“That’s some time.”
“I was out of the country for most of it,” she said.
“Whereabouts?”
“The Middle East.”
James felt a rush of surprise. What had a young woman like Elena been doing in the Middle East of all places? When he opened his mouth to pepper her with questions, she hurried to fill in the blanks.
“Journalism,” she said. “Like my mother and my grandmother before me.” Of course, Elena had never known her grandmother.
But here it was: the truth, or some of it. James adjusted his hands on the steering wheel and again saw Carmen Vasquez collapse on the steps of the courthouse. The image was burned into his mind’s eye.
“Your mother is a wonderful woman,” James said.
Elena made a soft sound in the back of her throat, one that James found difficult to translate. But before long, they were already nearing the hospital, where Carmen awaited—either alive or dead. James didn’t know. He pulled into the drop-off lane and put the car into park. When he looked again at Elena, her cheeks glinted with tears.
“Hey,” he said, reaching for his business card and handing it over. “Give me a call if you need anything, okay?”
He watched as Elena read his title: crisis management, grief counselor.
“Thanks, James,” Elena whispered, tucking her card into the pocket of her coat. She couldn’t look him in the eye, maybe because she now understood he knew too much. She got out of the car, waved, and hurried into the hospital, where she was swallowed into the fluorescent-lit hallways. James watched her through the glass door for a moment, then pulled out and headed back toward town. It was time for his meeting. He was going to be late.
Chapter Three
Elena sat in the waiting room of the Millbrook County Hospital, clutching her knees and watching the double-wide doors for signs of the doctor. The woman at the front desk had promised they’d take her back to see her mother soon. Exhausted from the drive, from a night of absolutely no sleep back in Queens, Elena had avoided all reflections since arriving, frightened of what she’d see there. But the kind man who’d driven her to the hospital—James Murphy, a knight in shining armor if she’d ever seen one (not that she believed in such things after the life she’d lived)—hadn’t looked at her with any sense of disgust, which was a good sign. The last thing Elena wanted was for her mother to take one look at her, sniff with annoyance, and tell her she’d “let herself go.”
Carmen could be a hard woman. Elena had come by it honestly.
The doctor who walked through the double-wide doors and called Elena’s name was, surprisingly, someone Elena recognized. Elena popped to her feet and touched her hair. She hadn’t prepared herself to see so many ghosts so soon.
“Hi,” Elena said, her voice wavering. The doctor before her was in her early forties, still blond and slender, with legs thatseemed to remember her track-star youth. “Maxine. Wow. I can’t believe it’s you.”
Dr. Maxine Cavanaugh wore a stoic expression and shook Elena’s hand. “Hi, Elena. It’s been ages,” she said. “I’m sorry about the circumstances.”
Elena was surprised at how deep Maxine’s voice had gotten with age. Elena wondered whether Maxine had deliberately adjusted her voice to be taken more seriously by her patients and fellow doctors. She remembered when they were sixteen, had eaten too much popcorn, sprawled out on Elena’s living room floor, laughing so hard they’d cried. When was the last time Elena had laughed like that? When was the last time Maxine had? Oh, but Maxine wore a wedding ring and had the air of someone with two to four children at home. She had a gravity that suggested she was loved.
Elena followed Maxine to her office, where Maxine poured her a cup of tea and sat across from her. Elena felt the heaviness in the room.
“I got here as soon as I could,” Elena said, although she wasn’t sure if that was true. She probably should have left Queens the minute she’d learned about her mother’s hospitalization. She’d been frozen with surprise, lurching from one emotional high to another.
Sorrow, grief, and confusion would be their own roller-coaster rides.
“Where are you coming from?” Maxine asked.
“The city,” Elena said.
Maxine bowed her head. “You were always meant for something bigger than this place.”
Elena felt a stab of guilt alongside a wave of relief. Maybe Maxine didn’t know about Elena’s biggest downfall, her greatest failure. Perhaps nobody in Millbrook did.
It meant that Carmen had kept news of it to herself, probably out of shame for her daughter.Ugh, that doesn’t feel great either, Elena thought.
Outside, snow had begun to fall in big, milky clots.
“Your mother woke up a couple of hours ago,” Maxine explained soon after that, her hands folded over the desk. “We have several tests planned for the next few days. She seems quite confused, and that confusion is manifesting into anger and resentment. She can’t imagine why we’ve brought her here. She doesn’t remember the collapse.”
“My mother always thinks she knows best,” Elena said softly, then cursed herself for acting so cruelly. She didn’t actually mean it. She stuttered, then said, “But she’s awake. That’s good.”
