Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 555(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
In case she isn’t alive anymore, soon.
I get it.
She couldn’t say goodbye to her folks.
And since she cares about Ros and my mom, about me...
It means something for Nell to be able to say goodbye to our mom before she’s gone, instead of waiting for the grim aftermath.
“Okay, Nelly. I gotcha.” I whisper into her hair and squeeze her tight. “But you hold on to my hand, okay? If you want to leave, just say it and we’ll go.”
With a sniffle, she nods, huddling against me before pulling away with the dignity of a tiny duchess and rubbing at her eyes. “O-okay.”
I offer her a brave smile of my own, then get out of the car and round the passenger side to let her out.
Her hand feels warm and small in mine as we head inside.
I still feel a little uncertain about this, but Nell seems steady enough.
I’m the one who’s unsteady—even more so when, on the way down the hall to my mother’s room, we pass Mason Law’s room.
I almost stop dead in my tracks.
I’m not expecting a familiar broad shape sitting in the chair at his bedside, hands steepled, brooding stare locked on Law’s sleeping face.
Grant.
He must feel my eyes drilling into him somehow because he breaks away from studying the unconscious man and glances up.
We lock eyes and he offers me a guarded smile.
The whisper of a smile I beam back feels just as unsteady and full of aching confusion. Then his gaze shifts as Nell leans around me and waves.
“Look who’s here! Hi, Uncle Grant!” she whispers loudly.
Behave, he mouths, raising a hand to her.
Pinky promise, she mouths back, holding up a hand with her little finger outstretched.
We linger a moment longer before we make the rest of the trek to my mother’s room.
I stall for a second before we come to the window that feels like gazing straight into hell. It’s little Nell I’m watching, not my mother, as she comes into view.
Thankfully, Nell doesn’t look bothered at all, though her eyes are a little wide as we stop in the doorway.
She just looks in at the wizened, shrunken shape my mom makes in the bed before she whispers, “Hi, Miss Angela.”
My mother doesn’t answer, of course.
But I’d like to think she can hear Nell, anyway.
The heart monitor and the respirator are the only sounds in the room.
They’re steady today, almost soothing.
Mom’s chest rises and falls smoothly without a big struggle.
I hope I’m not drunk on hope, but she actually looks a little better today.
There’s more color in her cheeks, a little more fullness, almost like her body’s finally doing something with the IV cocktail inserted in her veins. A late call with the doctor last night told me that’s what overloaded her heart.
The drugs are new and volatile, not yet widely used. It was a miracle Mom got the chance to try them as a last-ditch treatment just as they came out of trials at a prestigious institution.
I hate the thought that this unreliable savior might wind up killing her before the cancer does.
But we’re too far along to stop and give up now.
More importantly, her latest scans came back with shrinking masses. Smaller, lighter shadows around her pancreas.
Enough reason to keep holding out and crossing my fingers.
Last night, I gave my blessing to continue—a decision Ros should’ve been part of. As long as she keeps her mind and her organs don’t slip into DNR territory.
After all, it’s either this, or absolutely nothing.
I pull out two chairs, but when I settle into mine, Nell ignores the seat I got for her and just leans against it instead.
I’m cool with that.
And I settle into a familiar vigil with Nell cuddled close, one arm wrapped around my shoulder.
With the other, I reach for my mother’s frail hand.
I can feel it today.
The faint blood pulsing through her, a subtle ticking rhythm between our clasped palms.
A sign that her body’s still working, anchoring her to this world.
A promise that there’s still some fight left in her, that she’s still in there, trying to find her way back to us.
Please.
Please hang in there.
I never thought I would be answered.
Not until there’s a sudden shrill spike in the heart monitor’s soft beeps.
Not the abrupt squeal of cardiac failure or another panic-worthy event this time, but just this strengthening, quickening, before my mom’s lips move.
The oxygen tube in her nose fogs up slightly.
Her head rolls, and I suck in a sharp breath.
Holy crap.
Should I call the nurse? Should I—
Then Mom lets out a low, tired moan.
Her eyes flutter open, dim slits of faded color rolling around aimlessly before they land on me.
She’s aware.
She’s awake.
The soft gleam of recognition in her eyes nearly sends me spiraling into tears. Behind the mask, the shadow of a smile flits across her lips, her voice coming in a thready whisper.