by M. Leighton
Chapter 30
Celina was tickled to death to find out we’d been invited to cook out at her father’s house. My mother, on the other hand, didn’t take it so well.
“After all the trouble that boy has already caused you, and you’re running right back into it. Honestly, Brinkley, it’s like you don’t even try to think.”
“Whatever, Momma. You don’t know all the details, and believe me when I tell you, I’m sparing you by not giving them to you. I’ll just say this. You’d be wise to take it easy on Dane James. He’s not the awful person you think he is.”
“I didn’t say he’s an awful person. I just said he’s brought you enough pain, don’t you think?”
“Dane never brought me pain, Momma. You and Alton did that just fine without him.”
With that, I turned on my heel and walked out of the room. Half an hour later, there was a knock at the front door. I knew it was Dane. I didn’t have to look at the clock to know that it was three on the nose.
I answer the door. He’s wearing khaki shorts, a forest green shirt, and a smile that turns my stomach inside out, even though it’s not for me. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You two ready?”
“Let me get Celina.” I turn to invite him in and go get my daughter, but I nearly roll over her when I do. She’s right behind me, all smiles. “Oh, well, I guess we’re ready then.”
Dane steps back and Celina runs out the door. I throw a courtesy goodbye to my mother over my shoulder and am not the least bit surprised when I get no response.
When I close the door, Dane asks, “Hard feelings?”
I roll my eyes. “Very.”
I smile as I walk behind him and Celina and listen to what they’re saying.
“I’ll give you three guesses what I’m making and the first two don’t count.”
“Something on the grill!” she responds with no small amount of sarcasm, albeit the teasing kind.
Dane glances back at me then says to our daughter with a wink, “Got a smart mouth like your mother.”
“She got all her good traits from her mother. Everything else came from your gene pool, Dad.”
Dane beams. That’s the only way I can think of to describe the ecstatic brilliance that breaks over his face. My heart shines with the reflection of it. I don’t entirely feel like I’m a part of this, because this is so very much between Dane and our daughter, but it thrills me nonetheless. For Celina. And for Dane. Two people I’ve loved since I’ve known them.
I hear him tell Celina, “To be honest, I’m kinda glad you got your looks from her. I’m not a pretty dude. I’m handsome as hell, you know, but these legs could never look good in a dress. Your mom’s on the other hand…”
“Ewwww! You’re as bad as she is.”
Dane laughs. Celina laughs. I laugh. He doesn’t see it, but his comment makes me so happy. It’s a compliment, and considering how upset he is with me, that feels like a huge step forward.
We climb into Dane’s truck. I let Celina sit in the front. She and her father chatter all the way to his house while I reflect on the conversation I had with my daughter this morning when I explained that I’d told Dane he was her father. She was over the moon that he was already so interested in her.
“What did he say?”
“He wanted all the details. He wants to help however he can.” She said nothing, so I continued. “He wanted to know all about you, what kind of baby you were, what you were like growing up. And he loved that you have a birthmark on your belly.”
At that, Celina raised her head and looked at me. Her lips curved upward and her eyes were wide with delight. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. He said that was ‘so cool’.”
That garnered a genuine smile. “I think he’s cool.”
“You think?”
She nods. “Yeah. And he’s smart.”
“He’s definitely smart. That’s where you get it.”
“What else do I get from him?”
And so I repeated for my daughter all the things that I’d told Dane. I acquainted her with her father, and with all the similarities they share, and I placed the first stitches that will knit my child and the love of my life together.
Even now, thinking back on it, I can’t ever remember feeling such great peace. Not all at once at least.
When Dane pulls up in front of a beautiful two-story log cabin, Celina leans down to look up at it through the windshield. “Wow!”
I’m thinking the same thing, but I keep it to myself.
Celina bolts out of the truck as soon as it comes to a stop, and Dane comes around to help me out of the back. He offers his hand, which I take, and he stares right into my eyes as I step out and onto the ground. His eyes aren’t quite as cold, aren’t quite as brown. They’re a little warmer, a little lighter. I know it’s mostly to do with Celina, but it still gives me hope for us.
Dane takes my daughter and me on a grand tour of his impressive home. It’s big and well-done, right down to the luxurious appointments around every corner, but it’s also understated. It isn’t gauche or ostentatious. It’s quietly stunning, and I love it instantly.
There is a formal living room and dining room just beyond the foyer. All the bedrooms except the master, he says, are on the second floor. He points at the top of the gracefully winding staircase, but doesn’t take us there.
We pass through the state-of-the-art kitchen with its warm woods and pale greens to the den, which is clearly where Dane lives and breathes. It has touches of use and comfort on every surface, from the worn taupe leather of the sofa to the remote controls lined up on the dark wood table. From there, we go outside to an intimate backyard. Tall cyprus trees provide privacy while still looking lush and blending with the landscape, and a koi pond bubbles soothingly opposite the patio.
“Frisbee before I start cooking?” Dane is looking at Celina when he asks, who nods enthusiastically. It’s the first thing that makes my antennae twitch.
