The Mother's Promise

by Sally Hepworth

  “Do you really think you can do this?”

  For a person who’d been so uncertain of everything these past few years, Sonja had never been surer or more determined. “I do.”

  Alice looked from Sonja to Kate. After a long time, she reached out and took Sonja’s hand. “Thank you, Sonja.”

  Sonja nodded.

  “I’m glad you’re getting away from him,” Alice added.

  ‘Me too.’

  And then, there was nothing left to say. Sonja took a deep breath. This was it. It had been over a decade since she’d been alone. She said good-bye to Alice and Kate, slung her purse over her shoulder, and put one foot in front of the other. She’d be doing that for a while, she suspected. Taking things one step at a time. But Agnes was waiting for her. And she had a lot to do these next few months, making sure George wouldn’t get Zoe.

  She made it to the elevator and then out into the foyer. Outside on the street, an ambulance pulled up and people leapt out. A woman walked past pushing a stroller. Sonja moved around them and kept on walking. She wasn’t all alone at all, she realized. There were people everywhere.

  77

  A few days later Zoe’s mom was doing better. Sitting up in bed. She wasn’t eating or drinking and she still had the strange tube in her nose, but she was alert and oriented. And she wanted to talk.

  “You seem better,” Zoe said to her. She was painting her mom’s nails. “Kate says you can leave the hospital tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’m feeling better. These look nice.” She lifted her hands to admire them, then dropped them carefully onto her knees. She was quiet for a long time. “Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  “I am leaving the hospital in a few days. But … the doctors said I won’t be able to come home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My scans showed that the cancer has spread. There are new tumors on my bowels and that is why I was in such terrible pain.”

  “But you’re better now.” It was meant to be a statement, but the sentence rose at its end, seemingly of its own volition.

  “Yes,” her mom said. “Because I haven’t been eating or drinking. Everything has been going in and out of this tube. If I start eating and drinking again, this would just happen again.” Her mom took her hand. “When I leave here, hon, I’ll have to go to a hospice.”

  “A … hospice?” Zoe reared back. “Isn’t that where people go to—”

  “Yes, Mouse.”

  Zoe’s hands tented over her mouth. “No!”

  “I’m so sorry, honey. I have to tell you the truth.”

  Zoe shook her head, a sob building at the base of her throat. “I don’t want to hear this truth.”

  “I know. But you can handle it.”

  Now the sob burst from her. “I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  Zoe took a deep breath. The rest of what her mom was saying slowly caught up. She wasn’t going home.

  “But … what will happen to me?”

  “They … they told me that you can come and stay with me at the hospice. After that, I’ve asked Kate if she and her husband would consider becoming your legal guardians.”

  “What?” Zoe’s hands fell from her mouth. “But … you hate Kate.”

  “I don’t hate Kate. But what’s more important is how much you like her. And how much she cares about you. I believe you would be loved and taken care of with Kate. Nothing is more important to me than that.”

  Her mom’s voice was calm and soothing, but she had tears in her eyes. They hovered on her bottom lid, defying gravity.

  “I don’t want to live with Kate,” Zoe blurted out, more of a cry than a shout.

  “You don’t?” Her mom’s tears started to fall.

  “No!”

  “Oh.” Her mom wiped furiously against the tears that refused to stop. “Well … who do you want to live with?”

  “I want to live with you!” Zoe cried, and she lay down next to her mother. There, in the hospital bed, they sobbed, until their tears mingled together and it was impossible to tell whose were whose.

  78

  Kate stood in the doorway of Alice’s hospital room. Zoe was curled up on her mother’s bed, asleep. She hadn’t left Alice’s side in nearly a week. Alice had stabilized now and discharge planning had commenced. That afternoon, she would be transferred to a hospice.

  “Hello,” Alice said, noticing her there.

  Kate walked into the room and they both looked down at Zoe, sleeping peacefully. Kate had an overpowering urge to stroke her hair back off her face, but she held back. For now, her mother could do that.

  “So,” Kate started at the same time as Alice grabbed her hand.

  “Zoe loops Cheerios on a straw and then sucks them off,” she said. “It’s weird, but she likes it.”

  Kate stared at her, confused.

  “She’s a little OCD. She never watches TV without doing something else to occupy her hands. A puzzle. Folding laundry. Stuff like that.”

  “Alice—”

  “She’s surprisingly cuddly. You wouldn’t think that, would you? She loves things that are cozy—cushions and throw rugs and blankets. As you can see, she still likes to sleep with me. When she was younger, it was for her—because she was scared or just wanted a cuddle. Lately, it’s been for me.”

  Alice’s chin quivered, but she kept it together, always stronger than she looked. “She loves her cat, Kenny. I don’t care for him much—he leaves fur all over my couch—but she loves him.”

  Alice’s eyes filled with tears and suddenly Kate understood. She was handing Zoe over.

  “Alice, you don’t have to—”

  “Please, let me. I don’t have time to tell you everything, but at least I can tell you this.”

