–Dr. Blum: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
A cold knot forms in my gut. My fingers shake as I type my response.
–Me: Why not?
–Dr. Blum: Your sudden presence could have a negative effect.
Fear—sour and metallic—coats my mouth. What is he talking about? He’s the one who told me to send voice memos and so on for Mom, saying they would help. How could my being there in person be worse than her listening to recordings only?
–Me: How so?
Three dots appear and disappear on the screen. Apprehension tightens its icy hand around my neck. I breathe in carefully, feeling like I’m about to throw up. My hands turn clammy as the seconds tick by.
Finally, a response arrives.
–Dr. Blum: She’s used to auditory sensations. Her brain is learning to process olfactory now. It’s a very delicate process, and you don’t want to overload her.
–Me: But you said she opened her eyes.
–Dr. Blum: Yes. But that doesn’t mean she’s ready to see you in person. Not yet, anyway.
–Dr. Blum: Or we may risk her shutting down again. We don’t want to do that, do we?
–Me: I don’t understand. After my last visit, you said you wished I could afford to be with her more so she could get direct interaction with me and recover faster.
Nothing. Not even three dots.
No, no, no.
I call. It goes to voicemail. I try again, but he doesn’t pick up.
Terror and denial slice my heart into pieces. The air seems so thin now, and my vision dims. I hear something shatter.
“Grace!” Huxley’s warm hands wrap around my arms. “Breathe, baby. Breathe.” His eyes focus on mine as he pulls back and makes an exaggerated motion of dragging in air. Numbly, I follow suit. “Good. Now, out.” He sags his shoulders and lets the air out. I do the same. “Again. Don’t pass out on me.” He pulls me gently. “Careful. There are glass shards on the floor.”
I glance down. Somebody must’ve dropped a glass. “I don’t understand. Nelson wouldn’t have moved my mom without telling me first. Or if not me, at least Andreas, who ordered him to pay for the care.”
Huxley dips his head and looks into my eyes. “I know you’re upset, but give me twenty-four hours to look into this. The woman in the hospital billing department who my accountant talked to is young and only started working a couple of months ago. She might’ve made a mistake, or maybe doesn’t know how to look up where your mom was moved to. But they’re three hours ahead of us, so you have to give me a little time to work on this, okay?”
“I don’t believe that the billing department lady doesn’t know.”
“Well, it’s a possibility that we should check. Now, listen. You feel chilled.” Huxley runs his hands over my arms. “Why don’t I start a hot bath for you? It might make you feel better. And please—let me take care of this. I’ve already hired people to look into it as quickly as possible.”
His eyes cloud with worry—and a tinge of guilt. He’s withholding something. But what? Something worse than the possibility that Dr. Blum might’ve been lying to me all this time? That Mom isn’t doing as well as I thought? That the damn hospital might’ve misplaced her like an unoccupied bed they forgot about until now?
“What are you not telling me?” I rasp, wanting to give him a chance.
“Nothing.” His answer is too prompt. He parks me on a stool. “Don’t move until I come back. I’ll start the bath and clean up the floor, okay?”
I nod because that’s what he wants.
He disappears upstairs, to the master bath.
I grab my car fob and walk out, glass be damned.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Grace