“Don’t overdo it, babe.”
She gives me a breezy, “I won’t, Mom,” and then she’s running off to the center of the yard with her father.
I take a seat at the round glass-topped table and watch them. A profound sense of serenity and of rightness wraps its arms around me in a tight hug of emotion. I watch half of their play through a thin veil of tears.
The two play and laugh effortlessly, like they’ve known each other forever. And, seeing them, no one in their right mind would question their genetic bond. Celina moves with the same easy grace as her father. They’re like two pieces of the same person, and I wonder if Dane can see it. I wonder if he can sense it.
My phone rings as I look on. It’s a number I don’t recognize, so I ignore it. This time is all about my child and her father. Nothing is more important.
Until I get home at nearly eleven p.m. and realize that my mother is gone.
And that the call was from the hospital.
Chapter 31
I pace the floor as I wait to be connected to the right person. The woman who left the message was from the emergency department, but she was in with a patient and no one could tell me anything about my mother, other than she’d been transferred. She put me on hold for another person in the Cath Lab, but when the call was picked up, it was by the unit secretary who came on the line, asked the name of the patient I wanted to speak with, and promptly told me Momma was no longer down there.
After she made some noises as she searched for my mother’s location, she finally said, “Hold please. I’ll transfer you to cardiac intensive care.”
The line went quiet as the words exploded in my head.
Cardiac intensive care?
My pulse was racing by the time I heard another voice. “CICU. This is Pam.”
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Brinkley Sommers and I received a call earlier about my mother, Katherine Peterson.”
“Peterson, Peterson. Let me check her chart. Hold on for me just a second.”
I could hear papers rustling, so at least she didn’t put me on real hold. I might’ve climbed through the phone and strangled someone. I wouldn’t even be making calls if I had any idea where to find Momma at the hospital. I’d just have driven straight there. “Can you confirm her date of birth please?”
I do.
“And can you give me your full name and relationship to the patient?”
I do that as well, even though I’ve already established both of those things. I try not to be snappish, reminding myself that she’s just doing her job.
“Thank you. I’m your mother’s nurse, Pam. Her emergency contact was listed as Alton Peterson, but since he’s passed, she gave your name and number as her next of kin.”
Next of kin? Oh, God!
My breath sticks in my throat. “Y-yes. I’m her daughter.”
“Ms. Sommers, your mother called emergency services when she started having chest pain this afternoon. She was brought by ambulance to the emergency room and they did a cardiac work-up. It showed signs of some damage to the heart muscle, so she was taken in for a cardiac catheterization this evening. She has a very serious left main blockage, and she’ll be going in for coronary bypass surgery first thing in the morning. I’m calling so that if you or another relative would like to come and stay with her, you have that opportunity before she goes in.”
I’m so stunned, my mind already so overwhelmed, that only bits and pieces of what she said register. They stick out like tall weeds in a field of yellow poppies.
Mother.
Cardiac.
Surgery.
Opportunity.
Although I can’t repeat much of what the nurse said, the gist of it hits home. And it’ll never be forgotten.
My mother is in trouble. And there’s a chance she won’t make it out alive.
I let the phone fall away from my ear for a second as I struggle to process this.
My mouth is dry and my brain slow to fire. “Is she…is she conscious? Is she awake?”
“Yes, she’s awake now. She’s in the Cardiac ICU if you want to come see her. Just buzz the door and check in at the nurses’ station.”
I look back at my daughter, sitting on the couch, watching me with great interest. She’s my child. Her health and wellbeing are my number one priority, even above my own. But somewhere close to her is my mother.
My mother.
I’ve loved her my whole life, even though at times I wondered if I also secretly hated her. She had crazy ideals, lived a life I could never get on board with, and she did things I would never do to my child.
But.
She’s my mother.
At the end of the day, no matter what, she’s the woman who gave me life, who raised me, who sacrificed for me. She’s the woman who, in her own way, tried to do what was best for me. Mostly. She’s my momma, and she could be dying.
I know enough about heart surgery to know it’s dangerous, even if necessary. There’s a laundry list of possible complications, not the least of which is that there’s a chance the heart won’t start back up. As with anything major like that, there are risks. Big ones.
Momma’s young and healthy, as far as I know, but there’s still a chance, no matter how great or small, that she won’t make it, that this could be my last opportunity to talk to her. And there are things I want to say.
“Ms. Sommers?”
It’s Pam, checking to see if I’m still on the line.
“I…I’m on my way.”
It’s almost the middle of the night and my child is here alone, but I have to go. I know that I can’t let my mother die not knowing for sure that I love her. That after everything, no matter what, I love her.
I hang up the phone as I walk on shaking legs to the sofa.
“What is it, Momma?” Celina’s eyes are wide. She knows it’s bad. But I don’t want to stress her any more than what she already is, so I make a point to be very calm as I tell her.
“Your grandmother has had a heart attack. She has to have surgery. In the morning. And I…I need to go see her. Just to…just to see her. Just in case.” I resist the urge to press a finger to my throbbing temple.
