“Are you all right?” the nurse asks, peering at me.
“Oh... yeah. Sorry.”
“No worries.” He leaves the room, only to return again seconds later. “The ambulance just pulled up,” he says. “We’ll get her ready to go now.”
I step back out of his way, and soon the room is crowded with two nurses and two paramedics. I back up against the wall, trying not to get in anyone’s way. Before long, they’ve strapped Mrs. Finnamore onto a wheelable stretcher and are maneuvering her out of the room. She barely stirs as they move her, beyond groaning once in pain.
“You following us there?” a paramedic asks me suddenly.
I blink at him in alarm.ShouldI go with her?
I hesitate, then shake my head jerkily. She needs nurses and doctors, not me.
The paramedic nods and they wheel Mrs. Finnamore away. I take a half-step after them, the wordwaiton the tip of my tongue. But it’s too late; she’s out the door.
I wander back through the hospital and out into the parking lot in a daze, a hundred horrible thoughts running through my mind. I take out my phone and open my contacts, scrolling until I find the name I’m looking for.
John picks up on the third ring. “Hey.” Then, when I don’t answer, “Emily?”
My eyes fill with tears at the sound of his voice. “Hey,” I choke out.
His tone sobers. “Is everything okay?”
I shake my head, sending a flood of hot tears spilling onto my cheeks. “No.”
26
“That Debra bitch is nuts,” Kiara says.
I crack a thin smile over my cup of tea. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Kiara rolls her eyes. “Her mother fell in theshower. Unless you were showering with the woman—which would have been way more concerning than you being neglectful, by the way—there’s no way you could’ve stopped it from happening.”
“Yeah, but if she’d had proper home care, the kind that help with bathing and things—”
“You said she didn’t want that,” Kiara interrupts.
Across the table, her mom, Carla, nods in agreement. “You haven’t told me anything to make me think this woman has dementia, or anything else that would impact her capacity.” She gets up and walks to the kitchen, returning with a packet of biscuits, which she offers to me and Kiara.
I take a biscuit with a sigh. It’s been two days since Mrs. Finnamore broke her hip, and John’s parents invited me over for dinner to cheer me up. He and his dad are outside on the deck, throwing a ball for the dogs.
“I see this sort of thing all the time at the hospital,” Carla says, watching me. “Adult children don’t want their elderly parents living at home anymore, so they try to demand we hold them in the hospital until they can get to a nursing home.” She takes a sip of tea. “They think it’s a terrible decision for their parent to stay home, and sometimes, they’re right. But what they don’t seemto realize is, people have the right to make bad decisions. We can’t force people to accept home care or go into a nursing home against their will, not unless they’ve clearly been proven to lack the capacity to make medical decisions. And that usually happens from something like advanced dementia. Being stubborn and set in your ways doesn’t count.”
“I know,” I say heavily. “I just feel so bad. And Debra’s never going to let me help her mother out anymore.”
Carla snorts. “You may be surprised. If her mother won’t accept home care, the only option is for Debra herself to care for her. Somehow, I don’t see that happening. Not from everything you’ve told me about her.”
I sigh again. “Maybe.”
“Don’t stress about it too much,” Kiara says. Then, through a mouthful of biscuit, “I can’t wait for this weekend. I’ve made the cutest barrel-themed necklaces to sell. And Cara’s still baking stuff for you, right?”
“She is, yeah!” I say, grateful to change the subject. “She said she’s making a bunch of Canada Day–themed stuff. Cupcakes and cookies and things.”
“She’s really good,” Kiara says. “She made the best cake for my birthday last year.”
“What cake?” John says, stepping in from the deck. His father is still outside; I can hear him trying to coax their German shepherd to come inside.
“That cookies-and-cream cake Cara made last year,” Kiara says.
