Without giving herself a chance to change her mind, she tapped it. A moment later her brother, Robby, answered, sounding exhausted.
“It’s Miranda,” she said.
“Miranda?” he repeated in question, obviously surprised to be hearing from her. “What are you—are you all right?”
She almost laughed. Not at the question, but at the answer that sprang to her tongue despite the heap of trouble she was in. “Yeah,” she said, “never better. Just … what hospital did you say Mom was in?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
11:10 P.M.
Robby told Miranda that their mother was at East Jefferson General Hospital. He hadn’t said much else, but then she didn’t give him the opportunity to. She hadn’t wanted questions, congratulations, or even an “It’s about time” from him. She was acting on emotion and gut instinct and the fact was, she still might back out.
It took all her strength of will to climb out of the car and walk into the hospital. The next test was stepping into the elevator and pressing the button for the third floor. And now, as the elevator lurched to a stop, exiting on her mother’s floor.
Dead ahead stood the nurses’ station; one of the nurses looked up at her. Miranda forced a smile and headed her way. “Good evening,” she said. “I’m looking for Sally Rader.”
“It’s past visiting hours,” the nurse replied. “Only family—”
“I’m her daughter.”
The nurse’s expression changed. “You’re the police officer.”
Miranda stiffened slightly. “I am.”
“She was hoping you’d come visit. She’s so proud of you.”
Her mother? Proud of her? Since when?
Miranda cleared her throat. “I know it’s late.… I don’t intend to wake her. I just wanted to—”
What? Why was she really here?
“To sit with her awhile,” the nurse finished for her. “That’s perfectly fine. She’s in room three-oh-eight.” She indicated the hall to her right. “The chair reclines. Your brother’s usually here, so there’s already an extra pillow and blanket.”
Miranda thanked her and started for her mother’s room, aware of the nurse’s gaze on her back. One step at a time, she told herself, praying she didn’t take one look at her mother and run the other way.
Miranda stopped outside the partially open door. Her heart beat like a tribal drum in her chest. Fight or flight. Ridiculous, she told herself. She’d taken down perps twice her size and broken up fights between testosterone-fueled frat boys, and she was terrified of facing a sick, old woman in a hospital bed?
Not any woman.
The one who had broken her heart.
With a deep, steadying breath, Miranda slipped inside, her gaze automatically going to the bed. Her mother slept. She looked frail and … elderly. Way older than her fifty-some years.
Miranda moved closer, taking in her pallor and sunken cheeks, the gray in her hair. How long since they had been face to face? Six years? Eight?
As if she sensed Miranda’s presence, her mother’s eyes opened and settled on her.
“Mom,” she said softly. “It’s me. Miranda.”
Her mother blinked, gaze going from unfocused to clear. “Randi? Is that really you?”
Her voice was small and crackly. Miranda’s eyes burned. “It is, Mama. It’s me.”
Her mother tipped her hand over, and Miranda clasped it lightly. The skin felt thin and papery; the fingers almost skeletal. A tear slipped down Miranda’s cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been here before now.”
“No.” She rocked her head from side to side. “I’m sorry…”
Her voice trailed off and her grip went limp. For one heart-stopping moment, Miranda thought she’d slipped away. Then she saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest.
It went like that all night, her mother drifting in and out of sleep. Awakening, calling for Miranda, then drifting off again. The nurses came in and out, checking her mother’s vitals, sending sympathetic glances Miranda’s way.
Miranda drifted, too. Moments of sleep that ranged from deep and dreamless to ones of battling monsters.
When she awakened fully, sun cascaded through the window, and the hall outside the room bustled with activity.
“I was afraid I dreamed you.”
Miranda turned her head. Her mother. Propped up in bed, watching her.
“I’m not surprised. It was so late when I got here.” She found her ponytail holder, pulled her hair back, and crossed to the bed. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Better than I have in a long time.”
“That’s good.” She curved her hand around her mother’s. “Can I get you some juice or something?”
“I just want to look at you.”
A knot of tears formed in Miranda’s throat. “I’m not going anywhere, Mom.”
“I’m glad.” Her lips curved into small, shy smile. “You’re so pretty.”
Miranda squeezed her hand. “I thought you had a heart attack, not lost your mind.”
Instead of smiling back, her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, baby. For everything.”
“Mom, you don’t have to—”
“I think I … yes, I do. I made so many mistakes.” She looked away, then back. “So many.”
“Me, too,” Miranda whispered. “It’s in the past now.”
“No.” The pillow made a rustling noise as her mother shook her head. “It’s not. But I want it to be.”
“I do, too, Mom.”
She went on as if Miranda hadn’t spoken. “I was so afraid for you.” She paused, as if to catch her breath. “I didn’t want you to—”
“Don’t, Mom. Save your energy, it’s—”
“—end up like me.”
“Don’t say that.”
Her watery blue eyes suddenly seemed focused not on Miranda, but something far away.
“Married to someone like … your daddy. He was sick in the head, Randi. Real bad.”
“You could have left him, Mom. Why didn’t you?”
“Where would I have gone? Three babies to take care of … no skills, no money…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “I couldn’t leave the three of you, but how would I have cared for you and your brothers? I didn’t even have a car.”
She’d been trapped, Miranda realized. And felt powerless. How many women over the ages had felt the same way?
“I was so afraid for you. Your brothers, too, but not in the same way. I knew because they were boys, they’d have opportunities you wouldn’t.”
Miranda recalled what her mother said all those years ago, about life being tougher for women. That was the only world her mother had ever known.
She’d never thought of her mother’s situation quite that way. Had never thought of her as being a victim, too. She’d been too busy being angry and feeling sorry for herself.
It broke her heart.
“I let them take you away because I thought it was the only way. Maybe your only chance to … escape the life I had.”
She went silent a moment, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I believed you, Randi.”
Miranda caught her breath. “Wait—what did you say?”
“I knew you were telling the truth, about that boy and what happened.”
Miranda struggled to get ahold of her emotions, her racing thoughts. “I don’t understand, Mama. You believed me? Why didn’t you say so? Why didn’t you stick up for me?”