She shook her head. “No, that’s okay.”
“You’re not driving like this, Phylicia. Don’t waste time arguing with me.”
“Fine,” she said. “Hurry.”
While he closed and locked the front door, Phil ran to her truck, cranking the ignition with a violent turn.
“Move to the other side,” Jamal said, opening the driver’s-side door.
She started to protest again, but Phil knew he was right. Her shaking hands would probably steer them clear off the road if she tried to drive. She scooted over to the passenger side and leaned her head back against the headrest as Jamal backed out of the driveway. She closed her eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths as they headed south on Highway 21 toward Slidell.
“What did the person on the phone say?” he asked.
“Just that she had a violent episode,” Phil answered. “She’s never done that before.”
“Didn’t you tell me once before that the facility she’s in is one of the best for treating her form of dementia?”
“Yes, it is.”Thank goodness,she thought.
“Which means you should stop worrying,” he replied. “Your mother is in good hands, right?”
“Right,” Phil said.
He reached over and held out his right hand. She hesitated for a moment before clasping it, and was overwhelmed by the sense of relief that engulfed her. She held on to Jamal’s hand like the lifeline it was, finding strength in his solid, comforting grip.
They made the drive in just under a half-hour. Phil hopped out of the truck and half walked, half jogged to the entrance, leaving Jamal to follow. The receptionist’s usually cheerful greeting had a layer of concern draped over it.
“Evelyn, where is she?” Phil asked.
“She’s in the infirmary,” the receptionist said. “Have a seat and I’ll call Dr. Beckman. He asked to be informed as soon as you arrived.”
“Is she okay?” Phil asked.
“She’s better.” Evelyn nodded. “Just wait here.”
Phil wrapped her arms around her waist. It took everything she had within her to keep from doubling over in fear. Her mother was all she had left, and on most days, all Sabina Phillips had was her body. Her mind had long ago recessed to places that Phil rarely reached.
She could not stomach the thought of anything happening to her mother. She was shouldering so much already. Life could not be this cruel.
Phil’s body hummed with awareness seconds before a set of warm arms surrounded her. She didn’t even try to pull away. She just closed her eyes and soaked in the strength and security that enveloped her.
“Do you want to sit down?” Jamal whispered in her ear.
She shook her head, her throat too filled with emotion to utter a single word. They stood in the lobby for several minutes, the soft blue, green, and light brown décor calming her, the refuge she found in Jamal’s embrace bringing her an overwhelming peace. But when she spotted Dr. Timothy Beckman striding down the hallway, Phil tore away from Jamal’s hold and headed for the facility’s young director.
“Hello, Ms. Phillips,” the man greeted her, his slim, serene face looking less worried than she’d anticipated. She took that as a good sign.
“What happened with my mom?” she asked.
“She had a bit of an episode,” Dr. Beckman said. “Can we talk about this in my office?”
“Can’t I see her first?”
“Soon,” he said. “The nurses are helping her change her clothing. They’ll call my office as soon as they are done. Shall we go there to discuss what happened?”
Phil nodded. Dr. Beckman hesitated for a moment, looking beyond her shoulder.
“It’s okay,” she said. “He can come with me.” She turned to Jamal. “That is, if you want to.”
