“N-n-n-no,” Evelyn stuttered. “Not the ferry?”
Billy took a step forward. “She’s terrified of small boats,” he said, his voice low.
“How about you?” he asked.
“I’ll stay here with her,” Billy said. “Will you tell Riley to call us? As soon as they know something?”
“I’ll call you myself,” Nate said.
* * *
The next hour was a blur. Riley crouched on a bench-type seat in the helicopter, her eyes glued to Maggy. The techs had started an IV line, and a tiny bit of color had returned to her cheeks. She was wrapped up to her chin in a shiny silver thermal blanket that made her look like a burrito. Her eyes were closed, and her hand, which Riley had not stopped clutching, was still clammy to the touch.
The crossing to the hospital was mercifully quick, and in less than fifteen minutes they were landing on the hospital’s rooftop helipad. The door opened and two sets of hands reached in to extract the gurney holding Maggy Griggs.
* * *
Riley sat across from a nurse at the admitting desk, giving Maggy’s detailed medical history.
“She was diagnosed with type 1 juvenile diabetes a little over a year ago,” she told the nurse. “Maggy will be thirteen in October.”
“Is her diabetes well-controlled?” the nurse asked.
“Usually, yes. After she was diagnosed, they kept her at WakeMed in Raleigh for three days, while they stabilized her blood sugar and educated both of us on the disease. Maggy’s very bright, and picked up all the diet restrictions and blood testing really quickly.”
“And is she usually compliant?”
“Usually, she’s very diligent,” Riley said. “We haven’t had a single incident in months and months. But she’s had a rough summer. Her father was killed in May, and they were very close.”
“That poor kid,” the nurse said, shaking her head. “And what happened tonight?”
“We’d had a fight earlier in the day, and she was very upset. She was supposed to spend the night with a friend, and for some reason I don’t understand, she left her friend’s house around eight o’clock. When Maggy got home, she went directly to her bedroom and locked the door. I wasn’t home.” Riley felt her gut wrench with guilt and shame. “Around nine o’clock, my mother got concerned and knocked on her door, but Maggy didn’t answer. She called me, and I got home, and we managed to get the door off the hinges.”
Riley chewed a bit of dried cuticle on her thumbnail. “We found an empty Coke can and several candy wrappers on the floor by her bed, and she was already unconscious, on her way to a diabetic coma. I managed to give her an injection, immediately, and then we called nine-one-one and got her here as fast as we could.”
“Okay,” the nurse said. “I’m going to go in the back and see how she’s doing. Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll come out and let you know what’s what.”
“Thank you,” Riley said. She collapsed into a chair and covered her face with her hands. Even when she closed her eyes she could still see Maggy’s ghostly face, smell the urine on her clothes and the smeared chocolate candy on her fingertips.
Maggy hadn’t accidentally gorged herself on a sugary soda and candy bars. Her daughter knew exactly how many grams of protein, sugar, and complex carbohydrates she could safely consume in one day. She knew how to rescue herself with a quick hit of juice and cheese crackers if her blood sugar dropped, and how to inject herself with insulin when it was needed.
No, Maggy knew exactly what she was doing tonight.
“Mrs. Griggs?” The nurse was smiling down at her. “Maggy’s going to be fine. They’re giving her fluids, and she’s resting.”
“Can I see her?” Riley asked.
“Just for a minute. Once we get her into a room, you can settle in and stay with her.”
Riley followed the nurse to a curtained-off treatment area. She stood by the bed and gingerly touched her sleeping daughter’s face. Her color had improved, and her skin was faintly warm to the touch. There was an IV tube attached to the crook of her right elbow, and another to the back of her left hand, and she wore an oxygen mask.
“See? She’s perking right back up, like a little hothouse flower,” the nurse said cheerfully. She put a gentle hand on Riley’s arm. “Come on, Mama. Don’t be so scared. Kids this age like to live dangerously. They don’t want their friends to know they have a disease. They’re embarrassed to have somebody see them pricking their finger to test their blood, or giving themselves a shot. We see this kind of thing all the time. I promise, twenty-four hours from now, you won’t even know she got sick.”
“I doubt that I will ever forget this night,” Riley said. “But I hope you’re right about her recovery.”
* * *
Somehow, she managed to doze off in the hard molded-plastic chair. She felt a gentle kiss on her cheek and opened her eyes to see Nate sitting beside her, holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Sorry to wake you up.”
“I wasn’t really sleeping,” Riley said, trying to sit up straight.
“I talked to the nurse a minute ago,” Nate said. “I might have let her think I was your husband.”
“Oh.” Riley frowned.
“I didn’t actually tell her I was. She just assumed it,” he said. “Anyway, she said they’re going to move Maggy into her room in about fifteen minutes because her condition has stabilized.”
“Good.” Riley yawned widely. “What time is it?”
“A little after two a.m. I texted Billy to tell him I’d gotten here, and that the nurse said Maggy was doing okay.”
“Oh geez,” Riley said. “I totally forgot to call them. Thanks for doing that.”
“I don’t want to upset Maggy, so I’ll just stay out here in the waiting room,” Nate said. “Unless you want me to go back to the island and pick up some clothes and stuff for you? I could stop and bring you some breakfast too, if you want.”
“No, Nate,” Riley said, biting her lip.
“No, you don’t need clothes, or no breakfast?”
“Neither. Both. What I mean is, I don’t want you to stay.”
“I don’t mind,” he said. “I can’t leave you here by yourself. Really. I got this.”
Riley blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes. “I want you to go. Please? It’s over. I can’t see you anymore.”
He recoiled as though she’d punched him in the gut. “Why?”
“Maggy didn’t just slip up and forget to take care of herself tonight. She deliberately put herself in a diabetic coma—because she was angry at me. She could have died. I can’t risk that again. She’s my child, Nate. I can’t put her health at risk.”
He was shaking his head. “She’s pushing your buttons, Riley. Punishing you to get what she wants. All kids do that kind of stuff.”
“All kids don’t have insulin-dependent diabetes,” Riley said. “All kids haven’t stood in a hospital morgue and seen their father stretched out in a refrigerated drawer.”