“I can promise I’ll fight for you. That’s enough.”
She studies my face, then nods slowly. “Okay. No more hiding. No more avoiding you in hallways.”
“Good.”
“Though I’m still not trying the scene from the training room.”
“What about the other one? That one was lesslocation-specific.”
“We’ll see.” She laughs and looks less scared. More like herself.
Inside, the team is still laughing. Rodriguez is probably reenacting scenes with Brody.
And somewhere, Winters is probably plotting his next move.
But right now, standing on this deck with Marnie in my arms, I don’t care.
30
MARNIE
The call comestwo days after the team dinner.
I’m at work, documenting Rodriguez’s latest PT session with the kind of meticulous detail that’s become second nature since Winters started watching, when my phone rings.
My stomach drops when I see the hospice facility number.
“Ms. Walker? Your mother’s taken a turn. Her vitals are declining and—” The nurse pauses. “You should come now if you want to be with her.”
The world tilts.
“I’m on my way.”
I’m in my car before I fully process moving. My hands shake on the steering wheel and I have to pull over twice because I can’t see through the tears.
This is it. This is the call I’ve been dreading for months.
I text Roman with trembling fingers.
Mom’s declining. Hospice called. I’m headingthere now.
Roman
I’m coming. Don’t argue.
I don’t have the energy to argue. Don’t have the energy for anything except driving and trying to breathe and bargaining with a god I don’t believe in for just one more day.
Teresa’sin the hallway when I arrive, her face telling me everything before she says a word.
“How long?” I ask.
“She started declining around noon. Breathing’s more labored. She’s been in and out of consciousness.” Teresa touches my arm. “She had a lucid moment about an hour ago. Asked for you.”
The guilt hits like a freight train.
I was at work documenting PT sessions while Mom was asking for me. While she was dying and I wasn’t there.
“Go,” Teresa says gently. “She’s waiting.”
