Derian lunged in front of a cab and it screeched to a stop, spraying her trousers with the melt from yesterday’s snow. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.” She yanked open the back door and jumped in. Aud, close on her heels, yanked the door shut.

“You crazy, lady?” the cabbie shouted, scowling at her in the rearview mirror. “I almost hit you.”

“I knew you wouldn’t. Get me to St. Luke’s in fifteen minutes, and I don’t care how you do it.”

“I couldn’t get you there in fifteen minutes if the streets were empty, and that isn’t going to happen.”

Aud leaned forward. “There’s a hundred-dollar tip for you if you make it happen.”

He shoved the car into gear and shot into traffic, squeezing into line in front of a bus. When he slammed on his brakes to narrowly miss hitting a black stretch limo, Derian and Aud were thrown back against the seat. Brakes screeched and horns blared.

“Maybe you should’ve offered him fifty,” Derian muttered, as Aud, pressed to Derian’s side, struggled to right herself. “We might actually get there alive.”

“We’ll get there. What did they say?”

Derian recounted the doctor’s recommendations.

“Emergency surgery. God, Dere. Everything is happening so quickly.”

“You know Henrietta. She’d want to go all out. And that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“I’m really glad you’re here.” Aud gripped Derian’s hand.

“So am I.” Derian rested their joined hands on her knee. She’d forgotten what it was like to face uncertainty and fear with someone by her side. She thought back to the night before and Emily waiting so patiently for her, despite her exhaustion, despite that they’d been strangers. The memory warmed her. She needed to call Emily. As soon as she saw Henrietta, she’d call Emily.

The cab driver earned his tip even though it took him twenty-two minutes instead of fifteen. After handing the driver his cash, Derian jumped out and held the door for Aud. They hurried across the sidewalk, through the lobby, and to the elevators. Outside the ICU, Derian said, “I’ll be out as soon as I know what’s going on. I don’t think I’ll be long.”

“That’s all right, do whatever you have to do.”

“You don’t have to wait—you must have a busy day ahead.”

Aud smiled, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed Derian’s cheek. “Dere, don’t be an idiot.”

“Okay. Right. I’ll work on that.” Derian turned away.

“Dere,” Aud said quietly behind her, “I’ll have to call Martin.”

Derian looked back over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Because he’s her brother, because it’s my job, and because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Do what you have to do.” She slammed her palm into the red button and it thunked satisfyingly into the wall. The doors whooshed open and she strode in. Martin wouldn’t care, and he wouldn’t come. She put him out of her mind.

Immediately, a young woman with short red hair and maroon scrubs moved to intercept her. “I’m sorry, visiting hours aren’t for—”

“I’m Derian Winfield. My aunt is going to have surgery soon. A Dr. Armstrong—”

“Oh, of course.” She held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Carolyn Wayne, the intensive care fellow. I’ve been looking after your aunt during the night.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yes. Come on, I’ll take you down. She may or may not wake up while you’re there, but she has been lucid for short periods.”

“And the surgery is still scheduled?”

“The OR just called. They’re sending for her now.”

Derian’s stomach tightened. She didn’t know much about surgery, but she knew this was major. And Henrietta, always bigger than life, seemed smaller, diminished, lying so still beneath the light white sheets. Acid burned its way up her chest.

The resident disappeared as Derian leaned over the bed and took Henrietta’s hand. Like yesterday, the metronomic beep of machines, the rhythmic scroll of the digital readouts, the tubes and vials and bags all heightened the surreal sensation of having been catapulted into an alien universe. “Hey, HW. It’s Dere.”

Henrietta lay motionless and Derian rubbed her hand between both of hers. Absolutely certain Henrietta was cataloging every word and action, even if she didn’t show it, Derian reported in the no-nonsense, get-to-the-point way HW had drilled into her when she was young.

“So the doctors think the best way to get your heart tuned up and running optimally is to take you into the chop shop for an overhaul. Something about redirecting the fuel lines. The mechanic—a guy by the name of Armstrong—sounds like he knows what he’s doing, so I told him to go ahead.”

She cleared her scratchy throat. “I really need you back behind the wheel, HW. I think a lot of people do. This is no time to be sitting out the race.”

