“Right. Twenty-five is young, and she’s still figuring things out—”
“Twenty-five is typically the age the illness is diagnosed.”
More silence.
“You know what this means, right? Have you even bothered to have her tested? To speak with her?”
“I think you’re jumping to conclusions. She’s not Victory.”
“You’re going to ignore these obvious red flags just like you did with my mother and leave me again to—” I cut myself off. This was an old argument with my father. One that I thought I’d let go of and forgiven him for. His abandonment in my and Journey’s childhood hurt terribly, only made much worse because we were left alone with my mother and her untreated mental illness.
“I’m sorry,” I quickly amended. “I have to go to work.”
“Okay,” was all my father said but I could hear the hurt in his voice. It pained me to hear it but the thought of my sister showing obvious signs of bipolar disorder, just as my mother had, and my father choosing to ignore it once again hurt even more. I disconnected the call.
I tried to call Journey as I put on my work scrubs but both of my calls went straight to voicemail. I chose to send her a text informing her of what time I’d be home and that I wanted to speak with her. As I closed and locked my door behind me, to head to work, I sent up a silent prayer that she would be okay.
Chapter Five
Grace
In spite of my hectic morning, I managed to make it into work a few minutes early, which was good since I wanted to check on the young boy from the accident the day before. After stashing my purse underneath the nurses’ station, I took the stairs up one floor to the burn unit where he was recuperating. Aside from oncology, the burn unit had to be one of the most difficult units to work on. Caring for burn victims wasn’t an easy task by any means. The recovery process was beyond painful. And some of the stories of how patients ended up here in the first place were even worse to deal with. There, of course, were the usual accidents or mishaps that couldn’t be helped. But I’ve had patients in the past who were intentionally set on fire by someone. How anyone could do that to another human being was beyond my comprehension.
My body shivered at those thoughts when I rounded the last corner of the unit. As I quietly slid in the doorway of the room, I caught the image of a male figure in the corner of the room, by the window. He was silently watching the young boy. For a nanosecond I thought it might be the boy’s father, but then I remembered his father had a severely broken leg and arm. There was no way he would be standing. And if that realization hadn’t hit me, the fact that the hairs on my arms raised, along with goosebumps as my body warmed from just catching a glimpse of the man, told me this wasn’t Johnny’s father.
“Jacob,” I stated just above a whisper as he pushed away from the windowsill, striding closer to me.
“Morning,” he responded, his eyes raking over my body.
God, why does his voice sound so deep and good this early in the morning?I looked away from him, to the small figure in the bed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jacob’s head turn to the bed as well.
“He’s stable. Been that way all night.”
I turned back to Jacob. “You’ve been here the whole night?”
He shook his head. “Few hours. Nurses updated me on his condition throughout the night.”
There was a pause.
“His mother died around midnight.”
My shoulders sank and my heart ached for the little boy currently resting in the bed. The only things saving him from yelling out in severe pain at the moment, were the heavy doses of drugs that kept him unconscious. The poor thing was in for a world of hurt when he woke up, both physical and emotional.
“She was probably a good mom.” I don’t know what prompted me to make such a comment.
“How do you know that?”
It wasn’t the question but the sharpness in Jacob’s tone that had my gaze flying back to his in confusion and feeling like I needed to defend my statement.
“The way he called out for her yesterday.”
“That doesn’t mean she was a good mother.”
“It does indicate that when he was scared, in pain and confused, and surrounded by strangers, the person he looked to for help was his mother. Which likely means he felt safe with her.”
Jacob’s lips tightened but he didn’t say anything further. He simply gave Johnny one final look before turning and heading for the door. I followed him out just as quietly as I’d come in. Our discussion had been held in hushed tones, so I hoped that Johnny couldn’t hear what was said.
“Here.”
