Page 57 of Bought By Santa

“Right,” I echo, though my stomach knots tighter. We’re here for her, but it feels like I’m the one unraveling.

As I knock on the door, I ponder how Willow always seems to be in such good spirits. It’s untouchable, unlike mine that feels like I’m lost at sea. I need to toughen up, to stop being so obsessed about her getting better.

Really, who am I to decide what ‘better’ is? If she’s not complaining, I have no right to.

The door opens, and I glance up at Dr. Alan Hargrove. “Hello again, Carolina.” His silver hair crowns his head like a halo of wisdom, and his eyes are sharp as a hawk’s. “And you must be the reason we’re all here,” he says to Will, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Nice to see you again, Dr. Hargrove,” I say, my throat tight.

“Hi there, Dr. Hargrove. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” She greets him with the enthusiasm of someone who sees life as a glass perpetually full.

As he waves us into the room behind him, he says, “Please call me Alan.”

In the adjoining examination room, I position the wheelchair so Will can move from her wheelchair and onto the examination bed.

The doctor’s practiced hands are gentle as he checks my sister’s reflexes. The tests unfold like a well-rehearsed play; a tap of the hammer here, a brush of fingertips there, each movement meticulous and measured. I watch, barely breathing, as Dr. Hargrove conducts a symphony of neurological assessments, from checking pupil dilation to testing muscle strength.

“Everything okay?” Will asks, catching the furrow in my brow. “I mean, I’m still paralyzed, right? Or can I suddenly walk on water?”

Dr. Har—Alan—laughs softly to himself before telling us he’s done, and suggesting we sit down in his office to talk. He disappears to get us some drinks, and while he’s gone, I helpher back into the wheelchair, not that she needs my help. This is more for me, so I have something to do.

“I’m sure everything’s perfect,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart yearns to believe it, even as it dreads the uncertainty.

“You always were a bad liar,” she sing-songs. “But sure, sure. Perfect would be nice for a change.”

While we wait for Alan to return, I ask my sister about Ruby. “Are the two of you still hanging out?” I ask, absentmindedly scratching my nose with my left hand.

“Wow!” she exclaims. “Hold on a fucking second, Caro. Why are you asking me about Ruby when you’re carrying that diamond around?”

Shit, I hadn’t thought about that. I don’t even know how to explain everything to her. Or more accurately, I don’t know where to start.

“Does this mean you’re not just dating Ruby’s brother?” she probes.

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I guess I’m engaged to him.”

Will scrunches up her nose. “You’re engaged to a man I haven’t met? How can that be when he doesn’t have my approval?”

I burst out laughing at the forced disapproval in her voice. “Sorry,” I laugh. “I’ll make sure to rectify that as soon as possible.”

Before we can say anything, Alan returns with three cups of steaming hot chocolate placed on a black tray. The scent luckily drowns out the clinical smell in here, making it less intimidating.

“Okay, should we dive right in?” he asks, looking straight at her.

“Let’s do it,” she agrees.

“Unfortunately,” Dr. Hargrove begins with a sigh, “there have been no advancements in treatment that would improve your current condition, Willow.”

I feel the sting of tears threatening to spill, but I blink them away furiously. It’s not the news we hoped for, but it’s the news we expected—somewhere deep down, at least. Willow, bless her, just nods with an accepting smile.

“Thank you for checking.” Her voice is steady, but it’s the slight tremor in her grip that betrays her disappointment.

“However,” he continues, shifting his gaze between us, “as I told Carolina yesterday, there is a top-notch care facility here in New York City that you might consider. They specialize in patients with spinal injuries and offer state-of-the-art therapies that can significantly improve quality of life. They even have the option to live there with other patients if you want.”

Will gapes. “Do you mean NREC? Oh my God, you totally do, don’t you?”

He laughs good naturedly. “Yes, I’m talking about the NeuroRehab Excellence Center. I take it you have heard about it.”

My sister practically bounces in her wheelchair. “Have I? I mean, yes, yes I have. It’s like Neverland, a mythical place unless you have a butt load of money.”

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