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THE RETURN OF THE CLEARWATER siblings was like balm to a weary soul for Lucy; she was deeply, and immensely relieved to have them back. Their presence, along with the steady companionship of her friends, spurred the following weeks almost in lightspeed. Sometimes, it felt like Lucy would close her eyes, and days had already passed in quick succession.
The junior had fallen into a makeshift routine. She worked around four shifts a week with Doc, studied with Leah every Sunday and Tuesday, and visited Sue every Saturday. After school, she would stay back with Embry, and often times with his groupies, to go over the increasingly difficult topics in Calculus, with surprising success. Her grades, though nowhere near stellar, were steadily improving to a level she'd once considered impossible for herself. Embry and Leah were exceptional teachers, but together, they were phenomenal.
This routine was almost like a crutch for Lucy – providing her consistency and stability in a time growing more stressful by the moment. To her overwhelming dread, the SATs were just two weeks away, and she was absolutely terrified. Her nerves often kept her awake at night, and she found herself consumed in excessive hours of study to soothe her growing anxiety. Even at school, there was a certain apprehension lurking amongst the older students that couldn't be ignored.
To make matters worse, the sinking feeling she'd felt from her phone call to her father had not wavered. Every time her thoughts drifted to him, her stomach plummeted, and worry tightened her heart in a vice grip.
Dr. Nicolescu had sent her an email the following day. It was professional, straight-forward, and littered with conciliatory words designed to appease. He explained that Dion was doing well, but had relapsed, and was under more care as a result. His whereabouts throughout the day therefore fluctuated at times.
That phone call had marked the beginning of a flood of incessant, follow-up calls from Lucy. Once a week rapidly turned into four, scarce emails became multiple as a consequence of spiralling stress and concern peaked. In those weeks, Dion Richardson never physically conversed with his daughter. Sometimes, she would speak to Dr. Nicolescu, other times it would just be Jeremy. And for a few heartbreaking times, she was turned away from the man himself, citing he didn't want to talk.
Those times were the hardest.
Because no matter what the doctor, or nurse, told her, she wouldn't believe her father was okay until she heard his voice for himself.
She felt this growing anxiety as she stood outside of La Push High School, bundled in her coat, and phone pressed tight to her ear. It was lunch, and she'd escaped the clutches of a highly-conversive Imogen to make the call. She figured calling at different times would give her a greater chance of catching her father.
