Page 70 of Head First
We had to go back to the hospital.
She’s headed back.
Murphy is doing fine without you.
We’re headed home!
What have you been feeding this dog?! He eats so much!
Millie says she loves you.
She’s through surgery!
Honey, Millie has an infection. We’re taking her back to the hospital.
And then . . .
A missed call from last night at 10.20 p.m.
A voicemail.
I press on the voicemail with shaky hands, fumbling to bring the phone up to my face. Hugh rests a reassuring hand on my knee, noticing that something may be wrong.
With the motor off, the air on the boat is still and silent. We are drifting lazily towards the dock. The voicemail from my mother starts blaring from my phone. I barely register that I must have accidentally hit the speakerphone button. I listen with a racing heart as my mom speaks.
‘Andi? Shhh,’ the voicemail breaks and turns fuzzy, then my mom’s voice comes through crystal clear again. ‘Paul, I’m leaving Andi a voicemail. Honey? Millie has a bad infection. We had to go back to the hospital. We’re here now – we’ve been here about . . .’ she pauses ‘. . . about sixteen hours. Millie’s asleep. The doctors say this complicates the road to recovery.’ She pauses again and clears her throat. ‘I know you’re not supposed to come home for another day, but do you think you could come home early?’ Her voice gets further away from the phone. ‘Paul, she needs to know,’ she tells my dad sternly. ‘I love you, sweetheart. Call me when you get this.’
I stop breathing. I don’t feel like I’m in my body anymore. At some point in the voicemail, Hugh has taken his hand off my thigh. My heart slows. I barely register Pippa’s eyes on mine, large and sympathetic. Even Aaron looks concerned.
Nobody speaks. There’s a faint ringing in my ears. It drowns out the seagulls calling and the sound of the boat’s motor.
‘We’ll be on land in five,’ Aaron says softly. ‘I’ll radio for a taxi to take you to the airport.’
I nod my head. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. I can’t seem to form any words with my lips.My sister,is all I can think.My big sister.
Tears pool in my eyelids and start cascading down my cheeks.
My head feels light and my knees feel weak. I place a hand on the bench next to me to steady myself.My sister.I feel blood draining from my face. My hands feel clammy. I breathe in through my nose.Breathe, I think.Just make it to the airport. I can see the dock in the distance. I lock my eyes on it.There’s nothing you can do from here, I tell myself, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
I feel a tear land on my thigh in a heavy drop. I can’t help but picture Millie in a hospital bed, alone, without me. Thinking about the beeping of machines makes my breath come faster, in shallower spurts. I wipe my nose with the back of my hand.My big sister.
Just then, Natalie’s head snaps to attention. She smacks her palm on her forehead.
‘Andi!’ she exclaims. She covers her mouth immediately, as if she knew right away that was the wrong thing to say in the moment.
Instinctively, I swivel to look at her, responding to my name. Pippa turns to glare at Natalie, opening her mouth to interrupt her, but she’s too late.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbles. ‘I— that’s just what they called you at the airport, it’s been bothering me this whole time. You’re Andi.’ She starts to babble, more than I’ve ever heard her talk before.
My big sisteris still echoing through my brain. I’m having trouble concentrating on what Natalie is saying. I’m not even sure if I care anymore.
‘I kept wanting to ask you about it but . . .’ Natalie’s saying, ‘I wanted to make sure I had your name right because I was hoping . . .’ I tune her out again. The dock is closer now. All I care about is getting to Millie as fast as I can.
But Hugh’s voice breaks through my daze. ‘Wait . . . Is that true?’ he asks from beside me, his voice low. ‘I thought your mom was . . . so, you’re not Millie, you’re the . . . the other one?’ Realisation dawns on his face slowly. ‘If you’re Andi . . .’ He trails off.
I think about lying again, saying I switched names with my sister when we were little and I go by Millie, but even to my exhausted brain that story sounds flimsy, so instead I just nod. This is too much to process, all at once. I hear Aaron softly communicating with a cab driver, describing who he needs to wait for at the edge of the pier. Brown curly hair, average build.
‘You’re not Millie.’ Hugh’s voice is hard.
