“You’re mad at Xander because your grandparents are rich?”
“No. Because that’s the only reason he liked me.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Well, no. But . . .” I run my hands down my face. “But how is either of us ever going to know for sure one way or the other? Even if he claims he would’ve kept dating me either way, we’ll never know because he did know and we can’t prove anything now.”
Skye takes my hand in hers. “Not everything has to be proven. Maybe you should just trust him.”
“And what about my mom? Should I trust her, too? Because she lied to me my whole life. And I’m angry. And I feel guilty for being angry because she’s sick.” I flop back on the couch and stare at the ceiling.
“I understand. I’d be angry, too. But don’t you think they deserve to know she’s sick?”
“Who?”
“Her parents.”
I nod. I know she’s right. “Tomorrow, will you call Xander and get their information for me?”
“You don’t want to talk to him?”
I press my palms to my eyes. “No. And please don’t tell him what’s going on with my mom. The last thing I need is for him to feel sorry for me and come to see me out of guilt.”
“Yes, of course I’ll get their info for you.” She moves to the floor and lays her head next to mine on the couch. “Why don’t you try to sleep. I’ll watch the phone for you.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Do you want Henry to come over? He can play his guitar. Maybe distract you for a while.”
“It’s three thirty in the morning. Don’t you think he’s asleep?”
She looks at her phone, which confirms the time. “Probably not. He’s a night owl.”
“I think night ends at two. He must be an early-morning owl.”
“Why does night end at two?”
“I don’t know. That’s usually as late as I can stay up so it must be when night ends.”
She laughs and fires off a text message. “If he answers he’s awake; if not he’s asleep.”
“Wow, that’s a pretty scientific way of determining whether someone is awake or asleep.”
She playfully taps my head. “I’m glad you haven’t lost your sarcasm.”
Sometime in the early morning I decide Henry is a nice guy. I’m glad Skye was able to see past his pointy nose. I fall asleep to his guitar playing.
When I open my eyes I see Skye across the room on the phone. I go from half asleep to fully aware in one second, springing off the couch and nearly tripping over Henry, who is asleep on the floor. She sees me coming and waves her hand at me, shaking her head. Then she mouths “Xander,” and I immediately turn back around and drop onto the couch. Hopefully she’s getting my grandparents’ info without too much trouble, and then he can completely rid his life of me.
“No,” Skye says. “She’s asleep.”
What time is it anyway? I reach down and twist the watch on Henry’s wrist so I can read it. Ten thirty in the morning. Wow. I got at least five hours of sleep. Then how come it still feels like someone bashed my face in with a bat? And why isn’t Skye off the phone yet? How long does it take to write down a phone number and address?
“Xander, please,” I hear her say. She’s too nice. I would’ve had the number by now. Maybe I should call the hospital while I’m waiting. I look for the phone but then realize Skye’s on it. Why didn’t she use her cell? What if the hospital is trying to call right now? My anger toward Xander is coming back full force.
“No,” Skye says with a sigh that sounds too sweet. I’m about to stand up and take the phone from her when she says, “Thank you,” and writes something on the paper she’s holding. “Yes. Of course, I’ll let her know.” She hangs up the phone.
“Let me know what?”
“That he wanted to talk to you.”
“Good to know. I don’t want to talk to him.”
“I know.” She hands me the paper and then squats beside Henry, running a hand over his cheek. “Henry. Wake up.”
I kick his leg and he jerks awake. “Sometimes you have to be a little more forceful, Skye.”
She rolls her eyes but smiles. I say she should be more forceful, but I wouldn’t change her for the world.
An hour later I’m standing in the hospital lobby waiting for someone to help me. Nobody had called, but after Skye had to leave for work and I called my mom’s parents and filled them in, I couldn’t wait around any longer. Finally the receptionist hangs up the phone and says, “She’s in room three oh five. Take the elevator to the third floor and someone will buzz you into the wing from there, okay?”
“Thanks.”
I’m anxious. I just want to see my mom. If I see her, I know I’ll feel better. Most of my anger has changed to worry, but the anger still lingers there and I want it to leave. The moment I’m in her room and see her face, pale but peaceful, I breathe a sigh of relief. I pull a chair to her bedside and force myself to take her hand. “Hey, Mom,” I whisper. She doesn’t stir.
I don’t know how long I sit there holding her hand (An hour? Two?), but eventually the doctor comes in and gestures for me to step into the hall.
“Sorry I couldn’t let you see her last night, but we had her downstairs and it’s a lot harder to have visitors in those rooms because they’re shared. But we had her moved up here late last night.”
“So what’s going on?”
“We’re still waiting on a few more tests. Has your mom been tired a lot lately?”
“Yes.”
He nods as if he suspected as much. “I have a hunch as to what’s going on, but what we’re going to do is thread a camera into her stomach so we can take a look around. The ultrasound didn’t show me much, and I’d like a closer look.”
“Okay. Is that dangerous?”
“No. It’s a common procedure with minimal risk that will hopefully give us some definitive answers.”
“Does she know?”
“She hasn’t woken up yet.” I must’ve gotten a scared look on my face because he adds, “Which is no cause for alarm. We gave her something to help her sleep that should be wearing off pretty soon. Then we’ll talk with her and you can talk with her, and if she agrees to it we’ll plan on the procedure for first thing in the morning.”
“Can I stay here now?”
“Of course. Like I said, now that she has a private room, you’re welcome to stay. You can even sleep in the room if you want.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
As I’m preparing to reenter the room, I see my grandparents round the corner. Why isn’t my mom awake to deal with this? These people are strangers to me. I rub my arms and then give a small wave.
“Caymen, right?” Mrs. Meyers? Grandma? The woman says.
“Yes. Hi, I’m Caymen.”
She covers her mouth for a moment as she takes a small breath of air. “You look so much like your mother did at your age.” She touches my cheek. “Except you have your father’s eyes. You are so beautiful.”
I shift from one foot to the other.
The man grumbles at her under his breath then holds out his hand to me. “Hi, I’m stranger one and this is stranger two. Are you uncomfortable yet?”
I give a half smile.
“The only thing that is going to make her uncomfortable is your twisted sense of humor, Sean. He’s kidding, honey.”
“I know.” Could a sense of humor be genetic? I point to the door. “She’s not awake yet, but you’re welcome to see her.”
The woman takes several deep breaths followed by several rapid ones.
“Should I get you an oxygen tank, Vivian, or are you going to be okay? I’m sure there’s an extra one lying around.”
She hits him on the chest. “Just let me have a minute. I haven’t seen my daughter in seventeen years, and now I’m going to see her in a hospital bed. I need to let that sink in.”
“The doctor thinks he knows what’s wrong and said she’s going to be . . .” I started to say, “okay,” but then realize he hadn’t said that. Maybe she’s not going to be okay.
“Caymen,” Sean says. “Can you point me in the direction of this doctor? I have some questions for him.”
“Sure. That’s him, actually, talking to the nurse.”