Under Hospital Lights
The next part of the night feels broken in my memory, like a series of photos instead of a smooth video.
Red and blue lights flashing outside the hotel. Guests huddled in small groups, whispering. Someone helping me into the back of the ambulance after I insist on riding with Claire. Lucas standing near the entrance, his tie loose, his eyes following the ambulance as the doors close.
At St. Anne Medical Center, everything smells like disinfectant and coffee that has been sitting too long. The nurse at the desk speaks in a calm, practiced tone as she asks questions about Claire. I answer what I can, even though my voice feels far away.
They hook my sister up to monitors, check her heart, check her blood pressure. They talk about stress, about panic, about how the body sometimes reacts when it is pushed past its limits. She is conscious, but quiet, turned slightly toward the wall.
My mother sits with her hands over her mouth, as if she is trying to hold something in—words, tears, both.
My father doesn’t sit at all. He paces the hallway outside Claire’s room, his shoes making soft sounds on the tile. Every now and then he stops and presses one hand to his forehead like he is trying to hold his thoughts in place.
I ask what is going on.
No one answers.
After what feels like an hour, I see Lucas coming down the hall. He has lost his jacket somewhere, and his white shirt is wrinkled. His hair, usually carefully styled, looks like he has run his hands through it a dozen times.
“Grace,” he says softly.
I stand up. The weight of my wedding dress suddenly feels ridiculous in this place.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “Not unless you can make sense of what you did back there.”
He swallows.
“I want to explain. Please.”
Before he can say more, my father steps between us.
“Not yet,” he says. “Not to her. You talk to me first.”
There is something in my father’s eyes that I have never seen before. Not just anger. Not just disappointment. Something like dread.
He takes my arm gently. “Come with me, Grace.”
He leads me to a small waiting room. The chairs are stiff. The walls are painted a neutral color that is supposed to be calming, but my heart is racing so fast that nothing could calm me.
My father takes a deep breath, sits down, and looks older than I have ever seen him.
The Story I Never Knew
“Gracie,” he says, using the nickname he hasn’t used since I was a teenager, “there is something your mother and I never told you. We never told Claire, either. We thought we were protecting everyone.”
My mind jumps immediately to Claire. “Is she sick? Is something wrong with her? Is that why she collapsed?”
He shakes his head.
“No. Not like that.”
He rubs his hands over his face, searching for the right place to begin.
“You and Claire… you’re both my daughters,” he says, slowly. “I have loved you both from the moment you came into this world. That part is simple. The rest is not.”
I feel my stomach twist.
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