“To the chef of the greatest empanadas I’ve ever tasted,” Carlos said, lifting his bottle to Rosa.

“Here, here,” Jiminy agreed.

Rosa smiled, reassured from her spying that she had nothing to fear. Though she wasn’t positive what these two meant to each other, she was grateful that they meant her no harm. The rest really wasn’t any of her business.

Outside, the night sky was clear. Jiminy threw her arms straight up in a “V” as she dropped her head back to take in the stars. Carlos could tell she was a little tipsy. She twirled once and grabbed his arm to steady herself.

“Whoops, sorry,” she laughed.

Her hand was warm against his skin.

“I better head home,” she declared, so sweet and straightforward.

He caught her arm before she could move away.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Why don’t you stay?”

Through her beer haze, Jiminy was surprised. She hadn’t thought of Carlos as a romantic prospect. She hadn’t thought of anyone besides Bo, with whom she was still completely preoccupied. She was certainly in awe of Carlos, and she longed to be respected and appreciated by him, but she hadn’t explored how being appreciated by him would manifest itself. She hadn’t envisioned anything physical beyond a pat on the head or a chaste kiss on the cheek that would be more high-five than high passion. She’d half-pictured Carlos lifting her up by her waist and swinging her around. None of these images warranted more than a G rating from the Imagination Picture Association.

But now here they were, and he was moving closer in order to . . . what? Kiss like actual adults? She wasn’t sure she wanted that, though she couldn’t help but feel excited.

Before she had sorted out exactly how to handle the situation, they were startled by the screech of sirens.

Bo had been to Fayeville Hospital a handful of times for broken bones and visits to ailing relatives, but this was his first time on the premises since he’d begun his medical training. When he envisioned himself as a doctor, he pictured working someplace far from Fayeville, but he did harbor a secret fantasy of being begged to return to perform a complicated operation for which someone needed the very best pediatric surgeon around. He imagined getting the call and magnanimously deciding to return to a town that had never made him feel welcome or valued. He’d show up, perform a medical miracle, and then leave again, leaving them in awe of his mind-boggling talent. Bo turned this fantasy over in his brain again as he crossed the parking lot and opened the door into the small waiting room that was filled with people he knew.

He saw Jiminy first, which didn’t surprise him. His eyes were trained to seek her out, it seemed. And after all, she was the one who’d called and asked him to come.

She looked like she’d been there all night, which now that he thought about it, she probably had. She was wearing a man’s button-down shirt over a sundress and flip-flops, and her long dark hair was gathered in a messy bun speared by a pencil.

Nearby sat Jean Butrell and Walton Trawler, bent over a book of crosswords. Jean’s eyes were red and puffy, and Walton looked exhausted with the strain of distracting and comforting her. Bo had heard that they were a couple, but this was the first evidence he’d seen of it.

Sitting across from them, alone, was his great-aunt Lyn, who’d come with the list of Willa’s medicines. She seemed elsewhere when Bo looked into her eyes. Mentally vacant. Bo wondered where she’d gone.

“How is she?” Bo asked the room.

Jiminy looked up.

“Not stable yet,” she said. “She’s crashed three times and they said we still might lose her.”

Jean let out a tiny wail.

“I’m so sorry,” Bo said. “Heart attack?”

“And a stroke,” Jiminy nodded. “Thank God she had time to call Jean before it got too bad.”

“Not the kind of call you expect at midnight,” Jean sobbed. “I could barely hear her, her voice was so weak.”

“You weren’t home with her?” Bo asked.

Jiminy shook her head, looking down at the floor, thinking of all the germs and pain that had been spilled there.

The doors opened behind Bo, and Carlos walked in with a tray of coffees and a bag of donuts from the new café at HushMart.

“I’ve got an extra coffee if you want it,” Carlos said to Bo as he passed the cups around and took the seat next to Jiminy.

“No, thanks, I’m all set,” Bo said slowly, looking from Carlos’s white undershirt to the oversized button-down Jiminy was wearing.

Jiminy wouldn’t meet his gaze. She was still staring at the floor, and her cheeks were burning. Nothing had actually happened with Carlos, but Jiminy still felt guilty, and this confused her.

“Come sit here,” Lyn said suddenly.

Everyone else turned because it was the first thing she’d said in hours. Lyn was looking at Bo, stretching her arm out toward him.

“Come sit next to me.”

“I’ll be right there,” Bo replied, before turning back to Jiminy.

“Was there something you needed?” he asked her.

He’d assumed when she called him that she needed something from him specifically, but perhaps she’d found it elsewhere. He hadn’t expected her to move on so quickly.

“I was worried about Lyn,” Jiminy said softly. “We’re all upset, but she seemed to just switch herself off and go blank.”

Bo nodded. Jiminy finally looked at him and he could see anguish in her eyes. He turned away and walked to the other side of the room, where he sunk into a chair next to his great-aunt, feeling more related to her than ever before; neither of them could be comforted.

Jiminy resumed staring at the ground. She longed to be next to Bo. If it were up to her, she’d still be with him, but it wasn’t. He’d ended their relationship, and she’d been forced to accept that. As unhappy as she was about it.

“Did you hear back from your mom?” Carlos asked.

She shook her head.

“I left word with the cruise ship company. And gave them the emergency room number to pass along to her.”

“I haven’t done anything about the interviews we had set up for today,” Carlos said quietly. “But I can postpone them till tomorrow. Or even later.”

“No, you go,” Jiminy answered. “Too much time has been wasted already, and we don’t know how much we’ve got left.”

Her grandmother had reminded them of that. As the clock ticked on, who knew who else they might lose?

Carlos nodded.

“I’ll come back when they’re through,” he said, placing a steady hand on Jiminy’s shoulder.

“You want your shirt back?” she asked.

Carlos shook his head.

“You’ll be cold in this AC, you keep it.”

Carlos squeezed her shoulder, offering a snatch of added warmth, then pulled away. Out of the corner of his eye, Bo watched him leave.

A Latina in orderly scrubs pushed through the doors that separated the waiting room from the rest of Fayeville Hospital, and Jiminy sat up straighter, expecting an update. But the woman avoided eye contact as she set about rearranging the magazines and picking up trash from the floor. Jiminy slumped back into her chair, despondent once more.

Across from her, Jean had gotten a new round of quiet sobs under control. She stood up, gripped her loose tunic at its hem, and tugged downward to smooth it over her slacks. The motion seemed to give her confidence, which she used for forward momentum.

“I just need to use the ladies’ room,” Jean said to Walton, and whoever else might be listening.

Near Jiminy’s chair, she stumbled and nearly fell. Jiminy leapt up and caught her shoulder. Jean was embarrassed.

“I don’t do well without sleep,” she explained. “I’m feeling so drained.”

“Let me help you,” Jiminy replied.

Jean leaned against her, and the two of them made their way to the restroom door.

Inside, Jiminy heard Jean sobbing in her stall and worked to hold back her own tears. She felt raw and fragile, worried ragged.