“Then we need to go.”
“No, honey, we don’t. The last thing you need is to pick up a bug at the hospital.”
“Momma, I’m in and out of the hospital all the time.”
“But that’s different. We don’t have a choice.”
“We don’t now either. This is my grandmother. I want to see her, too, especially if…if…”
She’s smart and perceptive. She knows what this could mean. And I can’t overlook what it could mean for Celina if I deprive her of this. She hasn’t known her grandmother very long, but I know she loves her already, and I don’t want to take this away from her, just in case the worst happens.
I sigh. Part of my brain is asking furiously if things can get any worse, but the other part is hushing it, because I know they can.
Things can always get worse.
“All right, but just to talk to her and then we’re coming straight back home. I’ll…I’ll go back in the morning, before they take her into surgery.”
“Just call my dad. I bet he’d let me stay with him.”
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not? He’s an adult, too.”
“I know he’s an adult, but…but…”
“But he’s not you.”
I want to deny it, but I can’t. “Is it so wrong that I’m protective of you?”
“No, but he’s my father, Momma. This is different.”
I close my eyes. I know she’s right. “I know. Yes, I’ll call him. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to have you stay with him.”
It makes me feel a little better to see how excited Celina is about this. To her, it probably feels like a slumber party with her brand new best friend. And, even though I’m uneasy in some ways (mainly because I’m a control freak), I’m ecstatic to see her so happy. She needed some happy in her life.
I think we all do.
“Come on then. Help me find his number.”
We start toward Alton’s office. I feel sure my mother keeps a list of phone numbers, and surely Dane’s is among them since he owns the fields now.
“It’s probably in here,” Celina says, going straight to the Rolodex. And she’s right. It is.
Dane answers on the first ring.
“Were you asleep?”
That’s my first question. I don’t even think to tell him who’s calling. Luckily, I don’t need to.
“No. Is everything all right, Brinkley?”
I can hear that thread of unease in his voice. A phone call, late at night…that rarely ever means something good.
“Well, I’ve been better.”
Suddenly, I’m close to tears, but I keep a tight leash on my emotions. Celina doesn’t need to see me fall apart. She needs to see me strong and calm, so that’s what I’ll be. For her.
I fill him in, giving him the short version.
“Jesus,” Dane whispers. I know what he’s thinking. His own father died of a heart attack. I haven’t forgotten that, or forgotten to be terrified by that. Quickly, he adds, “What can I do?”
“Celina wants to see her, too, but she shouldn’t be staying the night up there. She needs her rest, and hospitals aren’t the cleanest places for her to be. Would you mind picking her up and keeping her for the night?”
It feels so strange to be asking Dane James, the boy I fell in love with at age twelve, to take care of our sick daughter while I stay with my sick mother. Whose life is this?
“Done. Whatever you need.”
“Give us, like, thirty minutes?”
“I’ll be there. What room is she in?”
“I don’t know. She’s in CICU. Just come there. We’ll figure out the rest.”
“Meet you there.”
I feel my chin start to wobble. “Thank you, Dane. I…I…”
“Brinkley, you don’t
have to thank me. She’s my kid, too.”
“I know, but…”
I don’t know how to tell him how much his love of Celina means to me, how much his help means to me. There just doesn’t seem to be words.
After a few seconds of me floundering, Dane cuts me loose, for which I’m grateful. “Go. I’ll see you soon.”
Celina and I are on our way out the door almost as soon as the phone is back in its cradle.
Just a few minutes later, we’re racing down a long hallway lined with walls the color of pale, old mustard. My eyes flick up to the signs that hang from the ceiling, spaced at each intersection and boasting blue letters and arrows. I turn right, following the arrow that points to CICU.
The hall empties out into a large, brightly-lit waiting room. It has low couches and matching chairs, set into groupings around the space. There are plants in giant clay pots and a bar with four coffee urns lined up like ducks in a row. Against one wall, there is a reception desk. It’s empty at this time of night. The only people here are those with weary faces and bleary eyes and more stress than they can handle. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here. Especially here.
I see a set of double doors across the room with a blue and white sign on the left one that reads EMPLOYEES ONLY. VISITORS MUST CHECK IN. There’s an arrow pointing to an intercom. Celina and I head that way, and I press the button.
A disembodied female voice comes on and asks how she can help me. I give her Momma’s name and my own, and she buzzes me in.
Going forward is like stepping from one world into another. The walls are a sterile white, the floors are a gleaming gray, and the voices are hushed to better hear the beeps and alarms that sound seemingly from every direction.
We stop at the nurses’ station, in front of a woman about my age with dark hair piled up on top of her head. She smiles at me and tucks her pen behind her ear.
“May I help you?” she asks.
“My name is Brinkley Sommers. I’m Katherine Peterson’s daughter. Are you Pam?”
“I am.” The woman stretches forth her hand and I take it. It’s cool and the grip is firm, inspiring confidence for some reason. “It’s nice to meet you, Brinkley. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Her expression shows sympathy, and it doesn’t appear feigned.