“How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. The doctor said to come in right away.”
“Is Eli with you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him tonight. Tried to call, but he’s not picking up.”
Of course he’s not.
“I didn’t know who else to call.” She sounds apologetic now.
“It’s okay. I’m on my way,” I say, fumbling with my clutch.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to make you miss the reception.”
I look out the window, like an outsider looking into a world where they don’t belong. “I’m not missing anything. Just take care of Dad until I get there.”
Then I hang up and send Brendan a text:Dad’s in the hospital. I need to leave.
I’m halfway to my car when his text comes through:Do you want me to come with you?
I stare at the screen, a lump building in my throat.
I want to say yes.That’s what people do when they love each other—they show up, just like I did when his sister was in an accident.
But Rafael’s words are still in my head.
My fingers hover over the screen.No. Stay for your sister’s wedding. And tell your family I’m sorry.
Because I really am. More than they could ever know.
Three dots appear immediately, like he’s typing a response.
I turn off my phone before his response can come through.
THIRTY-ONE
Brendan
Carmen and Tony finally left for their honeymoon twenty minutes ago. The moment I see the final guests pulling away, I’m in my SUV, heading to the hospital.
When I get there, I text Scarlett, then sit on a rock-hard love seat and look around at the beige walls and cold interior. This is the same lobby where she waited for me after Carmen’s accident. The room has been holding that secret all this time.
I paced these halls while my sister fought for her life, hooked up to what seemed like a dozen machines. That entire night I was consumed by guilt. If I’d just driven Carmen home that night,if I’d been a better brother,things would’ve turned out differently.
And the whole time, Scarlett was down here, waiting for me.
I never knew.
I grab two coffees from the vending machine on my way back to the waiting area, knowing it’s going to be a long night.
When the elevator doors open, she steps out, still wearing that beautiful bridesmaid dress that seems out of place under the fluorescent lights. Her smile is gone, replaced by a hollow look in her eyes.
“How’s your dad?” I ask, suddenly worried that things have taken a turn for the worst.
“His breathing is better. They gave him medication for the bronchitis and ran some scans.” She lets out a breath. “The good news is, his treatment is still working. Six more months and he’ll be in remission.”
“Six months. That’s great news,” I say, relieved he’s going to be okay.