I supposed I was in the right place.
Someone nearby sobbed, and I scanned the standing room–only space. A mom rocked a baby on her hip at the desk, desperate to locate a loved one. All around me, others like her clung to one another, offering strength and comfort, whispering words of support.
I jumped every time someone in scrubs pushed through the door separating us from the curtained care units. My foot bobbed. My palms sweated. I considered calling Camilla but hated the thought of prematurely ruining her day. It was best to wait for news about her grandma’s condition before getting in touch. Otherwise, I’d selfishly land her in my position. Maybe Mom would be completely fine.
Camilla had a good relationship with my mother, a much better one than I’d ever had. She was a fun grandma with enough boxes to build a fort in every room and treasures to unearth around every corner. She and Camilla picked flowers from her garden and dunked cookies into milk. They walked along the river and picnicked at the local park. I was grateful for all those things, but deeply envious too.
Mom had ignored me as a child, then seemed to hate me as an adult, but we never talked about it. This Frenchman, Sébastien, was a big missing piece of our puzzle. I wondered if she blamed me for hermarriage to Dad and the abuse she endured at his hand. All these years she might’ve considered it my fault while I’d considered it hers.
“Oh, thank god!” A familiar voice reached through the chaos, and a moment later, Alicia came into view.
I’d texted her when the ambulance arrived, and we’d traded a few quick messages as the EMTs evaluated Mom and loaded her onto the gurney.
Alicia threaded her way through a line stretching to the door, then picked up speed down the aisle of metal-framed chairs in my direction. She crashed into me with a hug when I stood to greet her. “I’m so sorry, it took me forever to get here. I left the minute you called, but there’s a huge wreck on the highway.”
A woman seated across from us sobbed loudly at Alicia’s statement.
“I think a lot of the victims are here,” I said. My throat constricted as I imagined the possibility of Alicia getting in an accident on her way to meet me. “Thank you for coming.”
“I will always come,” she said, motioning me to sit. “Any news?”
“Not yet, and it’s probably going to be a while. I think they treat the worst cases first, and she’s got some competition today.”
My best guess was that Mom’s excessive drinking led to more sleeping and less eating since I’d last seen her. That would explain her weakness and the collapse.
I’d lost weight in the early days of my pregnancy, unable to keep any food down for days on end. I’d passed out more than once as a result, much to Robert’s chagrin. Apparently, he found it incredibly unseemly to lie on the floor unconscious in public. It made sense that a lack of nutrition would have a similar effect on Mom.
Alicia rubbed my back. “Have you told Camilla?”
I shook my head. “I want to wait until I have some kind of news to share.”
“Robert?”
I rolled my eyes. Robert had taught me long ago not to ask anything of him, and never to involve him in a crisis. He’d only make it worsefor me. “No, but it doesn’t seem like I’ll make it home before dinner, so I’m hoping this is a night he works late.” And I hoped that when I inevitably told him about what I’d gone through today, he wouldn’t turn it into a fight.
Someone called my name, and I spotted a woman in blue scrubs in the distance. I raised my hand and moved in her direction. Alicia stayed close on my heels.
Fear for Mom’s diagnosis replaced my initial gratitude for an update. If she’d already been seen and evaluated, she must be in worse condition than I thought.
The woman smiled softly as she swept her badge over the door sensor beside her. “The doctor is ready to see you. She’s with your mother, who’s resting comfortably.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Alicia asked, voicing the words I couldn’t speak.
The woman looked to Alicia, then back to me, holding the door as we passed into the hospital. “I’ll let the doctor fill you in.”
Alicia took my hand and squeezed.
We arrived at a small room with lots of medical equipment and monitors. My mother slept in a bed with a stark-white blanket covering her thin, still frame, her skin contrastingly yellow. She seemed even smaller here than she had at her house.
An older woman with a tablet looked up upon our arrival, and the nurse moved to check the machines attached to Mom.
“I’m Dr. Bartlet,” the woman said. Her gray hair was twisted into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Clear blue eyes evaluated me. “I’m your mother’s primary care physician. I keep an office at the hospital and see her semiregularly. How aware are you of your mother’s health issues?”
I frowned. “I know she drinks too much and doesn’t take care of herself,” I said. “She had a cough today and looked ill before her collapse, but she said she was fine. And I know she has diabetes but doesn’t manage it well.”
The doctor motioned to the chair beside Mom’s bed. “Maybe you should sit while we talk.”
My limbs locked.
