Page 47 of The Sound of Forever
Rayne stirs weakly, a faint cry escaping her lips, and I drop to my knees beside her. My fingers brush her damp hair back, the strands clinging to her flushed skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “We’re going to the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”
Keane steps into the room, speaking into his phone. “Rowan, it’s me,” he says, his words clipped and urgent. “I need your help. Rayne, my neighbor, is sick, she has to get to Seattle Memorial immediately. Can you arrange something?”
I strain to hear the response, my heart pounding. Keane nods once, then again. Relief washes over his features, and he exhales slowly. “Perfect. Thanks. I owe you big time.” He hangs up and turns to me. “There’s a helicopter already at Lavender Moon Farms. I’ll drive us there—it’s less than fifteen minutes away.”
Fifteen minutes feels impossibly long, but it’s better than the alternative.
“Thank you,” I whisper, clutching Rayne’s hand.
Keane crouches beside me, his gaze steady and unwavering. “We’ll get her there,” he says, his tone quiet but resolute. “I promise.”
I want to believe him, but the fear gnawing at me refuses to loosen its grip. “What if . . . what if it’s too late?” The question slips out before I can stop it, barely more than a whisper.
Never in my life have I dealt with a sick child. This is probably the scariest thing I’ve been through in a long time.
“It won’t be,” he says firmly, his presence unshakable. “Rowan’s arranging everything. A doctor will be waiting the moment we land. We’ve got this.”
I cling onto his confidence, because honestly, that’s all I have right now.
Keane moves with purpose, gathering what we’ll need without hesitation—a blanket, Rayne’s bunny, my bag. He hands me the essentials, pausing to make sure I’m keeping up.
When he returns to Rayne, he lifts her gently into his arms, her tiny frame pressing against him. She lets out a faint whimper, and he murmurs something soft and soothing, words I can’t quite make out but that seem to calm her.
“Let’s go,” he says, nodding toward the door.
I follow him, my heart racing as I clutch the bag and Rayne’s bunny, my fingers tightening around the worn fabric.
Keane secures Rayne in the backseat, his movements careful and deliberate. I slide in beside her, my hands hovering over her, unsure if I should touch her or let her rest.
“Hold on, sweet girl,” I whisper, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. “You’re going to be all better soon.”
Keane climbs into the driver’s seat, his jaw set as he starts the car. He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine with a steady determination.
“It’s going to be okay” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Never in mylife had I flown in a helicopter. Any other day I would’ve enjoyed the trip, but right now I’m just holding onto Ray and hoping this will pass soon. Thirty minutes after take-off, the helicopter lands on the hospital rooftop. Within moments, a team of medical staff rushes forward, with an efficiency I’ve never seen in my life. They whisk Rayne away on a stretcher, leaving me frozen in place as the doors swing shut behind them.
I should follow. I should demand answers. But my legs feel like they’re stuck in cement, my mind unable to catch up with the whirlwind.
“Julie.” Keane’s voice pulls me back. He’s standing a few steps away, watching me carefully. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” I manage to ask.
“The waiting room,” he states.
I let him guide me through the maze of hallways. The fluorescent lights overhead are too bright, and the sterile smell of antiseptic clings to everything. Keane stays close, his hand hovering near the low part of my back as though he’s ready to catch me if I stumble.
When we finally reach the waiting room, it’s eerily quiet except for the low hum of the vending machines and the occasional shuffle of footsteps. Keane gestures to a row of chairs, and I sink into one, my body slumping from exhaustion and worry.
“She’s in good hands,” he reassures me. “She’ll be running again by next week.”
I nod again, staring at the floor. “She’s all I have,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “If anything happens to her . . .”
Keane leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Nothing’s going to happen to her,” he says firmly. “She’s a fighter, just like her aunt.”
The words catch me off guard, and I glance at him, surprised. “You barely know me,” I say, a faint, bitter laugh escaping. “How do you know I’m a fighter?”
He meets my gaze, his eyes steady and unwavering. “Because you didn’t hesitate to do whatever it took to get her here,” he says simply. “That’s what fighters do.”
