The familiar cries of Peony having a nightmare come from her room, and I rocket to my feet. Both Athena and I reach Peony’s room at the same time.
Now that I know the cause of her nightmares, I stare at the cracked-open door, momentarily at a loss for what to do.
Athena doesn’t have the same qualms and hurries into the room. She turns on Peony’s bedside lamp, casting the room in a soft glow and chasing away the deep shadows. Deciding it’s safe to go in, I join her and kneel next to Peony’s bed.
I stroke Peony’s back and whisper soothing words.
Shit, what do I do?My daughter is here, in Maple Ridge, dealing with the trauma of what happened, both during the week she was kidnapped and for a good portion of her life. She has a play therapy appointment tomorrow. I never got around to canceling it after she went missing.
And Emily’s funeral is in four days. A funeral Zara will miss.
I can’t be in New Orleans, to be by Zara’s side while she recovers from her ordeal. I need to be here for my daughter, and I need to attend the funeral.
Except…except I know Emily. I know the woman who was such a romantic she started a small wedding consulting business. She would be the first person to tell me to rush across the country and declare my love for Zara.
She would tell me if there was ever a way to honor her in death, making the grand gesture for the woman I love would be it.
But that still doesn’t help me choose between the two most important females in my life.
Do I stay here with Peony? Or go to New Orleans to be by Zara’s side?
61
ZARA
I openmy eyes to find my cousin sitting in the chair next to my hospital bed. The same place she was sitting when I drifted to sleep. My parents were in the room earlier but must have stepped out while I was napping.
The smell of overly bleached sheets wafts in the air, the floral arrangements in the room softening the intensity. Floral arrangements from my parents. From my family. From my friends. The soothing clicking of Serena’s knitting needles and the whir of the AC are the only sounds in the room. Reminding me that I’m safe. I no longer have to fear The Bear, or the men working for him, or Lola.
“So, Granny. When are you gonna make me a shawl?” I allow a small smile to flutter on my lips, my face and body aching less than they did two days ago. It’s my soul, after learning Emily didn’t survive, that is in worse shape, bouncing back and forth between grief and relief, happiness, guilt, and frustration.
Grief at losing my friend. Happiness Peony is with her father.
Relief that she and I are safe. Guilt I couldn’t save Emily.
Frustration at how I’m stuck in NOLA for now, unable to be in Maple Ridge for her funeral. Unable to say goodbye to one of my closest friends.
And after everything I learned at the house where I was held prisonerand from the FBI, roiling beneath it all, like a smoldering pile of dry leaves in the depths of a forest, is anger. Anger that men like The Bear exist, preying on girls. Profiting off them. Mistreating and abusing them.
I tenderly nurture the anger, blow on the flames, keep them under control. Embrace them as a step forward in my healing from the tragic losses of Kenda and Emily.
Maybe one day I’ll do something with that anger. Put it to good use.
But for now, my goal is to get better and return home. To see Peony.
Serena stands and puts her knitting project on her chair. “Do you want me to raise the head of the bed some more?”
“Yes, please.” Breathing is easier when the head of the bed is upright.
It also helps that I’m not crying as much as I first did when the FBI told me about Em. I spent the first twenty-four hours sobbing, broken. But I know if I let myself fall too far down the well of grief, it will only make the spondyloarthritis symptoms worse, delaying my return home.
And Emily wouldn’t want that. She would want me to embrace the day, to appreciate the small things, to smile.
To heal and live my life to its fullest. That’s the very least I can do to honor the life, the friend, I lost.
Someone knocks on the door. “Come in,” Serena says, answering for me.
Samuel enters the room, his clothes disheveled, like he slept on the plane after a long shift at Maple Ridge hospital and came straight here from the airport. “Hey, sis.” He walks to the bed and gently hugs me, taking care not to get tangled in my IV tubing. “I just saw Mom and Dad downstairs. They’ll be up in a few minutes. How are you doing?”
