“What do you mean Mom’s in the hospital?” My breath caught in my throat, my fingers felt tingly and I thought I should find a place to sit down before I fell down. “What happened? Is she okay?”
“Relax, Lucy. She’s fine. Her blood sugar was out of whack. She got dizzy at the market or wherever she was. You know, I assumed it was the market because she goes there so flipping much, but—”
“Alex!” I shouted. After some forty years Mom had her condition under such good control it was easy to forget she was diabetic, except for the insulin pump monitor she always had clipped to her pants. I couldn’t remember her ever having to go to the hospital because of it. “Did something go wrong with her pump? What happened?”
“I don’t know exactly because I could only chat quickly with Dad. They took her to emerg as a precaution. Whoever she was with apparently panicked and called 911 when she got light-headed.”
“Who was she with?” I was trembling, caught up in one of those emotional tidal waves where my reactions were excessive for the situation.Mom is fine.Alex would never lie about that, so why did my body feel like it was going into shock? “Everyone knows she’s diabetic. She wears a bracelet. She has a monitor clipped to her at all times.”
Alex shouted something else about the ladder. “Listen, I’ve got to run before these yahoos screw up the entire shoot. Call Dad, he’ll fill you in. Love you.” And then I heard a few choice words she mumbled under her breath about thegoddamn ladderbefore she disconnected the call.
I tried Dad, but he didn’t pick up. I was struggling to figure out what to do next, as it seemed my brain had stalled during Alex’s call and wouldn’t reboot. I considered going back to Dr. Kay’s office, slightly worried something more serious than a panic attack might be going on with me. With the splitting headache that had settled behind my eyeballs during the call and the strange tingling I had through my limbs, I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t having a stroke.
Call Daniel.He popped into my head, and it felt so obvious.He’s your husband, call him.But just as quickly came this:Daniel is not your husband, Lucy.
He never was your husband. He’s married to Margot.
Matt is your boyfriend. You should call Matt.
I sat heavily on the stone steps of the closest building and called Matt. Unable to stop it from happening, I started crying the second he picked up.
“I need you to come get me,” I said as best I could.
“Lucy? Are you okay? What’s the matter?” So many questions, so much worry in his voice. Then, more firmly, “Tell me where you are.”
25
Matt was there within minutes, flying out of the taxi so fast he left the door open. I had calmed down somewhat, though my parents were still not picking up their phones, and was able to tell him what happened. He wanted to take me home to rest, but I insisted we go straight to my parents’ place. I apologized multiple times on the way there, worried about dragging him away from work, but he held my hand tighter each time, saying, “That’s not important right now.”
Our taxi finally pulled up to my parents’ house and I jumped out, practically running to the front door. I let myself in with my key and left the door open for Matt, who was a few steps behind me.
“Dad? Mom?” I called out, sliding my boots off on the sisal mat by the front door. It was quiet inside, and the sound of Matt shutting the door behind him echoed down the hallway of the foyer.
“Are you sure they’re here?” Matt asked, slipping out of his shoes and unbuttoning his jacket. He put his hands on my shoulders from behind and rubbed gently, and we walked that way into the kitchen.
I saw both their cell phones sitting in the wicker basket on the counter and groaned with frustration—no wonder they hadn’t picked up. The clock over the fridge ticked loudly, but there were no other sounds in the house. I called out again, then heard, “Down here!”
We headed downstairs to the basement rec room, found my parents sitting on the sectional. My dad was marking student essays; my mom had a sketchbook on her lap and colored pencils splayed out on the coffee table. She pushed her glasses on top of her head, nestling them into her silver hair. “Lucy, Matt, hello!” Mom said, smiling as though it was perfectly normal for us to visit in the middle of a workday. “What are you two doing here?” Then her expression darkened and she shifted to the edge of the couch. “Are you okay, honey? Did something happen?”
I stared at her. My concern turned to confusion.“Did something happen?”I asked. I felt Matt rest a hand on my lower back, and I looked between my parents. They both wore a neutral expression, though I could see something lingering behind Dad’s gaze...a little worry he was still harboring. “Mom, I talked with Alex.”
Mom gave a dismissive wave, leaned back into the cushions. “Your sister is always embellishing for dramatic effect. It’s the artist in her.” She said that last part with pride. Mom had always wanted to be a recognized artist, and it brought her great joy to see Alex making her way in the world, one photography award at a time.
“So what happened?” I looked at Dad this time, held eye contact until he looked down at the paper he was grading, clipping his pen to the page and setting it down beside him.
“Your mother had a bit of a spell, but she’s fine,” Dad said. “As you can see. Perfectly fine.”
Mom put her glasses back on her face, smiled brightly. “I was at the St. Lawrence Market with a friend buying some fish for dinner and I got a bit faint. My friend overreacted and called an ambulance. It was incredibly embarrassing. But like Dad said, I’m fine, love.Good as new.”
“What friend?” I asked, frowning. Everyone knew Mom was diabetic, and all her friends knew what to do in case of an emergency.
Mom did look fine, but she also seemed uncomfortable—she wouldn’t look at me straight on. And neither would Dad, I realized. He was fiddling with the stack of essays, running his thumb along the edges and letting them fan out one way, then the other.
“No one you know.” Her tone left little doubt she was no longer interested in this line of questioning. She got up from the couch, came over in front of me. “Darling, please settle down. It isn’t good for you to be so worked up,” she said as she tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “How about a nice cup of tea? I got a gorgeous oolong at the market. Matt?”
“Sure,” Matt said, taking off his suit coat, realizing we’d be staying for a little while. “That sounds great.”
They all started to move, heading up toward the kitchen, but I was rooted in place.
