Mom’s gaze darted around the room, resting finally on Robin. “I... I had a heart attack?” She looked up at her with pleading eyes, like a grade-school kid trying to come up with the right answer.
Robin was still holding her mother’s hand. Eric slid her a chair, and she eased into it without letting go, without breaking eye contact for fear of upsetting her more than she was about to. “There was a break-in at your house, Mom,” she said slowly. “You and Dad were both shot.”
“Oh... Oh my God.”
Dr. Wu said, “Why don’t you try and tell us what you remember.”
She closed her eyes. Robin watched her mother’s gaunt face, the skin shiny and paper thin. This close, she could see it—Renee was nearly herself, almost herself but not quite, and Robin could actually feel how hard she was working to get there. “I remember... burning.”
“Mom?”
“Red and orange flames. Smoke so thick I couldn’t breathe... and demons. Little red demons dancing around... Oh... Goodness. I guess it was a dream.”
Verity turned to Robin. “She did have a fever at one point,” she said. “Sometimes, the mind fills in the blanks.”
Her mother’s hand was still in hers. “How are you feeling now, Mom?”
“Tired. Very tired. Where’s Dad, honey?”
Dr. Wu started to say something, but Eric stopped him. “Can we talk outside for a little bit?” he said. “I have a few questions.”
“Of course,” he said. And the room cleared quickly, maybe too quickly for Robin’s liking, unsure as she was how to say what needed to be said. Verity told Renee she’d be back to check her vitals in a few. And selfishly, pathetically, Robin wished that the nurse could be the one to let Mom know that her husband was dead.
Once Verity left, Robin’s mother gave her a weak smile. “I’m awfully thirsty.”
“I can imagine.”
“All that time in hell will do it to you.”
“What a terrible dream.”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “Those little demons were kind of cute.”
“Let me see if I can get you some water.” She started to stand but her mother grasped her hand with a surprising strength. “No,” she said. “Stay.”
“Of course, Mom. I’ll do whatever you—”
“Robbie.”
“Yes?”
“Daddy died. Didn’t he?”
Robin exhaled. Gently, she brushed a lock of hair from her mother’s forehead. And then she nodded. She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to. Her mother was making things easy on her, just like she’d always done, ever since she was a little girl. Watching her now, struggling to hold back tears for her daughter’s sake,for my sake, Robin remembered the death of her father’s mother, her most beloved Nana. It had been sudden and unexpected and after Dad had gotten off the phone with whoever had called to tell him, he’d locked himself in his study for such a long time that Robin, then only six or seven years old, feared he might never come out. She understood now that he’d gone in there to cry. Mitchell Bloom never cried in front of anyone back then. Which left it up to Mom to explain what had happened—Mom, an only child and an orphan, whoseonly family besides Robin and Dad had been Nana too. But she’d held back her tears then, same as she was doing now.Nana’s gone to heaven.She’s very happy up there, because instead of visiting a few times a year, she can see you and watch over you always.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Robin said.
Two tears spilled down her mother’s cheeks—escapees. She didn’t seem to notice. “Was he buried?”
“Yes.”
“There was a funeral. You held a funeral.”
“Yes.”
“With that child rabbi...”
Robin smiled a little. “The Bar Mitzvah Boy.”