  A ball of emotion lodged itself in Kate’s throat, so enormous it was nearly unbearable. No mother should have to say good-bye to her child like this. Not when their time together was already too short. Finally she nodded. “All right.”

  “Knock, knock.”

  They both glanced at the door, where Dr. Brookes stood.

  “I’ve sent a discharge summary to the hospice,” he said to Alice.

  Alice lips were taut, controlling the emotion. “Great. Thank you.”

  Dr. Brookes came to her side and took her hand. “I wish you all the best.”

  “Thank you,” she repeated. She looked so small, Kate noticed, in that bed. So vulnerable. For the first time, she reminded Kate of … Zoe.

  “Kate, will you tell Sonja to inform the hospice that Alice is coming,” Dr. Brookes said. He got as far as the doorway before Kate found her voice.

  “No.”

  He paused, turned. “I’m sorry?”

  “Alice isn’t going to the hospice. She’s coming home with me.” She looked at Alice. “I have the room. I can care for you myself. And you’ll have Zoe right there, in the very same room if you like.”

  The emotion in Alice’s face nearly brought Kate to her knees. “Really?”

  Kate managed to nod. “Hold on to your memories for now. We have time. I plan on hearing every last one.”

  Dr. Brookes nodded and excused himself from the room. Zoe continued to sleep. And for several minutes, Kate and Alice stayed right where they were, looking down at the sleeping girl who would bind them together forever.

  79

  TWO WEEKS LATER …

  “This,” Zoe said into the microphone. The room was quiet, ready. “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done. Most people would say skydiving, and I’m terrified of skydiving too, but probably not for the same reasons as you. Heights don’t scare me at all. I’d be terrified about how I’d look with a parachute strapped to my back.”

  There was a slight hum of laughter, and Zoe realized that, until now, they’d all been holding their breath, just like she had. She’d decided to do her presentation with her back to the audience. She was still terrified, but it was bea
rable.

  “And not just that. I’d be worried that someone might have to talk to me on the way up, you know, give me instructions. Then, when we jumped, I’d be terrified that I’d fall the wrong way—not because it would kill me, but because I might be embarrassed in front of my instructor.”

  The laughter was louder now. It was, she supposed, kind of funny.

  “It is pretty funny,” she said. “Even though it’s not a joke, how bad I feel sometimes.”

  The laughter died down, which was good. It was textbook, in fact. Start with an anecdote, make them laugh, then get serious.

  “The reason I’m messed up is, I have social anxiety disorder.” She paused for a few beats to let that sink in. “What does that mean? Honestly, I don’t know. There are enough of us with it that the condition has a name, but all of us experience it differently. I have panic attacks, not everyone does. My panic attacks are not trigger-based, or at least, I don’t know what the trigger is. Anything can start them, but usually it’s a fear of being judged.”

  The silence behind her was terrifying. It also meant that, hopefully, she was making her point.

  “The last time I tried to talk in front of you all, I peed my pants. I have no guarantee that this won’t happen again today. I never have any idea what is coming. Whether it will be a good day or a bad day. That’s why this is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.

  “I didn’t sleep last night,” she said. “People say that a lot, when what they really mean is that they didn’t sleep much. Their sleep was interrupted. They tossed and turned. But I literally didn’t sleep. I spent the night in battle, batting negative thoughts away as fast as they could come at me. I did a pretty good job of it, clearly, because I’m here. But I’m tired. And doing something scary when you’re tired, I’ll tell you, really sucks.”

  Zoe’s mouth was devoid of moisture. There was a bottle of water on the table in front of her and she picked it up, tried to unscrew the lid. But her hands were useless, weak and sweaty. She took the hem of her T-shirt, tried to open the lid with it, but it was no good.

  “This, for example, is particularly mortifying,” she said, and there was another burst of laughter. Harry appeared on the stage beside her and opened it with annoying ease. She took a sip. “I’m going to be honest. I’m not doing this because I’m trying to face my fear, or even because I want others to know that they are not alone. I wish my reasons were so noble. I’m doing this because my English grade depends on it. More importantly, I’m doing it because I want my mom to know that I can.”

  Zoe glanced over her shoulder now and looked directly at her mom, in a wheelchair in the first of six rows of people. She looked so thin, so unbearably ill, but she’d insisted on coming. Kate sat beside her. Zoe held it together pretty well, until she noticed they were holding hands, squeezing so tight that the bones of their knuckles protruded like tiny mountains.

  “I spent some time looking at the grading criteria before I wrote this speech,” Zoe continued, turning back. “There were five points to be graded on, and five marks for each. The first criterion was … originality. As far as I know I’m the first person to do her presentation with her back to the audience, so I’d say I have those points in the bag. The second was participation.” Zoe looked theatrically around. “Unless my speechwriter pops out, I’m thinking I got those points covered too. The third was eye contact, which I guess I’ve failed … Then again, if you consider criterion one, originality, I suspect you might find some points for me too. The fourth was content, which I’ll admit, there isn’t much of. But a good speech shouldn’t be measured in terms of content, but more in terms of reaction to content. And I’m going to go out on a limb and say that, judging by your silence, punctuated by interspersed laughter, I have your attention.”

