Return To You - Leia Stone Page 0,17
stern look. "That's the last we'll talk about that."
I laugh at her discomfort. "As you wish. I'm ready if you are," I tell her, stepping out of the pantry and closing the door behind me.
On our way out of the front door, Mom stops at the hall closet and pulls a heavy coat off a wooden hanger. I take it from her, draping it over my forearm. From my reading last night, I know that the cold cap she has chosen to wear in an effort to keep her hair will make her freezing cold during treatment. It strikes me that she has been here before. She is practiced, she has a routine. She has her iPad and a book in a little bag slung over her shoulder.
She is traversing a trail blazed twice already.
My mom is a warrior.
I haven't driven to Sedona General in years, yet I still know how to get there. Nestled between large scrubby bushes, the three-story hospital is one of the taller structures in town. This is where I came after a particularly nasty bout of the flu when I was eleven and needed fluids. I remember sitting in the waiting room of the emergency room and looking out the windows, thinking how unfortunate it was that the view from the front of the building was of the boring parking lot instead of the famed red rocks.
"Ready?" I ask, putting the car in park and pausing to look at her across the small space.
"As I'll ever be." Her forced cheerfulness saddens me.
I get out of the car and pop the trunk as my mom bends over, moving to grab the coat and bag. Instead I reach over and get to them first.
"I can hold something, you know," she chastises me.
"You can close the trunk,” I tell her cheerily.
"Are you sure? I might break a nail."
"Mom," I start, but I don't know what else to say. It’s weird for me to be protecting her like this. It’s always been the other way around.
She sighs, looking up at the sky and closing her eyes. The sun envelops her face and she squints at its harshness. Lowering her head, she looks back down at me. "I might be more nervous than I'm letting on." Her voice is small and it shatters my heart.
The arm I'm not using to carry her things wraps around her shoulders. "You don't have to be strong. I'm here now. Let me carry some of your load, okay?" I glance at the coat wrapped around my forearm and chuckle. "Literally and figuratively."
Mom smiles. "I guess I made the right call asking you to come home."
"Even if I make you drink kale?" I wink.
One side of her nose scrunches. "Kale?"
"Spinach," I hurry to correct.
"Now that I know kale is a possibility, I guess spinach isn't that bad."
I shake my head but I'm smiling. "You ready?"
Mom glances at the building in front of us. "Guess so."
We walk into the front door and my Mom leads the way to the outpatient clinic. She checks in while I take a seat in the waiting room.
The place has had a facelift since I was last inside of it. Larger windows and a fresh coat of paint make it look less like an institution. I imagine this is nice for the people who are coming here for treatments, like my mother. Less like impending doom.
“Nice to see you again, Faith,” the receptionist says warmly, then makes a face and tips her head to the side. “Although, I do wish I was just running into you in a coffeeshop instead of seeing your name on today’s schedule.”
“You and me both,” Mom answers.
I have an out-of-body moment then.
My mom is a regular at a chemo treatment center.
That’s beyond messed up. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why can’t some pedo get cancer and have his dick fall off? Why does my sweet mother have to be in this position? Instead of letting the anger rise up in me, I swallow it down and step away while Mom finishes up with the receptionist.
I glance at the wall between the rest of the hospital and the cancer treatment facility, noticing it’s made of glass, allowing for full view of the first floor of the hospital. Which, of course, means everyone out there can also see in here. Just as I'm thinking this, a woman passes by with a little girl, holding tightly to the child's hand. Our gazes meet briefly through the