Page 181 of The Secret We Keep
“Paddy,” Pops calls out, opening the gate which has swung shut. “Get her in the car, we’ll take her to the hospital.”
I nod, my hold on Morgan just as strong as hers is on me. Sliding into the back seat with her safe in my arms, Pops closes the door behind me.
We rock together, her cries blood curdling, until her body eventually goes limp in my arms.
It's a typewriter, not illegal contraband
Paddy
TWOWEEKSLATER
The past few weeks have been a blur. Filled with endless calls and sleepless nights, I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going. The only thing I can be certain of is that every day, for a couple of hours, I get to see my girl in the flesh.
Half of the village caught wind of what happened the night I found Morgan in the graveyard. I haven’t spoken to anyone about it, unsure of what to say. But they’d know the truth of her condition by now, and nothing I could say could make it better, anyway.
Because it hurts, knowing that my biggest blessing lives with the cruellest curse.
Checking her straight into a mental health rehabilitation facility, she was deemed too sick to stay on the acute ward. Although she could tell the doctors Holly had gone, coming to terms with how she’s been living has been an entirely different struggle for her.
Stepping out of my car, I make my way inside the small rehabilitation centre I found and recommended to Bill.
“Good afternoon,” the woman behind the desk greets me, clipboard in hand.
I subtly wave at her. “Esme.”
She initially frowns but then smiles when she recognises me. “Paddy.”
I’ve called and visited every day; I’d be concerned if she didn’t know me by now. “Hi.” I smile.
“She had a good night’s sleep. But she asked a lot of questions this morning.”
I tap the counter with the palm of my hand. “Thanks for the heads up.”
“You’re welcome.”
Pointing past the main desk, I ask, “Can I go through?” Each time I visit, Morgan is always in one place and one place only.
“Of course,” Esme says, looking as if she’s going to say something else. Realising, she shakes her head. “I’m sorry. Most patients who come in here don’t have someone willing to come by every day. Morgan’s a lucky lady.”
I give her a light-hearted smile. “I’m the lucky one.”
Her face beams with sincerity as she presses the buzzer for me. “Go right through.”
I walk through the opening double doors and head out to the garden. It’s mid-November. The air has a bite to it. Still, sitting underneath the apple tree with her blanket is the woman who completes me.
Walking up behind her, I lower my lips to her hair, which is tied up in a messy ponytail. “Curly fries.”
Her hand comes up to mine on her shoulder. “Paddy O’Keefe.”
“How are you today?” I move around her and take a seat.
“You called me this morning,” she laughs at me. “Not much has changed in a few hours.”
“I’d have called you more if I was allowed.”
She sits a little straighter. “You’re mad.”
I frown at her.
