The Distance Between Lost and Found (28 page)

Still, she wants out of this room.

She's rescued by a head poking around the door. One of the younger nurses. A petite, pretty blonde. “I'm sorry to bother y'all,” she says, “but Rachel Jackson is awake. She's asking to see you.”

Rachel's awake!
If she could, Hallelujah would leap out of bed. “Thanks,” she says to the nurse. “I'll be right there.”

“Room 353,” the nurse says. “Just down the hall. Do you need help? I'll get a wheelchair.”

“A chair would be great,” Hallelujah's dad says, before Hallelujah can even open her mouth.

The blond nurse disappears and is back a minute later wheeling a chair in front of her. Hallelujah swings her legs over the side of the bed, slides down to land carefully on her good foot, and sits. “Thanks,” she says, watching as the nurse transfers her IV bag to the pole sticking up from the back of the chair.

“I'll take you,” Hallelujah's mom says. She's hovering. Her hands are already on the chair, ready to go.

Hallelujah says, gently but firmly, “I kind of want to go by myself. But thanks, Mom. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Her mom steps back. “Are you sure?”

“I can do it. Really.”

Her dad looks over from his chair. “Hallelujah, let your mother take you—”

“No, it's okay. She can go by herself. It's just down the hall.” Hallelujah's mom leans down, kisses the top of Hallelujah's head, and pats her on the back.

Hallelujah wheels to the door. She looks over her shoulder to see both parents watching her. And she feels compelled to take the next step in her opening up, her re-creation of herself. “Later—when we get home, when everything calms down—we need to talk,” she says. “There's a lot I need to tell you.” She wheels out of the room.

The blond nurse points her to the right. Hallelujah rolls down to room 353, near the end of the hall. There's a woman outside the door. Well dressed. Heels. Bobbed hair. She's having an angry, whispered phone conversation. As Hallelujah approaches, she puts her hand over the phone.

“Hallelujah?” she asks.

“Yes, ma'am.”

The woman holds out a hand to shake. Hallelujah takes it. “I'm Jean Wright. Rachel's mom. I can't thank you enough for what you did for my daughter—” She breaks off, listening to an angry buzz from the other end of the phone line. “No, I'm not ignoring you! I'm
talking
to the girl who
saved
our daughter's
life
! So you can just . . .” She moves away. Keeps hissing into the phone.

Hallelujah hesitates, then enters Rachel's room.

It's exactly the same as her own, minus the parental bustling. The TV is on mute. The lights are dim. Rachel is propped up in bed, staring out the window. She looks pale and made of bones. But she turns when she hears Hallelujah's wheelchair.

“Hal,” she says. A ghost of a smile.

“Rachel.” Hallelujah wheels right up to the bedside. She stands and, with effort, hoists herself up onto the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Foggy. Slow. Like my brain's not . . .” Rachel wavers, like she can't find the word. A blush hits her cheeks. Embarrassment. “Sorry,” she says.

“You look great. You sound great.”

“Liar.” Rachel lifts an arm to give Hallelujah a weak punch in the arm. It's like being punched by a kitten. “I look like death,” Rachel says, leaning back, closing her eyes. “And I sound like I'm drunk.”

“You're alive.” Hallelujah leans over to give Rachel a gentle hug. “We all are.”

“Thanks to you. Rock star.”

Out in the hall, Rachel's mom's voice rises to a shout, and then hushes abruptly.

Rachel grimaces, opening her eyes. “My dad just left,” she says. “He had to go back to Nashville. Work thing.”

“He left?”

“He said he's glad I'm safe, and he'll see me when his conference is done. On Tuesday. My mom's letting him have it.”

Another shout. Then a murmur of another voice. Maybe a nurse.

“I'm sorry,” Hallelujah says.

“Thanks. It's not just that he had to go. It's like . . .” Rachel searches again for the words. “I'm just a weapon. All over again. They're fighting about me, but it's not really about me. And she's out there . . .” Her eyes well up.

“. . . and not in here,” Hallelujah finishes. She hugs Rachel again. “She'll calm down.”

“I know.”

