them a way out. He understood she didn’t have much time left.
“I like buses,” she said. Caelum took her hand. “I wouldn’t mind riding some buses again.”
Detective Reinhardt heaved out of his chair, using both arms for leverage. “Amazing things,” he said. “You can go coast to coast on the Greyhound bus line, from Maine to Santa Monica. Did you know that?” He started limping toward the door. “’Course, they won’t discharge you yet. Not without wanting to know your story. And the front entrance is crawling with press.” He paused by the door, turning back to smile at Lyra, and she saw in hisexpression love, actual love, the kind she’d felt for him in the woods. She barely knew him at all, but he was family. “Of course that’s the problem with hospitals. Always have to be a million exits, because of fire regulations. You can’t cover them all. I saw a stairwell right by the ladies’ room, led right down into the parking lot and not a single person standing guard.”
“Thank you,” Caelum said.
Detective Reinhardt nodded. Then he turned around and fished something from his pocket. “Oh,” he said. “I had one of the nurses run out and pick this up. Thought it might come in handy. Pay-as-you-go. No code.” He tossed a cell phone in the air and it landed at the foot of Lyra’s bed. “Don’t worry. My number’s already in there.”
It was brand-new, made of plastic, and had little numbered buttons. It had a fake-leather case, which snapped closed and could hook to a belt.
Lyra’s throat closed up entirely.
Thank you,she tried to say. But she couldn’t get the words out.
Detective Reinhardt seemed to understand. He touched his fingers to his forehead, once—a kind of salute—and was gone.
Lyra didn’t need to ask where Gemma’s room was; all she and Caelum had to do was listen for the babble of April’svoice. Though Lyra didn’t know April well, she knew her voice right away.
April was sitting at Gemma’s bedside. With her were two women Lyra assumed must be related to April. One of them had April’s warm brown eyes, and the same nest of curly hair. The other one kept a hand on April’s shoulder.
“Looks like you have some more visitors,” Kristina said, when Lyra and Caelum entered. She, too, had drawn a chair up to Gemma’s bedside.
“You’re awake,” Gemma said, sitting up. She was pale but smiling.
“You’reheroes,” April said through a mouthful of candy, pivoting around to face her. “Twizzler?”
Lyra shook her head. But Caelum took one.
“Come on.” The woman with the curly hair gave April a nudge. “Let’s leave them alone for a bit, okay?”
Kristina took the hint and stood up. “I could use a cup of coffee, actually.”
April frowned. “Yeah, sure. But we’ll come back, right?” She pointed a Twizzler at Gemma. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gemma said, and rolled her eyes.
Kristina bent down to kiss her daughter’s forehead. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
Lyra almost laughed. And she nearly cried, too. The sun through the blinds looked almost solid. It was beautiful, she thought. It was all so beautiful.
She would miss Gemma.
Maybe Caelum knew what she was thinking, because he reached for Lyra’s hand and squeezed.
“How are you?” Gemma asked, after the others had left. “How are you feeling?” That was so like Gemma: she was the one who had nearly died, and still she was worried about Lyra.
“We’re fine,” she said. Caelum’s hand was warm in hers. It was both true and not true, of course. She was still dying, of a disease for which there was no cure.
But it was like Caelum had said: she wasn’t dead yet.
Not today.
Already, the words she’d taken from Dr. O’Donnell were beginning to turn, to flow, to do their work.
“April was right,” Gemma said. “You’re both heroes. I can’t believe you found me.”