A furrow formed between Henrietta’s brows and her lids slowly opened. Her eyes wandered for an instant and then found Derian’s. The haze gave way to sharp clarity. “Who’s sitting out?”

Derian laughed, a great weight lifting from her heart. “Just making the most of a rest stop, were you?”

“How bad?”

“Fixable.” Derian kissed her hand. “You’re gonna have surgery in a few minutes.”

“Huh. The agency—”

“Will be there when you get out of here,” Derian said vehemently. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Emily—”

“Emily can take care of everything.” Derian pushed a hand through her hair. “Hell, she’s like a miniature of you.”

“Not true. Softer.” Henrietta’s voice was a weak imitation of her usual full-bodied trumpet.

“That’s what you want everybody to think,” Derian scoffed, “but I know better.”

“She’ll…need…help. Martin—”

“To hell with Martin.” Derian leaned closer. “Listen, stop worrying about the agency. It’s been there a hundred years, and it’ll be there a hundred more. But I’ll do whatever I can, I swear.”

“Good…always counted on you…”

Her eyes drifted close and Derian’s heart twisted. She’d never wanted anyone to count on her, especially when she was afraid she’d disappoint. But she couldn’t say no to Henrietta. “I swear.”


*


Emily didn’t go back to her office but walked directly out of the conference room, down the stairs, and out into morning rush hour, pausing just long enough to grab her coat and purse from her office. She was too angry to think, and if she stayed she was likely to say something she’d regret to one of the staff. No matter how infuriating she found Donatella’s unnecessary presence, she was one of the senior staff members and, as Henrietta’s de facto second, she had to maintain order and keep the office running. If that meant putting up with Donatella Agnelli for the time being, that’s what they’d all have to do until Emily could figure out some other plan. She was a planner. That’s what she did. No matter what challenge confronted her, she didn’t back down. She took her time, sorted out the options, made a plan, and made it happen.

If only she could talk to Henrietta. For the last half dozen years, Henrietta had been her sounding board, professionally and personally, and she hadn’t realized until now just how much she counted on her. If Winfield was her family, Henrietta was the heart. No wonder they all felt so lost.

She cut through the crowd as if guided by radar, reflexively avoiding the slowly ambling groups of early-morning tourists, the commuters as focused as she on getting to their destinations, the throngs of street vendors setting up stands, and delivery people pushing handcarts across the sidewalk laden with cases of beer and boxes of food and all the other commodities that kept New York running twenty-four hours a day. When she finally reached St. Luke’s, slightly out of breath but no longer on the verge of raging, she put Donatella from her mind. Time for all of that later. Now was only about Henrietta. As she pushed through the double doors into the bustling lobby, she wished as she hadn’t in a long time that she could call her mother, just to hear the comforting welcome in her voice and know there was one place in the world everything would be all right. A wish as foolish as wanting to undo the past.

She closed her eyes in the elevator, waiting for the pain to settle into a dull ache in the recesses of her soul, as it always did. Composed again, she followed the crowd into the hall and turned right toward the intensive care unit. Out of nowhere, she thought of Derian. Did her directional dyslexia make something as simple as remembering which way to turn a challenge? What kind of effort did it take to navigate an increasingly complex physical world when faced with an inherent block to one’s place in it? Derian would not want her sympathy, nor did she have any—only respect for a challenge met and conquered. She had never heard or seen one word about Derian’s condition, which only spoke to how well she handled it, since nothing else about her life seemed free from public scrutiny. Emily flushed with unexpected pleasure, realizing Derian had shared something so private with her.

She glanced at her watch, not exactly sure when visiting hours started, but it didn’t really matter. She’d wait.

“Emily?”

Emily peered into the waiting room. “Aud! Good morning.” Even as she spoke, fear flashed through her. “God, is it Henrietta? Has something happened?”

Aud, looking stylish and composed, rose quickly and hurried toward her. “No, no, at least no emergency. But Dere got a call this morning at breakfast, and the surgeons want to operate right away. She’s inside. I haven’t heard anything more than that.”

Emily struggled to decipher the barrage of words. Henrietta. Surgeons. Dere. Breakfast. This morning. Aud and Derian, together. And of course, why not. Grabbing on to her runaway thoughts, she edited the extraneous, what was none of her concern, what didn’t—couldn’t—matter.