“Callie helped me wash my hair,” Mum announces, touching her braid like it’s a prize. “Feel how soft.”
I dutifully run my fingers along the plait. Something catches in my chest when I feel how much of her has disappeared between my fingertips. The pills that dull her pain sharpen everything else into focus—the weight loss, the yellowing whites of her eyes, the tremor in her hands. Her medical chart tracks the shocking resilience of her organs, but it’s this—this gossamer thread where rope used to be—that makes it impossible to pretend.
But I hide my fear and replace it with jovial optimism. “Very soft. Like a fancy shampoo commercial. You should charge for this, Cal.”
“Please. Your mother’s hair is a joy. Long and wavy like that? Mine would never.” Callie emerges from the kitchen, satchel slung across her body. “Okay, I’ve got her meds sorted for the next two weeks. Morning meds in the blue organizer, the afternoon in the orange. If she’s having a particularly difficult day?—”
“The red vial in the fridge. Twenty units, I remember.”
Callie nods. “There are new syringes in the medical bag. And I left some extra anti-nausea in the bathroom cabinet, just in case.” She hesitates. “I, um. I managed to get the Styrica at cost again. My contact at the pharmacy owed me a favor.”
My chest tightens. The Styrica alone would be almost fourteen hundred dollars a month without insurance. With Callie’s “contacts” and “favors,” we pay maybe one-sixty. I don’t ask too many questions about how she makes it happen. I’m too grateful to risk the answer.
“Cal…” I start, but she waves me off.
“Don’t. Seriously. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s—” I drag my fingers through my unwashed hair, searching for a way to express gratitude thatdoesn’t sound hollow against the mountain of what I owe her. “You’ve been helping us for over a year now. The meds, the visits, the—” I gesture around at everything. “All of it. I don’t even know how to begin to thank you properly.”
“Then don’t begin.” She shoulders her bag, but something in her expression shifts. A flicker of something I’ve been pretending not to see for months now. “Actually, can we talk for a sec? In the hall?”
My stomach drops, but I keep my voice light. “Sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. It’s just…” She glances at Mum, then back at me. “Private.”
“I’ll be right back,” I tell Mum, who nods knowingly. She’s not stupid. She’s seen the way Callie looks at me. She’s probably been waiting for this conversation longer than I have.
The hallway smells marginally better than the lobby, more like old carpet than active mildew. Small victories. Callie leans against the wall opposite our door, arms crossed, and I mirror her position because I don’t know what else to do with my body.
“So,” she starts.
“So,” I echo.
“I’m moving.”
The revelation lands like a punch I should’ve seen coming. “Moving where?”
“Paris.”
“You’re kidding?—”
“No, notthatParis. The small town in Kansas.”
“Oh…okay. Well, congratulations. This is a good thing, right?”
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, not quite meeting my eyes. “There’s a hospice program out there, really progressive, and they offered me a lead position as a nurse practitioner.Better pay, better hours, amazing experience. It’s kind of a dream job, honestly. Even if it is the wrong Paris.”
“That’s…” I swallow. “That’s great, Cal. Really. You deserve it.”
“I leave in three weeks.”
Three weeks.That’s twenty-one days to find a new nurse, a new source for discounted meds, a new everything. The mental math is already happening, numbers scrolling through my brain like a doomsday ticker. More escort shifts. More security gigs. Less sleep. Less time with Mum. Even less time for myself?—
“Saylor.” Callie’s voice cuts through the spiral. “Breathe.”
I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I force myself to exhale. “Sorry. Just…processing.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I wanted to give you more notice, but the offer came together fast and I had to make a decision and—” She stops herself, takes a breath of her own. “I’ll help you find someone who can help you guys. I’ve got contacts, other nurses or CNAs who might be able to step in, at least part-time.”