  Another round of laughs.

  “The fifth criterion was conclusion or opinion, which you are probably wondering about. Why on earth is Zoe committing this public social suicide? She could have done this speech in front of a group of five, why oh why would she choose to do it in front of the entire class? Which brings me to my powerful, five-point-worthy conclusion. We’re all scared. Maybe we’re scared of stuff that is truly, legitimately scary like skydiving, or maybe we’re scared of what other people think of us. Maybe we’re scared for someone else. Maybe we’re scared of something that might never happen, or something that is going to happen next week. It’s scary being scared. But what’s scarier than being scared is being alone.”

  Zoe paused to let that sink in.

  “Cheesy, maybe, but it’s true. I used to think that, when I was scared, I needed to be alone. But that was the opposite of what I needed. The answer to fear is people. Which is why you’re all here. The truth is, I’ll never be normal. I’ll never be able to stand in front of a group and ad-lib a speech. I’ll probably never walk down the street without worrying if people are looking at me, I probably won’t be able to talk to a boy without sweating and shaking. But I’ll try to do these things anyway. So I won’t be by myself anymore. So I’ll be out in the world … with you.”

  Zoe turned around. Two dozen pairs of eyes looked in her direction, which made her weak to her knees. But she looked back anyway. At her mom. At Kate. And finally, to the right of the faces, to where Mrs. Patterson stood.

  “If that isn’t worth five points, Mrs. P., I don’t know what is.”

  80

  ONE MONTH LATER …

  It was late. Zoe lay on her side, looking at her mom. Kenny the cat lay on the other side of her mom, pressed against her, almost as if he knew it was time. In spite of her mom’s relentless positivity, Zoe knew it was time too. Her mom had been mostly asleep these last few days.

  Kate had taken a leave of absence from work and was caring for her around the clock. There were lots of visitors. Paul came by regularly. Even Dulcie had visited. Zoe had transitioned pretty well to life at Kate’s. On the nights that Jake and Scarlett were there, she didn’t say much, but she usually managed to at least eat something. It was easier when Harry was there. He made enough conversation for both of them. A few times, Kate’s dad came over for dinner. He was a kind of awkward old guy, which Zoe found oddly comforting. It made her feel like she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t socially gifted.

  But despite the number of people who’d been around, Zoe and Kate were the main team. When Zoe wasn’t at school, they’d developed something of a routine. Kate would administer the medicine while Zoe took her temperature or readjusted her pillows. Until a few days ago, her mom had been making inappropriate jokes (“When I was diagnosed with a tumor I was horrified, but then it really started to grow on me”), but today she’d barely spoken. She was on a lot of morphine—more every day. Soon, Kate said, she wouldn’t talk at all.

  “Hey Mom?”

  Alice’s eyes fluttered, then opened a little. Zoe shuffled closer. “Do you want to go to Comfytown?” she asked. She started pulling the blankets up and arranging the cushions, but her mom shook her head.

  “We don’t need Comfytown anymore, Mouse.”

  Zoe left the blankets where they were. Slowly she looked around. Her mom was right. They lived in a big house, surrounded by wonderful people. They didn’t need blankets and pillows to feel safe.

  “You’ll be happy with Kate.” Her voice rose at the end, making it a question.

  “I will,” Zoe said. “I promise I will.”

  Her mom nodded. Her eyes were closed, but somehow, a tear slid out. “I need to sleep now, baby.”

  Zoe slid up farther until her body was pressed alongside her mother. Several hours later, when her breathing became labored, Zoe held her tighter and whispered, “I’m here.” More than anything, she wanted her mom to know that she wasn’t alone. She had the feeling her mom wanted her to know the exact same thing.

  In the morning, Zoe didn’t think she’d ever manage to untangle herself from her mother’s arms, but somehow, she did. It might have been the fact that she was stronger now, because of the
past few months. It might have been because she knew it was what her mother wanted. But Zoe suspected it was mostly the fact that there was another set of arms waiting for her, right down the hall.

  ALSO BY SALLY HEPWORTH

  THE THINGS WE KEEP

  THE SECRETS OF MIDWIVES

  WENN DU AN MEINER SEITE BIST

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sally Hepworth is a former event planner and human resources professional. A graduate of Monash University in Melbourne, Australia, Sally started writing novels after the birth of her first child. She is the author of Love Like the French, published by Random House Germany in February 2014. Sally has lived around the world, spending extended periods in Singapore, the U.K., and Canada, and she now writes full-time from her home in Melbourne, where she lives with her husband and two young children. Visit Sally’s Web site at www.sallyhepworthauthor.com or find her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/sallyhepworthauthor) and Twitter (www.twitter.com/sallyhepworth). Or sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6