Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Send Me an Angel charity board member, Dr. Clarabel Lam, has taken a sabbatical from her position at SMAA to join the program at the St. Peregrine Cancer Research Institute in Seven Virtues, North Carolina. When asked why she chose to make this move, Dr. Lam indicated. “Pain isn’t limited to those we treat at SMAA. If I can both help and learn at St. Peregrine, then aren’t we all better off?”
Dr. Lam’s rotation will last for one year, though she will retain her board seat on SMAA. We wish her nothing but the best of luck.
—StellaNova
In the Tapestry Gallery at Biltmore House, I’m an observer today as much as any of the tourists who will saunter through within the next few hours. My boss wants me to become even more comfortable with the history and maintenance of these priceless pieces left as part of the Vanderbilt estate. I hear a guided tour walk by and, for the third time, hear one of the incredibly trained tour guides explain, “No complete set of The Triumph of the Seven Virtues exists today.”
“Which one is missing?” a man asks.
“The Triumph of Temperance no longer exists anywhere in full glory, although fragments which have been salvaged have been sewn into other tapestries at Biltmore House.”
My heart flips every time I hear that. Those simple words remind me of how I feel when Ethan isn’t by my side—a part of him is with me. A part of me is with him.
In fact, he said something similar to me on the phone last night.
“You’re always on my mind, witch.”
Settling in the oversized chair in my living room, I hold his gaze while I ask evenly, “Is that a good or bad thing?”
“It’s a good thing. It’s like…” His voice fades off.
“Like what, Ethan?” I push, thinking of my conversation with my mother. There are too many things we haven’t yet said, haven’t asked. When we’re together, we burn—consumed by passion. While I never want that to change, I want the warmth of the embers when I know I can be in his embrace, watching the antics of our family, each of us sporting at least one or several gray hairs.
“Like pieces of us were made for each other.”
I suck in a deep breath at the depth of his words.
His face twists in distress. “Too much too soon?”
“If you only knew how perfect that was and it could never be soon enough.”
The crow’s feet next to his eyes crinkle when his strong lips curve.
“Fallon? Fallon?”
I’m ripped from my recollection when I hear my name being called. Giving myself a hard shake, I answer the office staff intern, Julianne, with a smile. “Yes, I’m sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“Rather appropriate to do in this room, I would think,” she replies with a quick longing glance at the tapestries created in the 1520s.
“Is there something I can help you with?”
“I apologize. You received a call. I was asked to notify you it is urgent.” I’m handed a folded slip of paper.
I wait for her to step away before I unfold it. The second the words register, I reach out for the arm of a green club chair—so great is my shock.
And my fear.
Your mother passed out at work. Get to SV Hospital immediately.
Without a word, I race for my desk to grab my purse before dodging employees and tourists to get to my car.
And my mother.
“Helen Brookes?” I fling my words at the individual manning the information desk the second my body collides with it. I can’t recall how fast I drove the roads to leave the Biltmore Estate, how many speeding laws I broke, how many stop signs I blew through just to get here one minute faster.
My experiences with this hospital aren’t kind memories despite the hard-working staff.
“One moment, please.” Every second the computer is being checked, I’m dying a small death. Finally, “Room 402.”
“She’s been admitted?”
An expression of sympathy crosses her face before I’m given directions to the elevator bank—not that I need them. Not unless they’ve moved since Austyn was admitted as a patient. Without a second glance, I take off in that direction, barely managing to slip in as the doors close.
A quick look at the panel tells me the fourth floor has already been pushed. I hold my breath as patients and doctors perform a shuffle and dance as they get on and off at floors two and three. Finally, I burst out at floor four and make a left in the direction of room 402.
Before I get there, I’m stopped—not by a person at a desk but by the most beautiful, yet hideous marble etching. My lips form the words but no sound comes out.
St. Peregrine Cancer Research Institute.
“No. It’s not possible.” I duck back and ensure I didn’t head in the wrong direction. Finding what I believe to be is a floor nurse, I demand her to look up my mother’s room. “I was just called because she passed out at work.” Holding out my cell phone as if there must be a grand mistake.
There has to be.
Instead of confirming or denying anything, the woman squares her shoulders. “Why don’t I walk you to your mother’s room, Ms. …?”
“Brookes.”
“I’m Dr. Claribel Lam. I’d be happy to escort you to your mother.”
She leads me in the direction opposite of the cancer ward and my heartbeat slowly settles down as we make the first right. “What do you do, Ms. Brookes?”
“Make it Fallon. I work at the Biltmore Estate as a curator.”
“That must be an interesting job. I recently transferred here—a temporary assignment to study…well, that’s not really important. Let’s get you to your mother.”
“Do you like it?” I ask, making polite small talk as we turn the next right bend.
“So far. I’ve only been here about a week. I used to live and work in New York.”
“Big change.”
“I accepted the offer after…well, I just needed to get out of the north.” She uses her badge to take us through the next set of closed doors, where we make another immediate right. Now, the rooms are different. Each has a sink outside and a warning posted. Every patient’s door is closed. Most individuals moving in and out of them are gowned.
As we approach room 402, we slow down, and I realize I can see the marble etching from the back. My gut churns bile when I realize we’ve done nothing but make a gigantic circle. “The cancer ward? Is my mother going to die?”
Dr. Lam rests a hand on my shoulder as gently as a butterfly. “I need to walk you through the protocols, Fallon. Then you can go in to see your mother.”
She doesn’t answer my question.
For the next few moments, I manage to keep from screaming as I learn how to scrub my hands, how to dress in a gown, how to slip on a mask—quickly tied by Dr. Lam. Before I can shove through the room, Dr. Lam offers me a small bit of insight. “You will never know how strong you can be until you fight for the person you love to live just one more day.”
Immediately, I decide she’s right. I square my shoulders. “I’ll do anything to ensure that happens.” And I do mean anything.
Her lips lift at the corners. “Then, are you ready to see your mother?”
I nod.
She knocks at the door before pressing the door open. “Helen? You have a visitor.”
I thought I was prepared to see my mother hooked up to an IV or two. What no one prepares you for is there are going to be times when you bitterly regret every moment not cherishing the person you love. For me, that time is now. I step forward and reach for her hand. “Hey, Mama. Something you forgot to mention when I came over for dinner last week?”
She lowers her facial oxygen mask before smiling a weak ass smile at me. “Yes. The meatloaf leftovers I had for lunch were dry.”
My laugh is ruptured by the tears I’m shedding. “Of course they were.”
Dr. Lam backs out of the room to give us privacy. Only, I don’t know where to start or even what I’m supposed to ask. I do know what I’m supposed to say. Stepping forward, I reach for my mother’s hand.
She immediately takes mine. It’s as strong as it’s always been. There must be some kind of mistake. The thought floats through my mind until I spy the IV in her hand.
I study the needle and follow the line. It’s attached to a bag of fluids as well as something with a name and a warning label on it. Fear squeezes my heart when I suspect I’ll learn what all the bags that are hanging up are. In this moment, I stubbornly refuse to ask. Right now, only one thing needs to be made clear. “I love you a whole lot, Mama.”
She swallows repeatedly before rasping, “Never more than I love you, Fallon.”
Leaning forward, I rest my head next to hers on the pillow and murmur, “That’s just not true.”