“She won’t tell us anything.” Her voice shakes, and Jim puts an arm around her. “But she says she’ll tell you. That’s why I was going to call you. She says you’re the only one who might understand.”

22

Holly walks slowly down the corridor to Room 528, which is all the way at the end. Her head is down, and she’s thinking hard, so she almost bumps into the man wheeling the cart of well-thumbed paperback books and Kindles with PROPERTY OF KINER HOSP taped below the screens.

“Sorry,” Holly tells him. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“That’s all right,” Library Al says, and goes on his way. She doesn’t see him pause and look back at her; she is summoning all her courage for the conversation to come. It’s apt to be emotional, and emotional scenes have always terrified her. It helps that she loves Barbara.

Also, she’s curious.

She taps on the door, which is ajar, and peeps around it when there’s no answer. “Barbara? It’s Holly. Can I come in?”

Barbara offers a wan smile and puts down the battered copy of Mockingjay she’s been reading. Probably got it from the man with the cart, Holly thinks. She’s cranked up in the bed, wearing pink pajamas instead of a hospital johnny. Holly guesses her mother must have packed the PJs, along with the ThinkPad she sees on Barb’s night table. The pink top lends Barbara a bit of vivacity, but she still looks dazed. There’s no bandage on her head, so the bump mustn’t have been all that bad. Holly wonders if they are keeping Barbara overnight for some other reason. She can only think of one, and she’d like to believe it’s ridiculous, but she can’t quite get there.

“Holly! How did you get here so fast?”

“I was coming to see you.” Holly enters and closes the door behind her. “When somebody’s in the hospital, you go to see them if it’s a friend, and we’re friends. I met your parents at the elevator. They said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes.”

“How can I help, Barbara?”

“Well . . . can I ask you something? It’s pretty personal.”

“Okay.” Holly sits down in the chair next to the bed. Gingerly, as if the seat might be wired for electricity.

“I know you had some bad times. You know, when you were younger. Before you worked for Bill.”

“Yes,” Holly says. The overhead light isn’t on, just the lamp on the night table. Its glow encloses them and gives them their own little place to be. “Some very bad ones.”

“Did you ever try to kill yourself?” Barbara gives a small, nervous laugh. “I told you it was personal.”