The IV tubing wasn’t routine equipment.
The numbers weren’t somebody else’s child’s numbers.
They belonged to Finn.
He looked small under the hospital blanket.
Smaller than he had looked on the beach.
Smaller than an eight-year-old who normally raced everywhere should ever look.
Lydia went straight to him.
“Hey, buddy.”
Finn opened his eyes.
“Can I have water?”
The request nearly broke her.
For days, we had heard that sentence over and over.
Can I have water?
I’m really thirsty.
Another bottle?
At the rental house, it had become background noise.
Now every repetition felt like something his body had been trying desperately to tell us.
Lydia brushed his hair away from his forehead.
“You’re in the right place,” she whispered.
Finn looked toward Shane.
“Are we still going to the beach tomorrow?”
Shane turned his face for a second before answering.
“We’ll worry about the beach later, bud.”