They're both quiet for a moment. Then Hallelujah asks, “How long do you have to stay in the hospital?”

“A couple days. They want to make sure whatever's making me sick is out of my system before they let me go.”

“I'll visit. Cheer you up.”

“You better.” Rachel yawns.

“And we'll still see each other, after you go home. Bristol's not that far. We can meet in the middle.”

“Right. In that one McDonald's that represents civilization between here and there.” Rachel cracks a true smile for the first time since Hallelujah came into the room. “Maybe we can go on this hiking thing again next year. What do you say?”

“I am
never
going hiking again.” Hallelujah laughs. Even as she shakes her head, she knows it's a lie. She'll be drawn back to those mountains, to the beauty and openness and lurking sense of danger. She'll just be smarter next time. Plan ahead. For every possibility.

“Or we can do another youth group retreat. I'd put up with the God stuff to see you and Jonah.”

Hallelujah takes a second to think about her response. It isn't just the God comment. It's also that she's not sure when—or if—she'll want to go on another youth group trip. But maybe everything would be okay with Rachel and Jonah there. “It's a deal,” she says.

They sit in silence for another few moments. Hallelujah doesn't know what Rachel's thinking, but for now she's happy to be lost in thought beside her. Even when she sees Rachel start to nod off, she's reluctant to leave.

But then Rachel's mom comes in. She looks exhausted, despite the makeup and the sleek hair and the put-together outfit, and Hallelujah suddenly sees that she went through every bit as much this past week as Hallelujah's own parents did.

“Hallelujah,” Rachel's mom says. “I'm sorry, but Rachel needs to rest. Can you come back later?”

“Sure. Of course.” Hallelujah slides off the bed and gets back into her wheelchair. Then she reaches up and grabs Rachel's hand. “See you soon.”

“Promise?” Rachel is already half-asleep.

“Promise,” Hallelujah echoes, and lets go of Rachel's hand. She nods at Rachel's mom and wheels silently out the door.

H
ALLELUJAH IS HEADING BACK TO HER OWN ROOM WHEN SHE
sees him. Exiting a room a few doors beyond hers. He's walking away from her down the hall.

Luke. Here. Now.

Seeing him freezes her in place. There's a part of her that wants to hide before he spots her. Duck into her room and have her parents close the door and pretend she's asleep. It's too soon to deal with Luke. She's not ready.

As soon as that part of her speaks up, Hallelujah knows what she has to do. She wheels down the hall to her door. “Mom, Dad,” she says, barely slowing down. “I'll be back in a sec.”

She doesn't wait for an answer.

She moves. Luke is standing by the elevators at the end of the hall. His back is to her. He's messing around with his phone while he waits.

Hallelujah stops next to the nurses' station.
You scared off a bear yesterday
, she reminds herself.
You scared a bear, and you hiked out alone, and you got help. You saved Jonah's and Rachel's lives. This is nothing compared to that. Luke is nothing
.

She pushes herself out of the wheelchair up to standing. Wobbles for a second, and then gently places her left foot down. She unhooks her IV bag from its pole and cradles it in one hand. She takes a halting step, her slippered feet shuffling on the cold tile floor. Her left ankle feels stiff and clunky in its splint, but the meds are doing their job: standing on it doesn't hurt. Much.

And she wants to be standing for this. She needs to be standing.

She doesn't say Luke's name until she's right behind him. “Hi, Luke.”

He turns. His eyes widen. His signature smirk falls into place. “Well, look who it is. The hero of the hour.” He looks her up and down. “Nice jammies. You trying to win me back, hot stuff?”

Hallelujah's mind goes blank. For an agonizing second, she just stands there, open-mouthed. She wants to dissolve into the floor.

“I was just in Jonah's room,” Luke says. “Get this: He told me to leave. Said we weren't friends anymore. Did you brainwash him out there? Turn him to the loser side?” Underneath the joking tone, there's venom. Hallelujah can hear it, the threat in his words.

But he can't hurt her. She knows that now.

She finds her voice. “No,” she says quietly. “I didn't brainwash him.”

“Well, that's a relief.” Sarcasm. Dripping from each word.

