Chapter 17
seventeen
HUNTER
The automatic doors leading to Mount Sinai’s surgical wing whoosh open, releasing a blast of over-conditioned air that smells of disinfectant and fear.
My shoes squeak against the polished floors as we follow the signs to the waiting room, each step echoing in my ears like a countdown.
I hate hospitals. Have hated them since I was thirteen, and watching my mother recover from what my father claimed was another “accident.” That turned out to be the final accident, the one that led to Mom emptying his bank account while he was at work and us fleeing to New York to start a new life.
But I hadn’t known we were on the verge of freedom at the time.
I’d only known that I was alone with a monster in the emergency waiting room, wondering if my mom was going to make it out of that horrible, stinking hospital alive.
I try to shake off the memory, but it isn’t easy. The institutional lighting makes everything look sickly and unreal, just like in my nightmares.
“This way,” Elaina says, touching a hand to my shoulder and pointing to our right, where a small blue sign points the way to the surgical patient waiting room.
We charge down the hall and into a medium-sized space painted in sickly yellow-beige, with ugly, faded floral watercolors framed on the walls.
A television mounted in the corner drones on about weather patterns, the sound barely audible but somehow still grating. Two other families huddle in opposite corners, their faces drawn with the same fear I’m fighting to control. One woman clutches a rosary, her lips moving in silent prayer. The sight makes my chest tighten. I’m not a praying man, but I should have still been here, holding vigil, standing guard against Death.
As crazy as I know it is, a part of me truly believes that it would have made a difference. That Death would have seen me sitting here, with my fists clenched, ready to do battle, and decided to fuck with someone else.
Katie looks so small hunched in a chair under an ugly painting of a field of sunflowers, too small to give Death second thoughts…
“Mr. Mendelssohn.” She rises from her chair as we approach, more disheveled than I’ve ever seen her. Her blouse is wrinkled, her salt-and-pepper hair escaping its tight bun. There are coffee stains on her sleeve, making me think she’s been here for hours.
Hours I spent at work and walking the park, completely fucking oblivious to the fact that my mother was apparently fighting for her life in a surgical suite…
“Tell me everything,” I say, not bothering with pleasantries. “How did this happen? How is she now?”
“I’m so sorry,” Katie says, looking nearly as miserable as I feel. “I really thought you knew. Margaret told me you’d be arriving later, after she was awake. That you’d both agreed it was better for you not to exhaust yourself with worry.”
My jaw clenches so tight that I can hear my teeth grind together as I fight to maintain control.
“Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault, I just…” My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. “Just start from the beginning, please?”
Katie sags back into her chair, the vinyl squeaking beneath her. Her eyes flick between me and Elaina, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “Well, she’s been consulting with Dr. Garrett for weeks about this new, experimental procedure,” she says. “Something with nanobots? Those tiny robots they’re using to operate on spinal tumors they couldn’t get to before? The success rate isn’t high right now. It’s only about twenty-five percent in cases as advanced as Margaret’s, but when it works…” She trails off, her throat working as she swallows. “She was adamant about trying. She said she didn’t see that she had anything to lose, but so much to gain. She wanted more time.”
More time. The words land like blows, driving the air from my lungs. If she’d told me, I could have researched the procedure, found better doctors—the best doctors. I could have done everything possible to increase her chances.
I have connections and resources.
I could have…
Should have…
Katie glances between us again, her eyes growing glassy. “She really wanted to live to see the wedding. It was all she could talk about.”
Elaina makes a soft, wounded sound as she reaches out to rub my back. “Oh, poor Margaret. I’m so sorry, Hunter. I’m so, so sorry.”
The overhead lights buzz louder, the sound filling my head until I can barely think.
I fumble for Elaina’s hand, grateful when she threads her fingers through mine and holds on tight.
“The surgery started this morning at six,” Katie continues, her voice seeming to come from farther away than before. “It was supposed to take eight hours, but there were complications. Her blood pressure dropped during the third hour, they said, and they had to?—”
“Did they have a cardiac team standing by?” The words tear from my throat. “Given her history, that should have been a no-brainer.”
“Yes,” Katie assures me. “Dr. Garrett made sure of that.”
“Dr. Garrett,” I repeat. “Is he the one who developed this procedure?”
“No, but he trained with the team that did, and has a stellar reputation,” Katie says. “Margaret checked on all of that and read all the studies. She wasn’t going in blind. She met with the doctor several times before—” She breaks off with a relieved sound as her gaze fixes on something behind me. She lifts a hand in greeting. “There he is now. Dr. Garrett, hello, this is Hunter, Margaret’s son.”
