Page 51 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Veronica had no idea where the Chelsea Hospital was, but she opened the location function on her phone and found the pin for Mariah. She donned warm clothes, aware of the dithering fear of getting lost on the way and being completely marooned in London without a penny. Because she was still 100 percent broke.

She couldn’t take an Uber because it was connected to her now-canceled credit card. The credit card Mariah had given her the other day was probably around here somewhere, but it felt weird to go riffling through her boss’s things, even if that boss was a very lost twenty-five-year-old. She did look on the dresser and nightstand, scuffling the papers and receipts aside, but found nothing.

Damn, damn, damn. She didn’t have any way to reach Henry, which seemed an oversight, but she couldn’t fix it now. Could she bill a cab to the hotel? She called down to the desk. “I can’t bill a taxi,” the young woman said. “But I can call a car for you. Will that do?”

“Yes. Thank you. It’s kind of urgent.”

“I’ll call you when it arrives.”

When the car came, she climbed in with a gigantic sense of impostor syndrome, wishing she’d taken a little time to change her clothes to be more presentable.

But the driver was calm and professional, and the drive was not terribly long. She watched the city pass by with a sense of anxiety. What had happened?

She hurried inside the doors of the hospital. A waiting room was sparsely populated with people. It was very quiet. She went to the desk to ask about Mariah. Another woman came from the bowels of the hospital and took her down a long hallway where more people waited, looking resigned. One woman had a tear-stained face and a crumpled tissue in her hand. Veronica looked away.

They went through a set of double doors, and the quiet exploded in a swarm of noise. Banks of beds divided by walls and curtains lined both sides of the room, with a nurse’s station in the middle. A wail came from somewhere near the back, a child, and everywhere people were moving here and there, calls going out.

Mariah was in a bed near the far end. She looked pale, her hair tangled. Veronica hurried over and took her hand. “Hey,” she said. “How’re you doing?”

She shook her head, squeezing her hand back. “So not good.”

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“They say not?”

A nurse entered, brisk and kind. “She’s going to be fine, Mum. A right solid panic attack.”

“I’m not her mom,” Veronica said at the same time Mariah said, “She’s not my mom. I told you she’s dead.”

“Not me, you didn’t, but never mind.” She checked Mariah’s pulse. “Better. You can take her home.”

“Wait!” Mariah cried. “I’m not ready to go! I think I might need more drugs.”

“You’ve had plenty, and you’ve had a lot to drink. We wouldn’t want to kill you, would we?” The nurse said evenly, pulling out the IV in Mariah’s hand. “Drink plenty of water and have a good sleep, and you’ll be right as rain tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Veronica said. “What should we do if the panic comes back?”

“You’ll need to see her doctor when you get back home.”

“I have stuff,” Mariah slurred, waving a hand. “Xanax and shit.”

Veronica frowned, not reassured. What brought the panic on this time? “Let’s get you back to the hotel, and you can get some sleep.”

Mariah didn’t move as the woman bustled out. “I think we should call Henry.”

Veronica looked at her watch. “It’s nearly one a.m. Let’s take a cab.”

“But I need him.” Her voice was hushed. “His car is safe.”

Veronica paused, considering the angles. Mariah was very high, whether by self-ingested or hospital-administrated means. Her panic had been severe enough she’d been brought to the emergency room. There would be little point in reasoning with her, and, honestly, what did she know about the depth of their relationship? Maybe he’d want to be informed. “I need his number.”

Mariah listlessly handed over her phone, swiped open to the contacts. Veronica typed the number into her own phone. “I need it anyway.” On the other end, the phone rang several times, and she felt bad about waking him. He answered on the fifth ring. “Is this Veronica?”

“Yeah, sorry to wake you.”

“You didn’t. Is everything okay?”

“Not really. Mariah is physically fine, but I’m at Chelsea Hospital with her. She was brought here by paramedics with a panic attack. I was going to take her home in a taxi, but she said she would feel safer with your car.”