I find a kitchen area, some bottled water, and grab a fistful of paper towels. I sit at Malcolm’s side and bathe his face and hands in the cool water until his eyelids start to flutter. All at once, his eyes fly open and he shields his face with a hand to block the glare.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I had to turn on the light to make sure you were okay.”
“Katy?” His voice is rough and full of disbelief.
“It’s me. I’m here.”
“Katy?” He pushes up slowly, first to his elbows, and then to sitting.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.” I sound like an i***t, repeating myself. But giddiness bubbles up inside me because Malcolm is awake and whole.
He touches his temple and winces as though he expects it to hurt. He probes his cheekbones, his nose, and runs his hands along his ribcage. Gingerly, he bends his k
