Chapter 14
CARI
Aunt Scarlett calls me in a panic.
I’m still at work. Jett left about an hour ago to meet his brothers for dinner, and I’d planned on going home to take it easy for once. But now my heart lurches at Aunt Scarlett’s words.
“Your mom’s getting worse, Cari. She had a fever last night, Cari—I had to bring her to the hospital.”
Everything inside me freezes for a beat. “What do you mean, the hospital?”
“She’s being tested right now, but just … just come, sweetheart. Okay? Come quickly.”
My stomach pitches with fear, and my hands turn cold and clammy. I frantically fumble around, trying to gather my belongings, my breaths sawing in and out, sharp and painful in my chest. My nose stings as I hold back the tears, refusing to accept what this might mean.
But a part of me already knows what this means.
Aunt Scarlett wouldn't tell me to come quickly if everything was okay. There’s a heaviness in my chest, as if my heart has turned to stone and now sinks into the pit of my stomach. I rush out, leaving work strewn across my desk. This doesn’t matter. It’s not important.
The drive to the hospital blurs. The cab’s tires hum over pavement, and I press my phone to my chest, clutching it like it’s the only thing holding me together.
When I get to Mom’s room, Aunt Scarlett is waiting, pale and tired but solid. Her arms pull me into a hug that doesn’t last long enough.
“They think it’s a urinary tract infection,.” Her voice is soft, as though speaking any louder might shatter something fragile. “It’s common with her immune system being so compromised.”
I let out a shaky breath, my heart twisting like vine. An infection. It doesn’t sound like the worst news, but seeing Mom curled up in that bed makes my knees weak.
I sink into the chair beside her, staring at her pale face. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow, and her skin is flushed with fever. She’s always been so strong, but now—she looks so small.
“Oh, Mom.” My throat closes up. I reach for her hand, and it feels fragile in mine, like something I have to hold carefully or it’ll break.
The hours crawl.
Aunt Scarlett and I keep vigil by her bedside through the night. Machines beep softly in the background, the fluorescent light buzzes overhead. We don’t speak much—there’s nothing to say—but every so often, Aunt Scarlett squeezes my hand or hands me a cup of lukewarm coffee from a vending machine.
When morning comes, Mom stirs. Her eyelids flutter, and then she’s looking at me. It’s faint, but she smiles.
“Cari,” she whispers.
I lean forward, trying not to cry again. “Hey, Mom. I’m here. I’m right here.” My heart aches. She looks the weakest and most ill that I've ever seen her.
She doesn’t say anything else. Her eyes close again, but for this moment, it’s enough.
Outside the room, a short while later, I crumble.
I cover my face with my hands, my sobs ugly and too loud in the sterile hallway. Aunt Scarlett wraps me up in her arms, holding me as I shake.
“She’s fighting an infection, Cari,” she whispers. “She’s strong. She’s a fighter, just like you. She’ll get through this.”
“But look at her!” I choke out. “She’s never been this sick. I can’t bear to see her like this.”
“I can’t either, my baby girl. But we have to stay strong, for her sake, and ours.” Aunt Scarlett’s voice is firm, but her hand strokes my hair like she’s soothing a child. “Listen to me. You said you’re working on an important deal. You’ve been here all night. You need to go home and sleep for a few hours before work tomorrow.”
I stiffen. “No. I’m not leaving her.”
“This is important, right? This deal? You told me your boss is counting on you.”
I pull back, wiping my face with trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this.”
“It does matter.” She looks at me, her eyes soft but unwavering. “Go home. Sleep. Get through the day, and then come back. I promise you—I’m not going anywhere. I’ll call you if anything changes. You know I will.”
I stare at her, torn. The thought of leaving Mom—leaving her here like this—makes my stomach churn. But Aunt Scarlett is right. I can’t fall apart now. I have a job to do and unfortunately this is a big deal. Talk about timing.
I nod slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Okay. Just a few hours. But you call me.”
“I will,” she says, squeezing my hands. “Now go.”
But on my way out, I stop in the hospital lobby and fall apart. I start sobbing again. Harder this time, the floodgates open and my tears pour out. I can’t seem to pull myself together.
The florist from the kiosk—a petite woman with gray curls and kind eyes—comes around the counter when she sees me. We’ve spoken a lot in recent months because her vibrant floral displays always caught my eye, even though I couldn’t buy my mom fresh flowers. Before this awful disease, Mom would always buy flowers whenever she got paid. Just a small bunch to brighten up the room.
“Cari?” The florist rests a gentle hand on my arm. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”
I shake my head, my words spilling out through the tears. “It’s my mom. She has an infection, and I—”
Her arms wrap me like a blanket, her warmth so unexpected that it nearly breaks me all over again. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispers. “She’s strong, and so are you.”
I pull back, sniffling, and she hands me a fresh bouquet. The flowers are bright and fragrant—lilies and daisies, Mom’s favorites. “These are for you, something little to lift your mood. Have faith, Cari. Faith can move mountains. Just don’t give up, okay?”
Her words stick with me as I clutch the flowers to my chest and step out into the cold morning air.
Faith.
I just wish it felt like I had any left.