The Realtor by Sonya Bateman

Author:Sonya Bateman [Bateman, Sonya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

I head out to Hayhurst right after I bring Alyssa to school, arriving firmly in the Willa-less window of time. Teryn isn’t at the nurses’ station today, and all of the staff seems strangely subdued. But at least Brad seems happy to see me.

Hopefully, that means I didn’t imagine what happened the last time I was here.

He’s sitting in the wheelchair this morning instead of the bed, and he wheels toward me and stands for a hug. That convinces me the other day wasn’t my imagination. We hold each other a little longer this time, and it feels so good that I want to cry.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re tired of hearing it, but I have to say that you really are in amazing shape,” I say as I let go reluctantly.

He settles back in the chair with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess. My parents made sure I had the best coma therapy that money can buy.” His smile is bitter, and I’m not sure whether it’s directed at the coma, or his parents. “Please, come in and sit down.”

I follow him to the chair by the bed. As I take a seat, he says, “I’m glad you decided to come back, after my mother’s outburst. I really hate the way she gets sometimes.”

I shrug and smile. “Well, I didn’t come to see your mother.”

The way he looks at me stirs up things I haven’t felt in years, and I have to glance away.

“So,” he says after a slightly awkward pause. “Did you hear about Teryn Holmes?”

I’m not sure how, but suddenly I know that something terrible happened to her. Cold shivers down my back and tightens my skin as I say, “What about her?”

Brad shakes his head slowly. “She died. Right here at the hospital,” he says.

“Oh, no!” I blurt, completely shocked in spite of my premonition, or whatever it was. She’s dead, just like that? It doesn’t seem possible. “How? What happened? I saw her Tuesday morning when I came to visit, and she . . . well, she seemed fine.”

My voice starts to thicken as the guilt sets in. She’d asked me to have coffee with her, and I couldn’t be bothered because I was too scared of Willa. And now we’ll never be able to catch up. God, I’m such a pathetic piece of shit.

“They’re not sure how yet, but it actually happened the day you were here. Tuesday,” Brad says. “I guess they found her on a couch in the staffroom. She’d been dead for hours by the time they figured it out, because everyone thought she was sleeping and left her alone. It was pretty awful.”

I let out a soft groan. For the moment, I can’t form words. It is awful . . . and she was so young, just like Rosalie.

Oh, God. She had something else in common with Rosalie, too.

“You should be careful, Celine,” Brad says in a tone that tries and fails to be light. I can hear the misery, and maybe even fear, below the surface.

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