Chapter 29 January 14th The shower feels amazing. My skin is pink and raw from scrubbing off layers of dirt and island grime, and I can feel the warmth of the scalding-hot water all the way down to my bones. The tiny hotel-sized shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom don't do much for my hair, but at least it's no longer tangled and greasy. If I close my eyes to avoid the mirror, I almost feel like myself. There's no sound in my room, all my alarms and machines turned off to free me for the shower, and moving my arm without an IV for the first time since yesterday afternoon is surprisingly liberating. It's still early, the beginning of the shift with my new nurse, Elizabeth, but with the scant amount of sleep I got last night, it might as well still be yesterday. Perusing the bag of skincare my mom had delivered, care of a Neiman Marcus salesperson, along with a fresh set of clothes this morning, I settle on a simple moisturizer and call it a day. Normally, I'd work my way through a painstaking one-hundred-step routine, complete with serums, moisturizers, treatments, and makeup, and I'd blow-dry my hair section by section and smooth it out with the precision of a stylist. But this morning, I just...don't care. I towel off my hair until it's damp and let it hang loose around my shoulders. My skin feels tight from the shower, but I can't muster the energy to do anything about it. Thirteen days on the island stripped away a lot of things, and apparently, my meticulous grooming habits were one of them. As I pull a sweatshirt over my head and walk out of the bathroom, I'm hit with a memory of Henry's handsome bearded face, cherishing the peeling skin of my nose and chest. I hadn't brushed my hair in days, my face was bare, and my body crusted with building salt and sweat, and it didn't matter. He could see me. Looking at myself in the mirror, I find it hard to imagine how. I shake the thought away as I step back into the hospital room and tuck my tattered sweater into the hospital-provided plastic bag with my other belongings. It isn't much-a dirty orange bikini, the waist pack I packed in vain, and an utterly ruined pair of Golden Goose shoes. The door swings open after a manic set of knocks, and June, Beau, and both my parents trail inside in a single-file line. Juniper is the first to pull me in for a hug, and now that I'm standing with two entirely free arms, I don't hesitate to wrap my arms around her shoulders in return. "Good morning," I say with a small laugh when she doesn't let go. Beau pulls her gingerly away, and I search the two of them carefully, my eyebrows pulling together. "Where's Addy?" "We left her with a sitter this morning. I wanted to get up and go get your phone as soon as the store opened, but then Henry called and said his assistant Cara was already taking care of it." "You talked to Henry?" I ask, my voice undeniably hopeful. "Yeah. Last night and then again this morning. He's been asking how you are." "He has?" I want to know more, to ask what Beau's told him about me and if there's any way we can arrange to go to his floor and see him, but before I can, the door swings open again. Five older women-whom I know very well-march in, armed with balloons, flowers, and gift bags. I'm surprised to see them, given how tight I've been told the security is to get in here, but knowing their connections with the whole Miami judicial scene, I shouldn't be. I doubt there's a single door in the whole county these bad-ass geriatrics couldn't get in if they wanted to. "Oh, Avery!" Ethel exclaims, rushing to my bedside. "We thought we lost you! But we saw you on the news! The news, Avery!" Blanche, Dottie, Joanne, and Sarabeth follow close behind, all dressed to the nines in Chanel tweed, Burberry trench coats, and Yves Saint Laurent blouses. I know their wardrobes by heart because I picked out every piece. "We had no idea what happened to you, Avery!" Sarabeth exclaims as the five of them hover around me so tightly, I end up pushed back into sitting on my bed. "We all tried to call you a hundred times, and then Blanche saw you on the news-saying you were missing!" Dottie moves to grab my hand. "Honey, we were so worried about you." "So worried," Ethel adds as she reaches out to run her hands through my hair. "Well, there's no need to worry," I tell them. "I'm back and I'm okay." "Goodness, Avery," Blanche says on a dramatic exhale of air while she clutches her pearls-literal Tiffany pearls. "You gave us such a scare." "Don't you ever do that again," Dottie chimes in, wagging a finger at me. "Never again," Ethel agrees. "I swear, you must have one thousand missed calls and text messages between the five of us." "I would," I answer with a shrug and smile. "But I no longer have my phone. It's...lost." My voice shakes involuntarily, no doubt a trauma response to the morning Henry pitched it. I thought he was gone, dead, hurt. I thought... A throat clears from behind my five elderly gal pals, and it's only then that I realize my family is standing there completely bewildered by their presence. My mom leans toward my dad, whispering, "Who are these women?" "Oh, you must think we're so rude!" Ethel answers before I can. "I'm Ethel and this is Joanne, Sarabeth, Blanche, and Dottie," she introduces each of them. "We're Avery's clients." "And friends," Dottie adds, and Ethel nods. "Of course, Avery is such a dear friend to us all. It's just icing on the cake that she's