There was something …
It took me a second to place it.
And then …
I sucked in all the air my lungs could hold, my hand slapping over my mouth before a scream came shooting out of it.
It couldn’t be.
No.
There was no way.
But the more I blinked, the more I saw the truth. A detail I had missed up until right now.
I closed my fingers around the picture, holding it against the inside of my hand, and I rushed down the stairs, hunting for my father.
“Dad,” I said when I spotted him in the kitchen, standing next to my aunt and cousin. “Come here.”
He looked concerned as he took the few steps to approach me, his fingers going to my forehead. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
I held my hand out and slowly opened my palm, showing him the picture that sat in the middle. “What’s his name?”
I knew.
Everyone in this house knew.
There was no reason I needed to hear him say it.
But I did.
He looked at the photograph and back at me. “That’s Casey Rivers.”
There were no three words that hurt more.
I fell to my knees.
And my father was the first person at my side.
SIXTY-SEVEN
HONEY
SPRING 1989
“I KNOW, SWEET BABY BOY,” Honey said as she bounced Andrew in her arms. She was also holding the phone to her ear, waiting for her husband to pick up. “I promise, I’m going to do everything I can to make you feel better.”
Her son had been running a fever since bedtime, and she had given him medication, which had worked for a little while. But as the hours wore on, his temperature had risen again, and she didn’t like the sound of his cough.
“Emergency room. This is Meghan.”
“Meghan …” Honey said, knowing the nurse well. She was one of the RNs who often worked with Andrew. “It’s Honey. Is Andrew free?”
“Hi, Honey. He just took a patient in for surgery. Is everything okay?”
As she held the phone with her shoulder, Honey pressed her hand against her baby’s forehead and cheeks and chest. “It’s my son. He was running a fever earlier, and Andrew suggested I give him liquid Motrin. But his fever is back, and the poor thing is burning up, coughing. I’m getting worried.”
“How long ago did you give him Motrin?”
“Four hours.” She wiped her thumb under the bottom of his nose, cleaning it, and that was when she saw the redness. “There’s a rash on his neck.”
“Can you bring him in?” the nurse asked. “When I tell Dr. Paige, I’m positive he’ll agree.”
Honey’s gut had been telling her something was definitely wrong, and that was the reason she had called in the first place. Now, she just had to get little Andrew to the hospital. And because they lived so close, she could walk there faster than she could drive.
“I’m going to leave in two minutes,” Honey said, thanking her and hanging up.
She went into the nursery and placed Andrew in his crib while she got herself dressed. She then packed everything she needed into the diaper bag, hanging it on the side of the stroller. She lifted Billie into her arms, kissing the warm, sleepy princess on the forehead while she zipped her in a coat. Her daughter never even stirred when Honey set her in the stroller. When she returned to Andrew, she wrapped him in a large, puffy jacket, cooing in his face to distract him from squirming. Then, she held the baby against her chest and tied a scarf over him. Even with the afternoons being warmer, it was after one in the morning, and it was going to feel chilly outside. She certainly didn’t want the wind to hit his face, and she felt fortunate she had made that decision once she stepped outside.
Portland was quiet at this hour, the streets mostly bare. The lamps provided plenty of glow, lighting the path extremely well to give Honey the visibility she needed. There were a mix of homes and commercial spaces on both sides of her, all so dark and quiet.
Honey squeezed Andrew as they neared the end of the block, pausing at the Stop sign. His nose was dripping and bubbling, making him more uncomfortable as he cried. She wiped it, and he started to wail harder, turning his head to each side.
“It’s okay, my love. We’re almost there. Daddy is going to put his magical hands on you and make you feel all better.”