Chapter 7: Glass in My Palm

Marcy found her smile again quickly.

"The hospital phoned me, of course," she said. "I'm on Arthur's emergency list."

"You aren't," I said. "I'm the only name on it."

"Since when? He put me down years ago."

"Then the hospital will have it on the chart."

Marcy laughed, light and wounded.

"Diana. It's three in the morning. You're exhausted. Why would I lie about a phone call?"

"I don't know yet," I said.

Elias said nothing from his chair.

Bryson set the white roses on the table between us and put one hand on my shoulder.

"Sweetheart," he said. "Look at yourself."

I knocked his hand away.

It was a sharp, ugly movement, and my elbow caught the vase the nurse had brought for the flowers.

It hit the floor and burst.

Glass went across the tiles to the far wall.

"Oh, Diana," Marcy said, soft and sorrowful.

"Look at her," Bryson said, quietly, to nobody in particular.

A nurse at the desk looked up, and I felt it settle on me, the same look as the foundation floor.

I knelt and started picking up pieces with my bare hands.

I wasn't thinking.

I only knew I couldn't stand there in front of them and be the woman who dropped a vase.

"Leave it," Elias said.

"I've got it."

A shard went into the heel of my palm, and the blood came instantly.

I stared at it.

"Don't," Elias said, and he was kneeling in front of me, and he'd taken my wrist.

He turned my hand up in the light.

Then he looked at Bryson over my shoulder, and Bryson stopped talking.

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