been our stylist for the past year." "Stylist?" Mom repeats quietly, her confusion deepening, but none of my elderly gal pals seems to notice. They're more focused on giving me hugs and shoving their handkerchiefs at me as they realize how upset I've gotten. I'm trying to keep it together, but not being able to find Henry now, even in this crowd of people, while the memory of that morning on the island replays in my head has me feeling some kind of way. "You okay, honey?" Dottie asks, taking the lead, while the other women look away in what I know is an attempt to keep from overwhelming me. I nod. It's all I can manage. "Now that we've seen you're okay with our own two eyes, we're going to let you rest, Avery," Ethel says, arranging all the flowers and balloons and gift bags they brought to my room on the nightstand beside my bed. "Yes, honey, you get some rest," Blanche says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "You check in with us soon, okay? Let us know when you're out of the hospital and settled?" I nod. "Once I get a phone again, I'll text you." "Good girl." Dottie smiles. They all give me hugs and kisses and pats of my hands a few more times. Ethel even mentions something about a new resident at The Pines named Darla, who's a walking fashion disaster and needs my help. But eventually, they offer their goodbyes to my family and head back out of my hospital room, only leaving a trail of their Shalimar perfume in their wake. When they're gone, my family stares at me, dumbfounded. "Who was that?" Beau asks. "Just my friends," I say, shrugging. "Your friends?" my mom repeats. "They look about fifty years too old to be your friends." "And they said you were their stylist," my dad adds. I sigh, knowing this conversation is inevitable. "That's probably because I am their stylist." "But, Avery, you're not a stylist," Beau says flatly. "You don't know everything about me, Beau." I shrug and stick out my tongue at him. "And for the record, I am their stylist. Like Ethel said, I have been for about a year now." "Excuse me? You're their stylist?" Dad asks, crossing his arms. "How the hell did that happen? Last I knew, you were an employee of Banks & McKenzie." "Clearly, I'm good at multitasking, Daddy." I lean back, crossing my arms too. "And I met Ethel at Nordstrom's last year. She was in this horrid Kate Spade getup, and I couldn't stand by and let her buy last season's leftovers from some clueless salesclerk. So, I helped her." "And that makes you a stylist?" Beau asks, raising a brow. "Oh, c'mon, Beau. I think we all know that my sense of fashion and style pretty much makes me a stylist. I mean, it's one of those talents that some people just have. Like, Edward Einstein and all his number stuff." "Albert Einstein, Avery," Beau corrects like he's saying stuff I actually care about. "Albert." "So, let me get this straight..." My dad still looks baffled. "You just help them pick out their clothes?" "I don't just help them pick out clothes, Daddy. I guide them on their wardrobe, shoes, hair, makeup. I style them." "And they pay you for that?" he asks. "As in, it's a job?" I laugh. "No." His face falls. "What do you mean, no?" I scoff. "You don't get paid for charity work, Daddy." "Charity work?" Dad repeats, his voice rising. "They live in The Pines, Avery. Those women have money. A lot of it." "Daddy, you know I don't judge people on their money." "Do they at least pay for their clothes?" "Again, it's charity work," I say, annoyed that he's clearly not getting the point. "You can't expect people to pay for stuff when it's charity." "Then who is paying for it?" I shrug. "I guess whoever pays my credit card bill." My dad's jaw drops. "You mean me." "And doesn't that make you feel good, Daddy? Helping those women like that?" He stares at me, completely flabbergasted. "Avery, I swear to God..." June snickers. "Oh my God." "It's official." Beau smiles. "Avery is back." Neil sighs, runs a hand through his hair, but eventually, he just smiles at me too, laughing softly as he wraps his arms around my mom's shoulders. "I love how it took Avery going missing for thirteen days for me to find out that she's a charity stylist to the rich women of The Pines and I'm footing the bill," he muses, and June bursts into laughter. But then her hormones get the best of her, and she starts sobbing. "June?" my mom asks, and June just lifts her hand in the air briefly. "I'm fine," she stutters out between tears, "just happy my best friend is back," before turning her whole body to bury herself against Beau's chest. Beau smiles down at June like she hung the stars and the moon-the way he always looks at her-and my chest squeezes. I want to see Henry. I want to see him badly. And as of this moment, I'm done waiting to do it. "I want to see Henry. Can someone take me to his room, please?" Beau's forehead creases with both confusion and apology as he shakes his head. "They discharged him a little bit ago. Ronnie and Mav are driving him home. No one told you?" No. No one told me. Evidently, all references to Avery and Henry as a set ended the minute we landed in Miami. Henry is just Henry, and I'm just me, and I'm starting to wonder if the two will ever get the chance to mix again. "Speaking of discharge," my mom says excitedly. "They said you can go home too." I nod, considering what that even means. I'm not so sure anymore. I used to think home was a place. Now, I'm wondering if it might be a person.