Chapter 40
Her back twinged as Jenna shifted in the uncomfortable chair. They knew people might be here for a long time, and yet the hospital had done nothing to help the people waiting. She tried to find a better position and failed.
She’d arrived in town late last night, exhausted from the long drive.
Yet her mother had waited up, saying it was no big deal, though Jenna knew the woman went to bed hours earlier most of the time.
Her mother pulled food out of the oven and set the plate in front of her daughter, waiting while she ate, though clearly she’d already eaten her own dinner, also probably hours ago.
Then she dropped the news: The surgery had been moved up.
“I thought it was a biopsy?” Jenna asked.
Not one to be quick about it, her mother sighed and explained everything, though it was already nearly midnight.
They would put her under and take a look at what the ultrasound showed.
Hopefully they would see nothing concerning, take a biopsy, and she would be out.
Then they would await the results. But the doctor wanted to have the option, if something was obvious while they had her mother under, they could remove it then.
Thus making sure she didn’t have to get put under again, hopefully clearing the situation faster.
It all made sense, but she wasn’t prepared to move so fast. Jenna had smiled and nodded, hugged her mother, and they’d both dragged themselves to bed—Jenna into a room that no longer felt like her own.
She’d once fought hard for the dark blue paint, the moody eclectic feel of the place.
Though she stayed here periodically, this was ‘high school Jenna’s room.
She had not been that Jenna in a long time.
Her mother, it seemed, often still thought of her as sixteen or seventeen, in need of protection and support.
Today Jenna knew that absolutely went the other direction.
She was the support here for her mom. Her father would have stoically sat in these chairs and never complained.
Jenna only didn’t complain because she had no one to complain to.
She should have called someone and told them she was home.
Her friends would have at least come by, but she didn’t even text.
She wasn’t ready to have any of the conversations her return would spark, let alone why she was staying at the hospital all day.
Her mother was a private woman, so Jenna hadn’t mentioned that she’d told the new family members about the concerns. She tossed and turned all night, unable to put the thoughts out of her head that they had moved her mother’s biopsy, and possible exploratory surgery, to an earlier date.
Her mother explained she had been on a wait list in case an earlier time became available. The position had opened, so while Jenna thought she was several days early, it turned out she had barely made it.
Why would they move it several days earlier unless they were worried? Unless several days might make a difference in treatment. That scared her. Between the discomfort of not fitting into her old space and the worry about her mother, she had barely gotten any sleep.
Now she sat in the chairs, thinking she’d like to go to the vending machine, but she didn’t dare.
She hadn’t brought enough to eat, but she was afraid to even go to the restroom.
What if the doctor came out to speak to her?
Maybe she should go to the desk and tell them her plans so they could find her, but what if she missed a chance to talk to someone?
It wasn’t like the doctor would hang out and wait for her to come back.
Looking yet again at the screen on the wall and back at her phone, she double-checked the patient number they’d given her.
Updates flashed, and patients moved up and down the grid.
Her mother’s number was in yellow, meaning still in surgery.
Closing her eyes tightly, Jenna tried to take a deep breath.
It didn’t work. She tried not to look at the clock, but she didn’t have to.
She had been counting the minutes as she fidgeted with the green crystal Delanie had given her.
At sign in, they’d told her the simple procedure would have her mother heading to recovery in about two hours if they started on time.
They hadn’t started on time—it had been about an hour late—and now they were running longer.
Jenna couldn’t avoid the math: they were already into hour three.
Which meant they weren’t doing the simple procedure, that meant they found something.
Her phone screen lit up with an incoming call before it even flashed the name. She figured it must be Annelise, but instead it was Story whose name flashed across the front.
Shit, Jenna thought.
On the one hand, she should be glad to hear from her new grandmother. Story might just be sensing her distress and checking in. The other possibility, though, was that Story was tapped into her mother. And that could mean something bad.
There was no avoiding it, so Jenna hit the button, stood up from her chair, and moved into the far corner of the room. She was trying to get away from the few other scattered people, many of whom were trading out and letting each other walk or use the restroom during the long waits.
“Jenna!” Story’s voice broke in even before Jenna was able to say hello. “Your mother. She isn’t doing well?”
Fuck, Jenna thought. If Story was asking, then the answer was no. “The math says they found something.”
“That’s what I heard too.”
Jenna did not even roll her eyes. She did not ask where Story might have heard about her mother in surgery when no one else even knew.
In fact, Jenna wasn’t sure her mother had told anyone else in the family.
Damn. Things like this would be kept to herself, dealt with herself, and then maybe, if things were very bad, or when things were cleared up, she would tell the others and let them know it was handled.
She’d seen other families who handled it better.
With her friends, she’d seen families who talked, families who told.
She realized now that Annelise and Story were definitely the kind who talked.
They might hold something stoically, but for the most part they were in each other’s pockets, and they knew what was going on.
Right now, she was grateful to be in Story’s pocket.
“What do you need from me?” Story asked.
Unable to fully hold it together, Jenna heard her voice crack. “That’s the problem! I don’t even know. No one has come out to update me. I don’t know if I can go to the bathroom or go to the vending machine for a—”
“You can go,” Story said, as if she held the keys to the waiting room from three states away.
This time Jenna did roll her eyes, but Story’s voice came over the line as if she had seen but was not offended. “They won’t be out for at least another hour.”
Not even realizing until she felt what she had done, Jenna found she’d put her hand to her face and was rubbing it. She would take Story’s word as truth. She had to lean on something, someone. “Okay, I have to go. I’ve been—”
“I know, girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got her.” The line went dead, Story having declared the conversation over.
Hopping up out of the chair with renewed energy, Jenna felt as if something had breathed life into her.
She would have said it was crazy or impossible, but she’d lived in Belle Hollow for a while.
She’d now seen all kinds of things she would have said were crazy or impossible. In fact, now she could do some of them.
Shoving the restroom door open she was grateful for the relief. After washing her hands, she took her time at the vending machines, telling herself Story was right—that it was an hour before the doctor would come out.
A bag of chips fell into the bin, and she reached in for it.
Next, she bought chocolate candy and a granola bar and a soda.
A terrible diet, but the sugar was her only consolation right now.
She had to be burning calories like crazy as she hung out in this sterile hospital, sitting in one place but vibrating with worry.
Back in the painful chair, she sat down and checked the screen.
She hadn’t missed any updates. So far, Story was right.
Ripping open the wrapper to the granola bar and telling herself it was the sturdiest food there and she should eat it first, Jenna found she was starving.
But after the first bite, she sat straight up, sucking in a surprised breath as if something had pulled her upward. Story!
No! she thought. Don’t help me, help my mom.
It only occurred to her then that even Story referred to Julie Brooks as Jenna’s mom.
Story, who had given birth to and lost Monica, who had given birth to and given away Jenna, was willing to let Jenna have another mother, to know that this woman was the mother of her heart.
For that, Jenna was grateful. She wasn’t sure how she would survive a tug of war or subtle undercutting, the kind of backhanded compliments and statements that could happen between family. Not now.
Though she was grateful for the feeling of a straighter spine, the discomfort that disappeared and the renewed energy and hope from whatever Story was doing, she wished her new grandmother would focus on her mom.
She was startled then, sitting there by herself and hoping no one noticed, as she felt the energy shift away from her.
It had to be Story. She had to be shifting to Jenna’s mom.
Maybe she’d heard. They were now well into the fourth hour.
The screen, which Jenna still checked religiously, said she remained in surgery. Not headed to recovery. Not yet.
She could only hope that whatever Story was doing would work.