Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mila
I drive straight to the hospital, blowing stop signs, cutting people off, failing to yield. I figure it will serve me right to be pulled over and issued a ticket.
“Your mom had a fall,” my Aunt Jackie said. “I called the ambulance, and they took her to the ER. Meet me there.”
At the hospital, I park crookedly and race inside. I spot my aunt sitting in the waiting room and rush over, dropping into the chair beside her. “Aunt Jackie,” I pant, winded and nearly hysterical. “What happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” My aunt looks tired and worried. “From what I can tell, she tried to make it from the couch to the bathroom without using the walker and fell. Somehow she managed to get back to her phone and call me.”
“Oh, no.” Guilt smothers me like an avalanche, and I bury my face in my hands. While I was cavorting with baby goats or moaning against the side of a barn with Everett’s hand in my pants, my mother was lying on the floor, suffering alone. “How is she?”
“In a lot of pain. But her vital signs were okay, and they gave her some meds. They’re doing X-rays now to see if she dislocated an implant or fractured anything. They’ll likely keep her overnight.”
My eyes fill. “I feel awful.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” She rubs my back. “I hate to leave you, honey, but I promised Lauren I’d babysit this afternoon.”
“It’s okay. I’ll keep you posted.” I stand when she does and give her a hug. “Thanks for being here.”
When she’s gone, I pull out my phone. Several texts from Everett have come in.
Everett: How is she?
Everett: I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.
Everett: I shouldn’t have asked you to stay.
Mila: Still waiting to hear. It’s not your fault. She tried to get to the bathroom without her walker apparently.
Everett: I feel like a dick, keeping you away from home for selfish reasons.
Mila: I stayed because I wanted to.
Everett: Are you still at the hospital?
Mila: At the ER. She’s getting X-rays.
I also have a message from Yasmine.
Yasmine: Hey! I just wanted to tell you how much fun I had last night. Thank you so much for coming into the bar and hanging out with me at work. Next time I’ll take a night off! Hope your head is okay today! Coffee soon?
Mila: My head is a mess. I loved hanging out at your bar, and I’m sorry I lost my mind there at the end of the night. Next time, I’ll skip the shots.
Mila: My mom had a fall today, so I’m at the ER with her right now, fingers crossed it’s not serious. Coffee sounds good. I’ll text you.
Yasmine: Oh no!! Keep me posted!
I like her last reply and approach the desk to ask for an update.
“Let’s see.” The nurse checks her computer. “Looks like she’s still waiting on an X-ray. They’re backed up. Once those are done, the on-call orthopedic surgeon will look them over and examine her. Then they’ll call you back. Maybe an hour?”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Despondent, I return to my chair. While I slouch in my seat, I replay the episode with Everett in my mind like a movie, frame by frame.
I close my eyes and feel the warm wood of the barn wall beneath my palms. Hear his gritty, country-road voice in my ear.
Experience the sensation of being slowly tied into a knot, then unraveled all at once.
I berate myself all over again for enjoying the memory.
I’m slumped to one side, head propped on my knuckles, when a pair of familiar brown boots appears on the floor in front of me.
My eyes travel up from the lug soles to the faded jeans to the gray Henley I cried into earlier today.
Above it all is the face that sends my pulse skipping like a flat stone over the lake.
I straighten up. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Everett says softly. “How is she?”
“No word yet.”
“And how are you?”
“Okay.”
He holds out a white paper bag. “I brought you some dinner. I figured you hadn’t eaten.”
I stare at the bag, from which a savory scent is emanating. “You’re always feeding me.”
He nudges my sneaker with his boot. “You’re always needing to be fed.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”
“No?”
“No.” A cavernous groan chooses that moment to thunder through my empty belly. The woman three chairs down looks over at me.
“Here.” He lowers himself into the chair my aunt vacated and hands me the bag. “Meat pasty from Sawbuck Tavern. I hope it’s still warm.”
“I can’t eat.” But my mouth is watering.
