A Safe Space (Someone Else's Fairytale Book 4) (10 page)

W
HEN THE PICTURE
settles, it’s on a face so battered that I can barely make out the little girl’s features. A bruise covers part of her forehead and she has a black eye. Tape and tubing cover most of her nose and obscure her mouth.

“Hi Becky,” I say as if I don’t see any of that.

“Hi.” She adjusts her bed so that she is able to sit up more.

“I’m Lizzie. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Thank you for calling.”

“Of course. It looks like you’ve had a rough time.”

“I’m gonna die.” She bursts into tears.

Cleo has her smartphone in hand and swipes away at its screen frantically. When she looks up, she wears an expression of pure horror.

“You’re not gone yet,” I say to Becky. “Give me just a moment.”

It’s not an ideal time to break away from the conversation, but I have to find out what’s up with Cleo. I step aside and look at her.

“I am so sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t know it was a liver issue, and I just looked up what it takes for a liver transplant. You can’t do a donor drive for that. You need a deceased donor or a relative willing to give up part of their liver. I mean, that’s not the sort of thing a stranger would do. I should have vetted this one. I screwed it up completely.”

“No,” I say, “you didn’t.”

“But you can’t save her life.”

“I usually can’t.”

“That’s…that’s…” Her eyes widen.

“Life,” I finish. “That’s the way it goes.” I step back in front of the screen. “Sorry about that. So how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” says Becky.

“I’m sure. You comfortable?”

“Right after they give me painkillers, yeah. Otherwise, no.”

“Becky,” says Cleo, “how big is your family?”

“I have three sisters,” says the little girl, tilting her head at the sound of my personal assistant’s voice.

“And have they all been tested to see if they’re a match for you?” Cleo asks.

I wince.
Don’t
, I think. The hospital would have already covered this.

“My older sister is, but she’s too scared. She has nightmares about dying in surgery.”

“Where is she? Is she at the hospital?” Cleo steps in beside me.

Becky turns her attention to her. “Um, I don’t know.”

“Do you know her phone number?”

I step gently on my personal assistant’s toe and hope she gets the message. This is completely inappropriate.

“Yeah,” says Becky.

“Give it to me.”

I’m not sure what to do. The nurse appears to have left the room, which was probably a mistake. I watch as Becky picks up a cell phone from her bedside table, calls up her sister’s number, and recites the digits.

“Okay, sorry to interrupt,” Cleo tells me. “Thank you, Becky!” She steps aside and puts her phone to her ear.

I’m certain this is an ethics violation, calling up the older sister like this, but I’m not really sure how to get Cleo to stop. I can do confrontation, but I hate it, and tonight I didn’t plan on it.

“Hello?” Cleo says into her phone. “Hey. My name’s Cleo. I work for Lizzie Warner? Yeah. Listen, I’ve just got to tell you about the most amazing thing that ever happened to me. My brother almost died when he was little, and I saved his life.”

Yeah…okay
. I turn to look at Becky, who looks back at me with confusion. “What’s she doing?”

“Um. Calling your sister.”

“Why?”

“To talk to her. Cleo was a bone marrow donor for her brother, so she just wants to see if she can help your sister out.”

“Oh.”

I shrug. “I know your sister’s probably made up her mind, but Cleo just wants to try, you know?”

“That’s really nice of her.”

I nod. “Yeah, it is. I wish there was something more I could do.”

“You called me.”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“It’s the least I could do. Is there anything else you need? I mean…I’ve got stuff I can send you. Pink glitter pens and…” I let my voice trail off.

“Oh yeah? Can I have one?”

“Sure.”

“Can I have a picture of you?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Will you sign it?”

I nod.

“To me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

It breaks my heart that these little things mean so much to her right now. Situations like this highlight how ridiculous the world is. I pretended to be someone else on television. I don’t deserve these precious moments with a girl so near to the end, but if this is what she wants I’ll give it, just so I can feel like I did something.

“Oh, no, they test to make sure you’re able to undergo surgery,” says Cleo softly. “What, did you think they’d just knock you out and drag you into the operating room?” She laughs.

I glance over at her.

“Did the doctor not go over this stuff with you? Seriously, who’s the doctor? Is he there? Can I talk to him? Sorry, her? No, see, you have to lay it all out for them. Any questions you have, they have to answer… No, don’t think about stuff like that. Their time costs what it costs, but you’ve gotta make sure you know everything you can… Right. Seriously? Donating to my brother was the most amazing experience ever. You don’t get a whole lot of chances to do something that really matters in life, you know? Not like this. Definitely go for it. It is
so
worth it.”

I look back at Becky, who looks exhausted. I gather she can’t hear what Cleo is saying.

“Yeah,” says Cleo, “go call the doctor now. Find a nurse or someone and tell them what you want. Right now, yep. You hang up this phone and go for it. Okay? Okay.” She holds the phone to her ear for a moment longer, then lowers it and gives me a thumbs-up.