I turn to see a middle-aged doctor in surgical scrubs headed our way. He has more silver in his hair than I do—making me guess his age closer to fifty than forty—and looks exhausted. His mask hangs around his neck, and his blue eyes are shot through with red, his dark blue scrubs wrinkled and stained with sweat beneath his arms.
“Good to meet you Mr. Mendelssohn,” he says, extending a hand as he stops in front of us.
I release Elaina’s palm and grip his, pumping it only once before asking, “How is she? I would have been here, but she didn’t tell me. I didn’t know any of this was happening until about thirty minutes ago.”
His eyes widen, but he doesn’t waste time commenting on the fact that my mother apparently decided to keep her only child in the dark about her decision to undergo a dangerous, experimental procedure. “The surgery was more complex than anticipated. We encountered more invasive tissue in the spinal cord than the imaging suggested. However, we were able to remove approximately seventy percent of the affected tissue, which means radiation should hopefully be effective on what remains. However…”
He pauses, and in that silence, I hear every beep from the nurses’ station, every squeak of shoes on linoleum, every murmured prayer from the woman with the rosary.
That ‘however’ hangs in the air like a guillotine blade.
“Your mother’s body had difficulty tolerating the extended procedure,” he continues. “The surgery lasted nearly twelve hours, significantly longer than planned.” He meets my eyes directly, his exhaustion evident. “She’s currently in a medically induced coma to protect her brain from further damage.”
The floor seems to shift under my feet. The fluorescent lights overhead blur and swim. Questions flood my mind but stick in my throat like shards of glass. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. The walls of the waiting room seem to press in closer, the air growing thinner.
My voice sounds distant, unfamiliar when I manage to ask, “When will we know? If she’s…”
The doctor’s hesitation feels endless. “If her vitals stabilize in the next forty-eight hours, her chances improve significantly. The surgery itself was successful. Now it’s just a matter of whether her body can recover from the trauma. But we’ll be monitoring her closely and doing everything we can to help her pull through. The nurses here are second to none. She’s in excellent hands.”
“Can we see her?” Elaina asks from beside me, her voice soft but steady.
“Of course. Once she’s settled in the ICU, we can get you in to see her.” The doctor checks his watch. “Should be about thirty minutes to an hour. We’re just waiting for a space to open, but that should be sorted soon. A nurse will come get you when she’s ready.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I say, shaking his hand again. “I appreciate the update.”
“I’ll reach out as soon as I know anything more,” he says.
After he leaves, I sink into the chair beside Katie’s. The vinyl is cold through my pants, the metal frame digging into my back.
I still can’t believe she did this. That my mother chose to risk everything without telling me. Without giving me a chance to talk it through with her.
Or at the very least say goodbye…
“I’ll get us some tea, okay?” Elaina says, squeezing my shoulder. “I think we could all use something warm and soothing. Katie, would you like some?”
“Yes, please,” Katie says, sounding utterly exhausted.
I should tell her that she can go home, that I’ll take over from here, but for some reason the words don’t come. My brain is too busy, my thoughts racing through my new “to do” list at the speed of light. I need to call Mom’s regular doctors and get second opinions on post-operative care. I need to make sure we have the best specialists on call in case she wakes up with heart complications. Brain complications.
And I should probably have the number of the funeral home she picked ready, just in case she doesn’t wake up at all…
“Hang in there, you two,” Elaina says, backing away. “We’re going to get through this together. Like the doctor said, this is a great hospital. Mount Sinai has a wonderful reputation, and I have faith that Margaret is going to get the care she needs to make a full recovery.”
Mount Sinai…
Something clicks in my brain, cutting through the fog of panic and pain.
Did I ever tell Elaina that Mom was at Mount Sinai? I mentally replay the moment when Katie called, the few words I spoke before hanging up…
I would bet a few million that I didn’t say which hospital, but when we got in the cab, Elaina just…knew.
She knew.
How the hell did she know?
I look up sharply, but she’s already walking away.
I try to tell myself that I’m being crazy, that there’s no way Elaina could have known about this. Even if for some insane reason, my mother decided to share her surgery plan with my fiancée instead of her own child, Elaina would have told me.
She absolutely would have…right?
I press my palms against my thighs, fighting the urge to go after her, to demand answers. But I can’t move.
Can’t breathe.
Can’t do anything but sit here wondering how many other secrets she’s keeping and if my mother is going to live to explain why she felt compelled to cut me out of her life at the eleventh hour.