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“Hey,” I reply, taking a few steps toward the edge of the bed. I avoid looking at Juniper because I hate that my heart is racing just from this one glimpse. Instead, I take in the bruise on the side of my mom’s face. “Does anyone know what happened?”
Juniper shakes her head.
Of course, I asked the surgeon the same question and he only repeated what he’d been told… she’d been found unconscious on the patio. He assumed she’d fallen and hit her face.
Plausible, for sure.
Could just as easily be that her husband, Preston, hit her. Granted, he’s getting up there in age, but he’s a big man and even in his late seventies, he’d be able to hurt my mom without much effort.
It’s all just supposition though. I never witnessed him striking her in all the years I lived under his roof.
I noticed lots of bruises. Heard them screaming at each other. Saw the way he brought her flowers and jewelry on the days she wore heavier makeup to cover the blue and purple marks.
But never actually saw him raise the hand.
I spent my fair share of years pleading with her to tell me the truth about what was going on. I begged her to leave his sorry ass so we could start a new life somewhere else. All she ever did was deny that he’d hurt her and reiterated that we’d never have it better than what we did with him.
She was so very wrong about that. Anywhere was better than that house.
“She’s been resting peacefully,” Juniper says as she stands from the chair.
“Where’s Preston?” I ask. I mean… shouldn’t my stepfather be here? I don’t bother asking about Joshua. I didn’t expect him to keep vigil.
Even in the dim light, I see Juniper flush. Plus I recognize the quick dart of her eyes away and then back again, a sure sign the question makes her uncomfortable.
Tough shit.
I stare at her, waiting for an answer.
“He’s at work,” she finally says. “But I was here the entire time she was in surgery and I stayed until you could arrive.”
It boils my blood that Juniper is forced into this role. My mother’s fucking husband should be by her side.
It’s beyond ironic that had circumstances been different, Juniper could have been sitting here in this room watching over my mom in her role as my wife.
But that was a lifetime ago.
I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Juni. I appreciate it.”
There’s a small knock on the door and we both turn that way. A doctor wearing green surgical scrubs enters and I’m guessing that’s Dr. Figler.
“I’m going to head on home,” Juniper says, skirting around the end of the bed.
She doesn’t pass by me but instead moves in for a hug. I’m startled at first because we haven’t touched in years, but I return it without hesitation. I have no hard feelings for Juniper.
I bend down so her arms go around my neck and I tighten my own around her back. She squeezes me hard and whispers, “You need anything, you reach out to me, okay?”
Christ, she smells good. I nod, even though I don’t have her phone number. I hug her back before quickly releasing her. She smiles at the doctor and slips out of the room.
Dr. Figler extends his hand and introduces himself. Ultimately, he doesn’t tell me anything new, but I think the prestige of me being a general manager from a professional hockey team fuels his special treatment. I don’t need it but if he wants to take extra special care of my mother, that’s fine by me. We chat for a few minutes as he goes through the technical points of the surgery and her expected recovery.
“She’s probably going to be sleeping pretty heavily throughout the night,” Dr. Figler says. “I’d suggest you come back in the morning.”
I rub at the back of my neck, strung tight with tension that wasn’t there before I walked into this room. I know deep in my gut it’s not caused by my mom’s precarious medical condition but rather from running into Juniper.
My first and only love.
My biggest heartbreak.