She got the sister to reconsider? I don’t dare mention this to Becky.

“Is there anything else you want?” I ask the little girl.

“Will you pray for me?”

“Of course.”

“All right.”

“Becky?” comes a voice from offscreen. “I’m going to
try
, okay? I don’t know if I can do it, but I’m gonna meet with the doctor now.”

“You are?”

“Yeah. Yes. If I can do it, I will.”

“That your sister?” I ask.

Becky nods as another figure steps into the frame and squeezes her shoulder. I just see a curtain of dark hair and a white T-shirt, until the person turns and looks at the camera. “Hi, I’m Bethany.”

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey, Bethany!” Cleo calls out, stepping into the frame.

“Hey, Cleo. Thank you
so
much. I feel so much better about all this. Okay, where’s the nurse? I’m gonna go get her to call the doctor.” She darts offscreen.

Becky bursts into tears. “I might not die?”

“You keep fighting,” I tell her. “Stay strong and let your sister talk to the doctor.”

“Okay.”

“And good luck, all right?”

“Thank you.”

“Becky,” says Cleo, “I’m going to call you again in a couple of days if that’s all right? See how things are going?”

“Okay.”

“Becky, honey,” comes another voice offscreen. “You must be tired. You ready to say goodbye?”

“Yeah.”

“Bye, Becky,” I say.

“Bye.”

The image jerks and there’s a flash of ceiling tiles and a light blue curtain, then I find myself looking at the nurse again as she stands in the hallway. “Can we hire you?” she says.

“Um, I think you mean my personal assistant, Cleo. She’s—”

“You pulled off a miracle, do you know that? No one else was able to reach the sister. She’s been so scared and walled off. Anyway, I’ll let you go. I just wanted to thank you.”

“Thank Cleo,” I repeat, but the connection cuts out before I’m done.

I look over at my personal assistant.

“Please don’t fire me,” she begs. “I had to do something. I know that was
totally
out of line, but I had to try.”

I rub my forehead with the heel of my hand. “In general, you don’t go call people up and dig into their personal, medical business.”

“I know.”

“Just avoid getting in trouble with lawyers and you can do what you just did anytime you want.”

For a moment she blinks, letting that sink in. “Really?”

“Yeah. You may have saved a life there.”

Cleo squeals and pumps her fists in the air. “This is the best job
ever
. Thank you
so
much.” She throws her arms around me.

I hug back and let her have this moment. She’ll learn soon enough that they aren’t all like this.

The next day, when I’m in the recording studio, a courier drops off the next script of
Clues.
I pull it out of its envelope and flip through it. Apparently, I’m to begin this episode in leggings and a sports bra, doing yoga, and that’s how Kevin’s character, Garrett, first sees me. Forty-one pages later, we’re supposed to kiss passionately and pull each other’s clothes off.

I flip it shut and lay it aside. “Okay, I’m ready to do the next one,” I say to the sound engineer and producer.

I got lucky. My old producer from my Veronica Pryce days agreed to come help me get a few tracks laid down.

Once I’m back on the other side of the glass with my headphones on and the mic in front of my mouth, I shut my eyes and force out all thoughts of my television show.

The music for
Waiting to Get Over You
begins and I let myself sway to it as I wait for my cue. When it comes, I open my mouth and sing. The lyrics made me melancholy when I read them. They’re so sad and full of longing. When I sing them, though, the full force of emotion hits me. This is a song about wanting someone you can never have.

It makes me wonder about Devon and his love life. Does he use women because he had his heart broken once? Or am I grasping at straws because I want to excuse him for being a terrible person?

Just focus and sing
, I think. My stomach feels like it’s been in an acid bath for a week, which I suppose it has. My stress levels have climbed steadily since my show got put on hold, and right now I know I could throw up if I let myself.

The following morning, I make it two steps in the door of the gym before someone grasps my wrist and hauls me into the broom closet. Kyra doubled back to get something out of her car, so I guess I was easy pickings all by myself. The door shuts behind me and the light winks on.

“One of these times,” I say without turning around, “someone is gonna see you doing that and we better hope they aren’t paparazzi.”

“Sorry,” says Devon.

I look back over my shoulder at him. I should be freaking out, but the truth is, I’m relieved. I’ve come to feel comfortable in this closet. It’s a good place to hide, and Devon’s always the nice version of himself here.

He stands with his arms folded. “Are you all right?”

I rub my forehead with my fingers. “Why is everyone asking me that this morning?”

“You look like you’re about to report for your own execution.”

“It’s been a rough week.”

“Sure.”

“At work.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“And outside of work.”

He doesn’t laugh at me and my babbling, but it’s obvious that he notices.

I put together the best dodge I can. “Yeah, I Skyped a fan in the hospital the other night. Her prognosis wasn’t good. I mean…it may be better now but…I don’t know. It’s always hard.”