Page 139 of Past the Broken Bridges

It doesn’t stop me from going a fourth time.

The same nurse from the first two days is sitting behind the desk in the inpatient unit. She smiles when she sees me, her eyes a mixture of sadness and sympathy as I walk toward her with a cup of coffee from my favorite café. It’s the same one I used to get for Sawyer, so I figured it was leverage.

“You’re persistent,” Faye comments, eyeing the cup I slide over to her. After looking around, she takes the offering. “And creative.”

I do my best to smile, even though it takes every ounce of energy possible because it’s the last thing I want to do. “I was coming by to see Sawyer, so I figured you could use some.”

She blinks, her eyes going to the older woman sitting on the opposite side of the desk with a headset on as she talks on the phone. When she looks back at me, she says, “I can’t allow anybody but family to see her.”

It’s the same response every day. But today, I’m not turning around or going home. Not after seeing the redheaded girl rocking helplessly alone on the side of that road. My stomach has been in knots ever since.

Faye must know that. “Only family,” she repeats, eyebrows going up as she stares at me.

I nod slowly. “I’m her…brother.”

Faye sips her coffee as if she can’t see the blatant lie, her eyes brightening. “Why didn’t you say that before? I just need you to sign right there in the log, and then I’ll have somebody come get you to bring you back.”

Quietly, I say, “Thank you.”

Her smile is softer, understanding. “From what I hear,” she murmurs, eyes shooting to her coworker again, “she needs somebody. Her sister has been visiting her, but she barely talks.”

Sawyer doesn’t have a sister, unless that’s another lie she told. I’m starting to wonder what exactly she’s been honest about. I can’t get her red hair out of my head, wondering why she would have kept it a secret all this time. She’s not a vain person, at least not the version I used to know.

But who is the real Sawyer?

It doesn’t take long before I’m following a nurse with a firm face back through narrow hallways with flickering fluorescent lights. I don’t say a word or ask the questions balancing on the tip of my tongue.

How is she? Is she doing okay? How is she taking the news? Does she know about Dawson?

The nurse turns to me as we stop in front of a door at the end of the hall. “Somebody out there is looking down on her. None of us can believe how she walked away. After all she’s gone through in life…” Her head shakes. “Your sister is very lucky.”

Your sister.

Lucky.

I press my lips together and nod, not trusting myself tospeak. Given the circumstances, I bet she’s used to a lot of different reactions from people when she delivers them to patients.

“She’s been…” Her voice lowers, her eyes moving to the door and back. “She’s closed down since she spoke to the police. Your sister could barely get her to eat anything, so it’s a good thing you’re here. I think she needs somebody now more than ever. Maybe a brother’s reassurance that everything will be okay.”

I should have known the police would have been here. I had to go and talk to them when they ran the registration on my truck. Dad dropped me off and waited for me in the lobby of the station while I gave them my statement. They hounded me with questions I wish I had the answers to, about the second I found out my truck was gone to the moment I was hauled away in the back of a cop car after breaking past the police tape on scene.

I wasn’t sorry for getting in the way.

Not when I saw Sawyer sitting there helpless while the world moved in slow motion around us.

She needs somebody now more than ever.

She’s not the only one.

My heart picks up when the nurse twists the knob on the door, her knuckles gently rapping on the wood. “I have another visitor for you, Sawyer,” she says gently, gesturing for me to follow her in.

I stop in the doorjamb when I see her.

Birdie.

Sawyer.

Tucked under two layers of blankets, looking so small in a room no larger than my tiny apartment bathroom, lies a pale girl with short, red hair. Her eyes aren’t shining withblue mischief like usual but drained of life and light. Dull. Almost gray from here.

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