6
DR. BILLINGS FROWNS AS HE PACES slowly around Mama’s hospital bed. Mama sits completely forward with her legs crossed, like the pillow she’s supposed to be resting against might burn her. It’s a standoff of epic proportions. If we were in the Old West, I’d expect tumbleweeds to come blowing through, and they’d be drawing pistols at any moment.
“I don’t think you’re hearing me.” The doctor speaks slowly. “Your blood pressure is very high, and your blood-test results indicate areas for concern that put you at a significantly increased risk for a heart attack. The medications we’ve prescribed will help with this, but everything we’ve seen suggests your stress level is far too high.”
“I heard you just fine.” Mama crosses her arms to match her legs. “And I don’t need to be in the hospital, or resting, or running around picking up medications. I need to be at work.”
Dr. Billings drags one hand through his hair and turns his eyes on me. “How many hours does your mom work per week?”
I open my mouth to answer, but Mama shushes me with a single stern glance.
“I work a full-time job just like everybody else, and I’ll thank you to address your questions to me instead of my daughter.”
“You collapsed. Your body can’t take the strain and pressure you’re subjecting it to. If you don’t change things, it could be much worse next time. You need to, at the very least, be on medication to manage this.”
Mama’s cheeks flush, and from her reaction he might as well have told her she was weak and utterly useless to humanity. She opens her mouth to respond but I reach out and grab the doctor’s elbow before she has the chance.
“I’ll take the prescription and pick it up.” I speak softly as I urge him toward the door. “Thank you.”
The doctor’s steps are quicker than mine and it’s clear that not only is he relieved I let him off the hook, he’s happy to escape this hospital room as fast as humanly possible. I close the door behind me and lean against it.
When I lift my eyes to Mama, I try to imitate the same reproachful look she’s given me a million times. “If you want me to take medicine the next time a doctor tells me I need it, you better at least do the same for me here.”
For a moment, it looks like she’s ready to keep arguing, but then the fight drains out of her and she eases herself back against the pillow. The blood drains from her face, and she suddenly looks extremely frail and small.
I pull a chair over next to her bed.
“I really do need to get back to work,” she says softly.
“I know, Mama.” Reaching out, I take her hand. Everything that happened in the courtroom seems to settle like invisible rubble around us. “But right now or twenty minutes from now won’t make much difference, will it?”
Her eyes settle on mine and the utter despair I see in them squeezes my chest.
“What are we going to do?” We both know what I’m referring to.
She grasps my hand tight before answering. “We’ll do what we always do.”
“Wait?” I sigh and lower my head onto her bed.
“No, darling.” Mama releases my hand and runs her fingers through my dark hair. “We always survive.”
Then she moves away. I lift my head to see her pulling her work slacks on under her hospital gown. Something about her getting up and ready for work right now when the doctor just told us she shouldn’t feels so wrong. Especially when Daddy just lost his last appeal. When I so desperately need her, and she’s leaving me like she always does, leaving me all alone.
Everything about this moment ignites a slow-burning anger in the pit of my stomach.
“What about Daddy?” I watch her as she freezes and then lifts her chin to look at me when I finish. “What if this is something he won’t survive?”
Her expression flashes both shock and anguish before that ever-present resolute mask falls into place. “Well, Riley, I suppose you and I will survive that, too.”
My stomach plummets to my feet at the absolute lack of hope in her words. Then she slips her pumps on, grabs her purse, and gives me a tight hug before she walks out the door. “I’ll be home late tonight.”
The door closes behind her with the same echoing finality as the judge’s gavel.
*
Thanks to Judge Howard mentioning the gruesome nature of the killings at the hearing, my dreams that night are pelted by the few images and details I still remember from Daddy’s first trial.