The night I drove you home was the first night—

The first night that what?

Her mother yanked back the curtain, making the hangers rattle in the steel track. Though she was wearing a white tennis skirt and a pink trimmed sweater, her eyes were perfectly lined, her mascara unsmudged. Even her lipstick looked freshly applied.

Layne wondered how much time she’d spent getting ready to come see her daughter in the hospital.

She wondered if she’d actually been playing tennis.

“Baby? You okay?”

“I’m great,” said Layne flatly. Baby. As if her mother gave a damn. She’d spent more time on the other side of the curtain than she had in here.

“I’m going to flag down the doctor,” her mother said, her lips pursed. “Don’t they know what I do for this hospital? I’m going to give these people a piece of my—”

“No,” said Layne evenly. “There are sick people here. I can wait.”

Her mom opened her mouth to protest, but then her cell phone started ringing, and she stuck a manicured hand into a designer bag to fetch it.

Layne sighed. She was ready to go home and get a shower. Her clothes smelled like horses and fire, the sweetness of alfalfa hay mixed with soot and ashes. She hadn’t even unzipped her jacket, knowing the turtleneck underneath was soaked with sweat.

And she needed time alone.

She needed time to think.

A nurse came around the corner wearing pink scrubs with lollipops all over them. Some papers and a clipboard were in one hand, and she glanced between Layne’s father—tapping away at his iPhone—and her mother, who was gushing about something to do with a celebrity polo match.

So concerned.

The nurse faltered.

Layne held out her hand. “Here. Can I just take it?”

“Your parents need to sign, sweetie.”

Layne looked at her father. “Dad. Hey. Signature.”

He put a hand out without looking up, hitting a few more keys on the phone.

Unbelievable. It reminded Layne of the day in Gabriel’s driveway, when he’d been so dismissive of Michael.

Layne looked at the nurse. “I’m sorry. They usually act like they give a crap.”

That got her dad’s attention. “Watch it. I was supposed to be in court this morning.”

Layne looked back at him in mock surprise. “I can’t believe I forgot to add this to your schedule.”

Her mom laughed into the phone and held up her hand. “Oh my goodness, that is too much. Let me step into the hallway. There’s a lot of commotion here . . .”

Layne scooted off the stretcher. She wished Simon were here, but her father had sent him to school. “Let’s just go,” she said. “You can get back to court, Mom can get back to ‘tennis,’ and I can get back to school.”