“I will.”
“And I’ll either meet you in the garage to pick you up or send a car for you.”
“Okay.” She hesitates as if she wants to say something, but seems to change her mind. “I should go, so you can get to the hospital.”
I give a nod and she turns to the door but I grab her arm. She faces me and I don’t have to pull her to me. Suddenly she’s in my arms, and I’m not sure if it’s me kissing her or her kissing me. My hands tangle in her hair, hers tunnel into mine, and the taste of desperateness and fear in her kiss, has me tearing my mouth from hers. Before I can speak, she says, “You call me if you need me.” And then she turns and gets out of the car, shutting the door and leaving me alone.
I watch her walk to her door and disappear, and only then do I look away, her words replaying in my head. You call me if you need me. I haven’t needed anyone, not for a long damn time, and yet … I put the Bentley in gear, and murmur, “What the hell are you doing to me, woman?”
Reaching the hospital, I’m unsurprised to find my father is in the private section that costs a hefty fee and ensures his room will be more of a luxury suite than the cold discomfort of a standard hospital room. I pass through security and head toward the corner of the west wing where I’m told he’s registered. I’m almost to the door when my mother steps out of the room, dressed to kill in a tan pantsuit that screams fashion show, not cancer treatment. “I wondered if you were going to show up,” she says, motioning behind me. “He wants coffee. Walk with me.”
My brow furrows. “Coffee? They let him have coffee?”
“He’s dying, Shane. We’re prolonging it, not curing him, and do you really think they could stop him if he has his mind set on something?”
“‘Prolonging,’” I repeat. “You say that like you’re reciting the weather.”
“What am I supposed to do? Sit here and weep?”
“Yes. You are. He’s your husband.”
“And how do you think he’d react to me weeping? He’d crush me.”
“Then why are you still with him?” I grind out, my voice low, taut.
She glances at the ceiling, as if she’s grappling with emotions, which at least shows that she cares about something, though I question what that might be at this point. “Do you think I haven’t asked myself that same question, over and over?” she hisses softly, fixing me with a bloodshot stare that suggests she’s fighting tears.
“And how do you answer, Mom?”
“I can’t leave him. Especially not now.”
“Because you care?” I ask in disbelief. “Because he was with that woman at the Four Seasons this morning and you put him with her. That doesn’t sound like caring to me.”
“Do you really think me putting her with him means I want him to choose her?”
I arch a brow. “Doesn’t it?”
She folds her arms in front of her. “Pretending he won’t choose someone else doesn’t make it true.”
Frustration rolls through me and I step closer to her. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
“Don’t you get on your high horse with me, Shane Brandon.” She shoves a shaking hand through her long, dark hair. “You don’t know what it’s been like, and at least I know something about what is going on with him for you and for me. I’m surviving here the only way I can.”
It’s not the only way she can, but I force myself to remember that my father is a hard man who plays with people’s heads. Years of getting the brunt of that had to have had an effect. “What’s the prognosis, aside from terminal?”
“He had some extra testing today, and we won’t have the results for a few days, but surprisingly good.”
“He’s coughing up blood. How can the words ‘surprisingly good’ even be in this conversation?”
“They gave me some long explanation about inflammation to explain why that’s happening. The cancer’s contained in his lungs and only stage one. His chemo will be aggressive but fairly moderate in intensity, which will limit side effects.”
“What about the cancer in his brain?”
“Contained, but you know the story there. That could change any day.”
I run my hand over my jaw. “I’m going in to talk to him.”
She nods and starts to turn. “Mom,” I say.
“Yes?” she asks, facing me.
“We’ll get through this. I promise.”
“I know,” she says, and any remnants of tears or fears are gone, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined them.