The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,119

in wasting time checking each message. Something is clearly wrong. I call the nursing home instead.

The moment I get through and ask for my mom, my worst fears are confirmed.

“A stroke?” The word smashes into my solar plexus. I hit the wall and slide down, ending up sitting on the floor. I am broken. “When? Why didn’t you call me?” The voice at the other end isn’t one I recognize. The person is saying something fast I don’t understand exactly what happened. She’s bumbling and I’m trying hard to listen, to process.

If it had been Brenda on the line, she might have delivered this news as softly as she could have. This carer gives me the cold hard facts.

She tells me that my mom had a massive stroke last night and she’s been in the hospital all night. They tried to get a hold of me but couldn’t and they repeatedly tried all the numbers they had for me. With me having moved, and my phone being broken, there was no way they could have reached me. I had meant to call them when I got to Jamie’s, and then I forgot. I never even thought to give them Ward’s or Jamie’s number at any point because I never expected to be without a phone.

And now my mom is very sick. The news shatters my already fragile world.

“You need to come quickly.” The nurse gives me the hospital address, and I try to remember it. It’s not difficult, but I’m so numb, and so lost, it’s easy to forget who I am. I rush outside the mall and run over to where the taxis are.

It’s only when the cab driver asks me if I’m okay, that I realize I’m crying. “My mom’s had a stroke,” I say, wiping my tears. “Can you drive fast?”

I pray I’ll have enough for the cab fare, and then I close my eyes and think of my mom. Guilt sinks into every pore. I should have gone to her immediately. I would have, had I known. I would have, had it not been for Ward.

How is this even happening on top of everything else?

As soon as we get to the hospital, I jump out and charge through the hospital doors. I head straight to the ward where my mom is. I pray that she’ll be okay. I’ve never prayed harder.

She’s here, I tell myself. She’s here, and I’m here, and she’s going to be okay. I pray that she’ll be happy to see me, and she’ll be sitting up and smiling at me as I walk in.

And then I remember. It hits me like a water cannon. My mom has had a massive stroke. I don’t know what this means. Nobody has actually told me how she is and I have no way to gauge the enormity of this news until I see her.

I’m hysterical by the time I reach the nurses station. I’m rambling, unable to formulate a complete sentence, unable to think coherently until a nurse tries to calm me down. I don’t mean to make a commotion but a doctor soon comes over, and when they realize who I am here to see, they take me aside.

The doctor says something about it not looking good, and that my mom’s condition is progressively worsening.

This isn’t real. He’s talking about someone else. “Let me see her,” I cry, begging them. I’m crying at the same time and not talking clearly. My cell phone rings, and I turn it off completely because the only person I needed to hear from, the only person who mattered, is here.

My mom is the only rock I have and I feel suddenly bereft.

A nurse leads me to the ICU. My mom is asleep. Her eyes are shut. She looks peaceful. I would give anything to have her wide awake, even if she didn’t know who I was, even if she thought I was a complete stranger. I crave her smile and for her eyes to see me. I crave for my living, walking, talking mom to come back and say something.

“Mom,” I whisper. The strangled word comes out sounding odd. I take her hand. Thankfully it’s still warm. “Mom,” I say again, leaning over to place a kiss on her cheek. “Mom, wake up.”

“She can’t hear you,” the nurse tells me.

I don’t even bother looking at her. How does she know my mom can’t hear me? Who knows what my mom can hear or feel right now? I squeeze