25. Korine
25
KORINE
“What would you do without us, Korine?” Chaz asks with a whistle. He’s greased up from another long morning in the Chop Shop, his coveralls in need of a deep spin in the washer. Not that Chaz washes them as often as he should (by his own admission).
I remain unfazed, setting my tools down on the stainless steel cart we’ve wheeled out while working on our latest job. “Are you sure you don’t have that the other way around? Because I’m pretty sure it should be.”
His lips break apart in a gap-toothed smile. “You sure you want to be Cash’s old lady? ’Cuz I’m pretty sure you and I got something going on. Have I mentioned I enjoy long walks on the beach at sunset? Or whatever chicks like?”
A sharp laugh slips out of me before I can contain it. I give Chaz a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and tell him, “Nice try. But I’m a taken woman.”
“Worth a shot,” he says, shrugging. “I figure it’ll work on a lady sooner or later.”
“Good luck with that. Let me know how it goes. As for me, if anyone asks, I’m taking my lunch.”
“Don’t you want to wait for your man to get back? Shouldn’t take him long to make it from One Stop with the spark plugs.”
“Tell him I’m picking up Mama from her latest appointment. I’ll have my phone on me.”
I hop in the truck Blake’s been letting me use and drive across town to the doctor’s office. From the moment I’m escorting her out the door and across the parking lot, I pick up on a funny vibe from Mama. Buckling her into the passenger seat, I check on her.
“How did the appointment go, Mama?”
She mumbles something about it being fine but offers no other specifics. I move around to the driver’s side and slide behind the wheel.
“Do you want to stop by the frozen yogurt shop? We can grab a cup of your favorite—sugar-free vanilla with dark chocolate chunks.”
“That’s okay, baby. I’d like to go home.” She rests her head against the seat, eyes closed and her hands folded on her belly.
A frown takes over my expression as I try to reset my attention to the road. Mama’s usually so chatty after her doctor’s appointments. Even after particularly difficult treatments, she talks my ears off until we’re pulling up at home. For her to be so quiet is unlike her.
“Doctor Beyene said you did well today,” I say, hoping to prompt a conversation.
“Mhmmm,” she hums.
“He mentioned some new medication?”
“That’s right, baby. The nurse gave it to me.”
Silence persists. So much so that the noises from surrounding traffic and the gentle whistle from a gust of wind fill up the blank space in the truck.
I twist off the ignition when we’ve reached our apartment complex, racking my brain for what could be the cause of Mama’s shift in mood.
“How about I take the rest of the day off and we watch some TV? I think Judge Joanne is on. It’s supposed to be a new one.”
“Sure.”
I help Mama out of her outdoor clothes—she insists on being presentable in a button-up dress, stockings, and girdle for each appointment—and change her into her favorite fuzzy robe and slippers. It takes a few more minutes than usual, with Mama struggling to get her arms and legs through the openings of the clothes, but we manage. Once she’s settled in the armchair in front of the TV, I’m fixing her a snack for her next dose of medications.
The pharmacy bag crinkles as I dig inside and pull out the different pill bottles and vials of insulin. The frown I’d worn earlier returns reading the labels.
“Mama?”
“Hmmm?”
“Is this the medication you took at the doctor?”
“It… is.”
“This is the wrong kind. This is the Domnicron that makes your blood pressure shoot up. Mama… Mama!”
She’s gone still in the armchair, her eyes closed. The bottles slip out of my hand, my heart thundering out of instant alarm. I launch myself across the room, practically stumbling over my own two feet to get to her.
“Mama!”
“Hmmm?”
“Mama, keep open your eyes!” I yell.
“Oh… baby…” her words slur.
I don’t understand anything about what’s happening. It’s some disturbing joke being played; it’s some terrible, horrible nightmare that I’ve slipped into. Because there’s no other conceivable explanation for this moment.
Her right arm twitches in place, like she’s lost control of it. The same side of her mouth seems to droop.
“Mama… hold on!”
I punch 911 into my keypad, so panicked I can’t stand still. I’m unable to breathe, my lungs sucking away only to draw in nothing. Dizzying little spots appear before my eyes before I blink and shake them away and scream at the emergency operator to send help.
“Please!” I cry out. “My mother… she’s having some kind of reaction to the wrong medication! I think… I think she’s having a stroke!”
“We can have an ambulance out to your residence in ten to fifteen minutes.”
“She doesn’t have that long!”
“That is the soonest responders will be able to be in your area, ma’am. Can you repeat your address so I can put in the request?”
I rattle off our apartment address and beg the operator to please work a miracle and get the ambulance here sooner. The second I’m off the phone, I’m kneeling in front of the armchair to keep Mama’s focus on me.
“Just stay awake,” I say. “They’ll be here in a few minutes. Oh… Mama… how could this happen?”
“Baby…” she mumbles.
It seems to be all she’s capable of saying. The fingers of her right hand continue twitching, some kind of involuntary spasm she has no control of. It seems she can’t move the rest of her body.
Tears roll down my cheeks and wet my lips. My voice is hoarse, producing only a whisper when I try to comfort Mama and remind her help is on the way. Any other thoughts become too difficult to process.
The panic rings too loudly from every corner of my being. It makes it impossible to do anything but kneel before Mama and wait out the ambulance. Fists pound on the door and jostle me out of my panic-induced state. I stumble onto unsteady legs to unlatch the lock on the door and wrench it wide open.
I’m expecting a team of EMTs to flood into the apartment in their haste to help Mama.
Instead, a lone man enters.
Ken steps past the threshold and into my apartment before I can digest what’s happening. At the last second, I move to shove the door closed and force him out. He slams his hand against the door, exerting hardly any effort at all to launch it back toward me.
“NO!” I scream out. “Get out of here!”
“I tried to warn you,” he says with a solemn shake of his head. “But time and time again, you have to be a troublemaker.”
Cold horror washes over me, paralyzing me to the spot. “Ken… what did you do? Oh my god, what have you done?”
“It’s not what I’ve done. It’s what you’ve chosen , Kor.”
“How could you?!” I scream in a torrent of emotion. I rush toward him, determined to get him the hell away from Mama. Get him the hell out our apartment.
Ken takes a wide step back and then lifts his arm up, clicking the hammer to the gun in his possession. He’s taken aim at me, the twist of his lips insidious. “Uht-uht. Not so fast, Kor. I told you you’d be coming back home one way or another. Did you think I was lying?”