The elevator next to them dings. The doors open. Two doctors exit, comparing notes on a chart.

“That's my cue,” Luke says. “Good chat. Let's do it again sometime. Or not.” He steps into the elevator.

Hallelujah follows him. The doors close and then they're alone.

She hasn't been alone with Luke since that night six months ago. She presses herself against the wall across from him, heart beating faster. And she forces herself to speak.

“I wanted to tell you that this is over.”

Luke laughs. “This”—he waves his hand between the two of them, then punches the button for the ground floor—“never started.” He makes a face like something big just occurred to him. “You're not gonna try to jump me again, are you?”

Hallelujah ignores the dig. She presses on. “What you've been doing to me—I want it to stop.” She takes in a deep breath. “It's going to stop.”

“That so?”

“Yes.” Hallelujah feels like she's facing that bear all over again. Trying to make herself into the alpha. Confronting fear head-on. She stands up straighter. Looks Luke right in the eyes. Says, in a voice that doesn't waver, not even a little, “I told Jonah and Rachel everything.”

No response. But the mocking smile falters.

“Everything,” Hallelujah repeats.

“You wouldn't,” Luke says.

“I already did. And I'm going to keep on telling people.”

They stare each other down, Hallelujah gripping the handrail on the wall behind her like it's the source of her newfound strength. Luke's eyes are narrow. His shoulders are stiff. His lips are pressed shut, an angry slash across his face.

They reach the ground floor. The elevator doors open. Luke stands completely still for a moment, and then turns on his heel and steps out into the hospital lobby.

And for once, Hallelujah has the last word. “Good chat,” she says to his back. “Let's do it again sometime. Or not.”

She knows he heard her. But he doesn't turn around. She watches him retreat until the elevator doors close between them.

Hallelujah slumps back against the wall, feeling light-headed. A little dizzy. She closes her eyes. It takes her a moment to be able to reach out and press the button to go back to her floor. But even as she's trying to stay standing, shaking a little, she feels her lips curl up into a smile.

She did it.

S
HE SITS, BACK IN HER WHEELCHAIR, OUTSIDE
J
ONAH
'
S
room. Her heart is still racing. Her skin still feels flushed. She keeps smiling; her mouth can't help it. Because she stood up to Luke. She told him off. And soon, more people will know her side of the story.

She wonders what Jonah will say. And whether he'll still want to be with her, now that they're home. There's only one way to find out.

She wheels inside.

It turns out that she doesn't even have to talk. Because when Jonah sees her, he smiles. And his smile is so open and genuine, so unmistakable, that it pulls the nerves right out of her chest.

“Hallie! I was hoping to see you.” He beckons her over with one arm, his IV line dancing in the air. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm okay. How are
you
feeling?” She rolls her chair to sit next to his bed.

“Like my leg got eaten by a lawn mower,” Jonah says, making a face. “And that's
with
the pain meds.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. The doctors say I'm gonna be fine. Slow recovery, but I should be ready for sports again in the fall. And I'll have one heck of a scar. And hey, if you hadn't pulled me out of the creek, and scared off that bear, and hiked out and got help . . .” He fades off. “You're like a superhero or something. You know that?”

“I'm not,” she says. But it gives her a warm glow inside that he thinks so.

Then they both speak at once:

“I have to tell you—” Jonah.

“You won't believe what—” Hallelujah. She gulps down her words. “You first.”

“Okay. I wanted you to know that I'm not friends with Luke anymore. He came in here earlier, and he started going on and on about how us getting lost and the retreat getting called off messed up his chances to hook up with that girl Brittany, and I was just—” Jonah shakes his head, looking disgusted. “I was done. So I made him leave.”

“I know,” Hallelujah murmurs.

“You know?”

“I—I saw Luke in the hallway. I followed him to the elevators. He accused me of brainwashing you.”

Jonah lets out a snort of laughter.

“And then I—I—Jonah, I did it. Told him I'd told you and Rachel the truth about what happened that night, and that I was going to tell everyone else, too. I told him he wasn't going to mess with me anymore. And he just—he just shut up and walked away!” She shakes her head, still a little disbelieving.