Page 54 of One Reckless Night

22

AMELIA

Istared down at my mom in the hospital bed. She looked so small, so fragile, her skin pale and her breathing shallow. When I got the call, I thought it had to be a mistake.

I had seen her yesterday. She’d been sitting up and looked normal. Her version of normal.

She was sound asleep. I didn’t want to wake her up. Not that it mattered. The doctor was on his way in to talk to me, but I was aware of the prognosis.

I heard soft footfalls and got to my feet. The doctor came in with that look on his face. I knew the look well. My research and time in many hospitals had exposed me to that look countless times.

“Hi, Amelia,” he greeted with a soft smile.

“Hello. What happened?”

“Her dementia has progressed rapidly,” he said, his tone grave. He glanced at the tablet in his hands. “We ran some tests. Her body is shutting down.” He paused, meeting my eyes with a look of empathy. “We suspect she might have even suffered a minor stroke. I understand you were asked yesterday if you’d like to reconsider the feeding tube.”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “No, thank you.”

“Then I think you understand the situation. We will keep her comfortable, but it won’t be long.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Thank you.”

He reached out and put his hand on my upper arm. “I’m sorry, Amelia.”

“Thank you.”

He walked away, leaving me alone with her. I felt numb, like I was floating outside of my own body, watching this nightmare unfold from a distance.

She was a ghost of the woman she used to be. The woman who used to sing in the kitchen while making pancakes, who would laugh so hard her shoulders shook when we watched old sitcoms together. She didn’t always know who I was, but she had been so full of laughter despite her injury.

I sat down again and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, trying to ground myself. My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, staring at the screen. A voicemail from Jared.

My throat tightened. I couldn’t deal with him right now. Not with this. I didn’t know what to say, how to explain why I’d bolted from the conference without a word. How could I tell him that my world was unraveling?

I’d known her health was declining, but I hadn’t expected it to happen this fast. I reached for her hand, my fingers warm against her cool skin, but she didn’t respond. She was asleep, her face peaceful, but I knew that peace was fleeting.

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. I stood and looked down at her with a smile. “Hi,” I said.

She blinked, her eyes cloudy and unfocused, and for a moment, I thought she might recognize me. My heart leapt in my chest. But then she smiled weakly. “Did you bring me dinner?”

“No, no dinner. Are you hungry?”

“No, thank you. I told the other nurse I won’t be taking tea today.”

My stomach dropped. She thought I was a nurse again.

“Mom,” I said gently, squeezing her hand a little tighter. “It’s me. Amelia.”

She frowned slightly, her brow wrinkling in confusion. “Amelia? No, no, Amelia’s at school. She has that big test today.” Her voice was so certain, so matter of fact, as if she were stating the obvious.

I swallowed hard, the ache in my chest deepening. “No, Mom,” I said, forcing a smile though it felt like my face might crack. “I’m Amelia. Your daughter.”

She tilted her head, studying me with those tired eyes, and for a split second, I thought she might see me—really see me. But then she chuckled softly, a sound that used to fill me with warmth. “You’re funny, honey. You look a bit like her, though. My Amelia. She’s so serious though. I just hope she grows up happy. Falls in love.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. “Yeah,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “I hope so too.”

She patted my hand, her touch feather-light. “You’re a good nurse,” she said with a faint smile before her eyes drifted closed again.