“Oh. Well, do you mind if I eat it? I already had dinner, but I love these things.” He opens the bag and takes out the meat pie, which is wrapped in foil.
I gaze longingly at the flaky, golden crust. “Go ahead.”
“God, can you smell that?” He brings the pasty to his face and inhales. “You sure you don’t want just one bite? I mean, I feel like it might be a worse punishment to know what this tastes like and then deny yourself the pleasure.”
“You’re right.” I reach for it. “I’ll try it.”
He laughs and offers me a napkin from the bag. “I’ll find you something to drink.”
By the time he returns with a bottle of water in his hand, I’ve polished off half the meat pie. “Jesus, this thing is good. What the hell do they put in it?”
“Probably a lot of butter and salt. I try not to think about it.” He sits down, uncaps the water, and hands it to me. “Here. I feel like you need to stay hydrated today.”
“Thank you.” I finish the pasty and down half the bottle of water. That’s when I notice there are a half dozen people watching us. “This town has a definite staring problem. As mayor, you might want to look into it.”
“We’ve somehow become the hottest couple in Hart’s Landing.”
I cringe. “I take it you saw the photo on The Landing Pad?”
“I did.”
“With my luck, there’ll be an aerial photo of us against the barn wall tomorrow.”
A half laugh, half groan resonates in his chest. “Let’s hope not.”
I get up to throw out the empty bag, and when I drop into my chair again, Everett puts his arm around me. It’s such an easy, simple gesture of support, and yet it makes me want to cry. A partial sob squeaks from the back of my throat, and I try to cover it up with a cough.
Everett’s voice is quiet. “Are you really okay?”
“This day is kicking my ass. The highs and lows are extreme.”
His thumb caresses my shoulder. “I get it.”
“I had one job to do here, and I failed. What if it’s a sign?”
His thumb stops moving. “A sign?”
“That bad things happen when I put myself first.”
“Mila. Look at me.”
I do, and the depth of caring in his dark eyes is like a balm to my soul.
“Your mom did not fall because you messed around with me,” he says. “Your mom fell because she didn’t use her walker. That could have happened even if you were there. You could have been upstairs. Doing laundry in the basement. Making dinner in the kitchen.”
“Okay, but you’re talking to me like I’m a rational person when you know I’m hardwired to believe everything is my fault. I’m the daughter of a woman who turned guilt trips into an Olympic sport. I have a lifetime of gold medals.”
“Baby, it’s time to stop playing her games.” His voice is low but forceful. “Don’t let her do this to you anymore.”
I swallow hard. Hugo once asked me why I was so afraid to stand up to my mom, and I couldn’t answer him. But we both knew the reason.
I don’t want to be abandoned, even by my narcissistic mother. She’s still my mother. The only parent who stuck around.
If she can’t love me, who could?
“It’s just how she is,” I say.
Everett’s jaw is tight. “That doesn’t make it right.”
“It’s also how I am. I wish it wasn’t, but it is. The little kid in me still wants her approval.”
Everett’s mouth opens, but he closes it without speaking.
“You think I’m weak—a doormat—to let myself be treated this way.” Of course, these are my thoughts, not his. But it’s like I want to hear him say it, to confirm what I believe about myself. Like I know the cliff is straight ahead of me, but instead of hitting the brakes, I floor the gas pedal.
“Not at all. I just wish I could do something to make it better for you.”
His calmness soothes me. “You’re here. You’re listening.” I tip my head onto his shoulder. “It’s enough.”
His arm is warm and comforting around me. My eyes drift shut and stay that way until I hear my name.
“Mila Ferguson?”
Picking up my head from Everett’s shoulder, I look over toward the desk and see a nurse standing there with a clipboard. I stand and raise a hand. “That’s me.”
She smiles. “You can come on back.”
“Go on,” Everett says, rising to his feet. “Call me later if you can.”
“I’ll try.” I face him, wishing we didn’t have to separate. “I might not be able to get out of the house much for the next week. I don’t want to take the chance of leaving her alone again.”
