“She calls herself Nikki now. Lives in Philly?”

She opened her eyes. “Nicola. I forgot she ever called herself CoCo . . .”

“Who is she?”

“We’ve been close since . . . since we were girls . . .”

“You have?”

“Yes.” Her eyelids fluttered, a dreamy smile crossing her face. “Lovely Nicola. Little doll.”

“I didn’t know you had anyone from childhood. Friends or family or—”

“Honey, I’m sorry, but can you get me that glass of water now? I’m just so thirsty.”

“Of course.” Robin hurried out into the hallway, past the guards. Dr. Wu wasn’t around, but Eric was.

“Hey, how did she take it?” he said.

“Not terribly,” Robin said. “But I think she’s still pretty drugged.”

She hurried to the nurses’ station, where Verity handed her a cup of ice chips, explaining, “Her throat is still weak from being intubated. She can probably have water in an hour or two.”

Robin thanked her, took the ice chips, and headed back toward her mother’s room, her pulse quickening as though she were on the verge of something life-changing, something big. Lovely Nicola. Her babysitter had been her mother’s childhood friend. She’d seemed young for that, but then again Renee had been quite young herself. And thinking back on CoCo, so thin and wan, she could have easily looked more youthful than she was. Robin headed into the room—dead quiet now, without the whoosh of the ventilator. “Mom, I was wondering,” she started.

But Renee had fallen asleep.

She felt movement behind her—Eric joining her at her side, as Verity made for her mother’s hospital bed, clipboard in hand.

“You okay?” Eric said.

“Yeah.” She watched her mother sleeping, the rise and fall of her chest. She hoped she wasn’t dreaming of hell again.

“SHE LOOKED AS though she was coming out of it,” Eric said. “When the nurses were shooing us out and she was saying see you tomorrow, it seemed like . . . I don’t know. Like her battery finally got recharged. You know?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” said Robin. They were at home now, just the two of them, eating an early dinner that Eric had prepared—grilled tarragon chicken, mashed sweet potato, fresh asparagus. Eric was an excellent cook. Much better than Robin, though of course that wasn’t saying much.

“This is really delicious,” Robin said.

Eric put his wineglass down, reached across the kitchen table, and squeezed her hand—something he used to do all the time when they were dating. I just want to make sure you’re real, he used to say. Cheesiest line ever and he knew it. They both knew it. Robin would respond, You’re just trying to get me in bed. And he’d prove her right every time.

Robin smiled at Eric. This could work again, she thought. We could work again. But then she remembered the past year, how lonely it had been.