She opens Spotify on the car dashboard and hits play. The angelic voice of Gracie Abrams blasts through the speakers.
On a normal day, I’d keep the music on, but I’m not in the mood to listen to anything right now—I turn the volume all the way down.
Backing up slowly, she shifts the gear into drive.
As we hit the road, all I can see are an infinite amount of giant billboards that advertise injury attorneys and endless patches of dying grass.
“Moo!” Bella shouts as she sees a small herd of cows ahead of us to the left.
Ignoring her, I stare out the window.
All I can think about is getting to the hospital, and the thought is making my stomach do flips.
Eventually, we exit I-95. While we’re waiting for the traffic light to turn green, I feel Bella’s gaze burning a hole through my head.
I know that she’s mentally assessing if I’m okay.
No, I’m not okay.
Sunset Cove Hospital comes into view.
I can’t wait to get out of this car.
Bella turns into the hospital lot and finds a parking spot. She pulls into a spot closer to the front entrance.
Getting out of the car, I sling my bag across my chest while Bella slides the window down. “I’m going to drop your suitcase off at your house. And then, I’m going home. Dani, you’re one of the strongest people I know. You’re going to get through this. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, my voice cracks like flames in a fire.
“For what?” Her eyebrows sink lower on her face, and a grin appears on her face.
“For being you,” I say.
She smiles at me, gesturing to back away from the car and head inside. The window rolls up and she drives off.
Speed-walking over to the sliding doors, I make it through security without any hassle.
I place my visitor sticker on my chest as I walk over to the front desk.
“How can I help you today?” A younger woman seated behind a computer asks.
“I’m looking for two people who were admitted here. Their names are Benjamin and Elizabeth Kaplan. I need to know where they are. Please,” I beg.
My heart is pounding as my throat grows tight to the point where I’m starting to lose my breath.
“Breathe, honey. Let me look at my computer here.”
My foot starts to tap rapidly against the laminated flooring. My patience isn’t wearing thin because it doesn’t even exist right now.
Rubbing my eyes with my hands, I let out a deep exhale.
What feels like an eternity is actually two minutes before I’m given any information.
“They’re in room 409.”
“Thank you,” I say.
Once I make my way over to the elevators, the doors open. I step inside and press the number four button.