“That’s okay.”
“I’m sorry about—”
But he doesn’t let me finish. He pulls me into his arms and holds me close, like he doesn’t care who sees or what people will say. “No apologies, remember? I won’t accept them.”
“Okay.” The word barely squeezes past the lump in my throat.
“Whenever you need a friend, you know where to find me. Or a benefit,” he adds, his voice quiet and deep. “I’m here for that, too.”
The nurse leads me back to a small exam room, where my mother lies on a wheeled bed with her eyes closed.
“Mom?” I approach and pick up her hand, which is cool to the touch. Her eyes don’t open, and she doesn’t say anything.
“She’s probably drowsy from the meds,” the nurse explains, checking her IV.
“Miss Ferguson?” says a voice from the doorway.
I turn to see a brown-skinned woman in a white coat, a long, black braid over one shoulder.
“Yes, that’s me.” I’m still wearing the sweatshirt that fell on the ground earlier, and I try to hide the dirty spots with my bag.
“I’m Dr. Anand.” She flashes a smile and checks her tablet. “Your mother’s condition is stable. The X-rays don’t show any fractures, but they do show a dislocation of her right hip implant. The good news is that the implant itself appears intact, and the left is fine.”
“What does that mean? Another surgery?”
“Maybe not. An orthopedic surgeon is going to try a closed reduction, which is a procedure to manipulate the implant back into place without opening up the incision. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to revisit the possibility of another surgery.”
“Okay.” I wring my hands together and glance at my mom. “Is she in a lot of pain?”
“Yes,” says Dr. Anand with disturbing frankness. “The fall was pretty bad. But she’s more comfortable now than she was when she arrived.”
“Will the procedure be done tonight or tomorrow?”
“Tonight. Besides the amount of pain your mother is in, prolonged dislocation increases the risk of avascular necrosis, or bone tissue death due to compromised blood supply.”
I must look horrified, because the doctor pats my arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get her all taken care of. Once she’s sedated, the procedure will only take fifteen to thirty minutes, and then she’ll be admitted. If the reduction goes well, she’ll be released after twenty-four hours of observation.”
“Okay. Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. They’ll be in to get her shortly.” Dr. Anand and the nurse leave the room.
Tentatively, I move back to her side. “Mom?”
“Mm.”
“Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay?”
Tears fill my eyes. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you alone so long.”
“I told you to go, didn’t I?” Her tone is devoid of emotion.
“Yes, but you needed my help and I wasn’t there. Will you forgive me?”
“For goodness’ sake, Mila. Don’t be so dramatic.”
Taken aback, I’m not sure what to say. She isn’t going to guilt-trip me? Or is she saving it up for later, when she has more energy?
“I hope you at least had a good time.”
“I did,” I reply carefully, worried about giving her ammunition for a future battle. “I hadn’t been to that farm in a long time. I’d like to go back and sketch there. But not until you’re okay to be on your own.”
“I’ll be fine. I just twisted the wrong way.”
“Well, from now on, you use the walker or you call me for help when you need to use the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t trying to get to the bathroom, I was trying to get to my bedroom closet. I was feeling nostalgic and wanted to look at my scrapbooks.”
“Oh.” My mother has gorgeous scrapbooks, full of programs, reviews, and photos she saved from her dancing days.
When I was little, she used to bring them out and we’d pore over them together.
She’d tell me stories about the other dancers, her partners, the costumes, the sets, the choreography.
“I’d like to look at them, too,” I say. “Maybe when you’re back at home, I’ll bring them out and we can look at them together? ”
“That would be nice.”
A nurse knocks on the open door. “Ms. Ferguson? We’re ready for you.”
She closes her eyes again. “Guess that’s my cue. Wish me luck.”
I pat her arm. “You’ll do great, Mom.”
She smiles as she’s wheeled past me. “Thank you, darling. Now go home and take a shower. You smell like a barnyard.”