Page 16 of A Storybook Wedding

“Yeah, well, they say that when you come from a big family, the younger children are way less disciplined because the parents are outnumbered. In my opinion, that tracks, minus incidents of accidental arson.”

“I don’t know. I’m a younger sibling, and I think I was pretty tame.”

“I’m sure you’re just an anomaly in all sorts of ways,” she retorts.

“Doubtful. But what I’m hearing you say is that you want to be a writer so that you can stop lighting things on fire.”

“No,” she laughs, but something in her eyes changes. “Obviously, my storytelling needs work. I want to be a writer because…” There’s a long pause during which Aunt Rose rounds the corner and reenters our section of the hall.

“How nice. You’re both looking a little better.” She grins. “Scale of one to ten, how’s everyone feeling?” She hands each of us a miniature can of ginger ale and a package of individually wrapped saltines, like you might get at a diner with your soup if you were over eighty and meeting your bridge club for an early bird special. “Ten being the best you’ve ever felt.”

Cecily accepts the snack and sets it on the nightstand beside her. “Thank you,” she says. “And I don’t know. Maybe like a five?”

“Nausea gone?”

“Not all the way,” she admits. “But I think I got most of it out.” She opens her mouth in a yawn, covering it with her hand.

“Tired?” Aunt Rose asks.

Cecily nods.

“How about you?” she asks me.

I think about it. The room’s not spinning, so that’s good. Talking to Cecily has been a good distraction. “Probably about the same. Like a five.”

“Okay. Well, like I mentioned, there are others from your school here, and the doctor wants to keep all of you overnight for observations. Give you a chance to rest, and if you feel closer to a seven or an eight in the morning, we’ll let you go.”

“How will we get back?” Cecily wonders.

“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll come get you.”

“Will it cost a lot more if we stay? My co-pay for an ER visit is fifty bucks, but an overnight is a lot more. I think I’m okay enough to go back now.” She sits up a little straighter.

“Nope. There’s no cost to you at all. Matthias is footing the bill. It’s included with your residency.”

“Oh,” she replies.

“So make yourself comfortable—I mean, as comfortable as you can, and definitely get some sleep. I’ll bring you both some fresh buckets, and I’ll dim the lights as much as I can out here. Bathroom’s straight down on the right there, so help yourself. I’ll be in the office, but you can just buzz for me if you need anything.”

“Okay,” Cecily says. “Thank you.”

“Thanks,” I echo.

Aunt Rose leaves, and Cecily breaks into her crackers. “In the absence of a much-needed toothbrush,” she shares, crunching, “I’m hoping this will make me a little less offensive in the morning.” Crumbs cascade down her shirt. She wipes them away.

“I’m not worried about you,” I say. “I can’t even look at food right now though. So if you want mine”—I hold up the flimsy package—“have at it.”

“I’m good, thanks.” She sets the wrapper on the tiny tray table attached to the side of the bed and scoots down under the thin white blanket, pulling it up to her neck.

“I guess the rest of the story will have to wait?” I ask.

Cecily sighs. “Yeah. I guess.” She rolls to face me. “Long story short, books can’t hurt you.”

“That’s a loaded sentence,” I reply. “You mean books can’t hurt you like fire can?”

“Well, that’s certainly true. But I was thinking more like books can’t hurt you like people can.”

I swallow. “Wow.”

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