“The guy who saved me and made me laugh while doing it? Of course.” She smirks. “Aren’t you happy to see me? Standing and everything?”

I nod. “Very happy.”

She smiles wide, her brow pointing with suspicion. “You don’t look happy.”

“This is how I always look,” I defend awkwardly, not for the first time. Once, Aunt Elena secretly organized an office pool where everyone took bets on their attempts to make me smile. She handed me the winnings at the end of the day because I never did. “I’d do a happy dance, but I don’t want to make you jealous.”

“That would make me jealous,” she laughs, “but don’t worry. I’ll be dancing in no time. Promise.”

I stand on the other side of the bed, unsure what to do or say. I remember Dad in a room like this after his heart surgery, how full and alive it was with laughter and chatting. Gil was near-panicking over the crowded space. Circling his bed that day felt like healing for us all. He’d be okay, and we, his cheerleaders, would be there to ensure it.

There’s no cheer here except from her. Marina’s quiet room is weirdly devastating.

“Where is everyone?” I ask.

She shrugs lightly—a move that makes her wince. “It’s just me.”

It’s not exactly an answer, but I don’t press. I hold out my shopping bag, and she takes it one-handed.

Her amused suspicion makes a return. “A present? Ah, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I, um, wanted to, only not flowers or shit you can’t use.” I motion to the many bouquets across the room—it looks like half of Seagrove sent her flowers, funny since no one’s here. It looks and smells like a florist’s shop. Or a funeral.

“Aw, cat treats and toys! They’ll love these.” She shakes a toy mouse, making it jingle. “That’s very thoughtful. Thank you, Grady.”

Her delight eases my nerves.

“How do you feel?”

Her smile widens. “Like I got hit by a truck.”

My mouth drops in sudden horror.

She laughs, her wry smile cocking up her left cheek. “Relax, Grady. If we can’t laugh…”

She shrugs rather than finishing her sentence. Her lightheartedness warms me more than the sunlight pouring into her room. People rarely surprise me, but she does. My guilt appreciates her good mood, but I know she’s making it easy on me.

Problem is, I don’t want easy.

“I’m doing well, thanks,” she says. “Sore, but healing properly. Oh, the bruise on my side where I whacked my hip looks like a giant jellyfish. We nicknamed it Giant Jelly. Everyone on the ward talks about it.”

“Marnie, are you talking up your bruise again?” a nurse booms, entering the room.

“Oh, Ivy. This is Grady Tripp.”