Page 55 of Atlas
“Yes. Can you? How are you feeling?”
Diane answered for me. “She has a concussion.”
“Yes, Brian told me.”
“But I can still travel. The doctor said it was fine.”
Diane raised a brow. “If you take it slow.”
“I will. I promise.”
When she looked at me like a mother-hen, I crossed my arms. “It’s not like I’m going to Ireland to run a marathon. I’m interviewing people. That’s not strenuous at all.”
“Maybe you should go with me another time,” Atlas suggested.
“No.” I teared up. “I won’t let Niklavs take Europe away from me, and you said it yourself; it’s rare that your siblings are in the same place. I want to do this.”
“What do Atlas’ siblings have to do with anything?” Diane asked with confusion on her face.
I bit my lip, afraid that I’d said too much, but Atlas answered without hesitation. “Jolene feels that interviewing them about their time in the cult will provide useful answers.”
“Oh, I see.”
I stared at Diane. “You knew?”
“Diane and I have worked together for many years, and it has come up before.”
A knock on the door sounded and a grave-looking doctor around sixty came in.
“Finally. Are you here to dismiss me?” Atlas asked.
“I heard you’ve asked to go home.”
I moved off the bed to give the doctor and Atlas a chance to talk without me in the way.
“Yes, I was ready to leave hours ago.”
The doctor looked down at a tablet in his hands. When he resumed his conversation with Atlas, he took off his glasses and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Still no feeling of pressure or double vision?”
“No.”
“Blurred vision or spots?”
“No.”
“All right. We’re sending you home, but if you feel any strange symptoms contact us at any time.”
“Understood.” Atlas pushed the cover off and swung his feet to the side while speaking to me. “I call dibs on the left-overs from your chicken pot-pie. I’ve been thinking about it for the last two hours.”
“It’s yours.” I smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was such a small and silly thing, but after all the horror we’d been through, it felt significant.
There would be so much for us to talk about and process, but his focus was on his last home-cooked meal. A meal that I’d made for him.
“Do you want a ride home?” Diane asked me.
I was just about to tell her that I was staying with Atlas when I remembered that the only reason I had slept there was because of Niklavs, and now he was in police custody. I should be happy that I could go back home now, so why did I feel a pinch of disappointment?
“I’ll take her home, Diane. You’ve done enough.”
