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“I figured as much. What’s up?”
She sighed, and I instantly knew what that meant. My stomach twisted and I closed my eyes, wishing away the words I knew were coming.
But it didn’t work. It never worked.
“I have another client who wants your help.” She said it softly, without inflection. She knew how much I hated hospitals.
“Mom—”
“It’s a little girl, Ris. Otherwise I wouldn’t ask you. Not so soon after the last time.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The last time had been a teenager whose bones had pretty much been pulverized in a car accident. He’d been on life support for weeks, with no sign of brain activity, and the doctors had finally advised his parents to turn off the machine and let him pass over. Naturally enough, his parents had been reluctant, clinging to the belief that he was still there, that there was still hope.
Mom couldn’t tell them that. But I could.
Yet it had meant going into the hospital, immersing myself in the dying and the dead and the heat of the reapers. I hated it. It always seemed like I was losing a piece of myself.
But more than that, I hated facing the grief of the parents when—if—I had to tell them that their loved ones were long gone.
“What happened to her?”
If it was an accident, if it was a repeat of the teenager and the parents were looking for a miracle, then I could beg off. It wouldn’t be easy, but neither was walking into that hospital.
“She went in with a fever, fell into a coma, and hasn’t woken up. They have her on life support at the moment.”
“Do they know why?” I asked the question almost desperately, torn between wanting to help a little girl caught in the twilight realms between life and death and the serious need not to go into that place.
“No. She had the flu and was dehydrated, which is why she was originally admitted. The doctors have run every test imaginable and have come up with nothing.” Mom hesitated. “Please, Ris. Her mother is a longtime client.”
My mom knew precisely which buttons to push. I loved her to death, but god, there were some days I wished I could simply ignore her.
“Which hospital is she in?”
“The Children’s.”
I blew out a breath. “I’ll head there now.”
“You can’t. Not until eight,” Mom said heavily. “They’re not allowing anyone but family outside of visiting hours.”
Great. Two hours to wait. Two hours to dread what I was being asked to do.
“Okay. But no more for a while after this. Please?”
“Deal.” There was no pleasure in her voice. No victory. She might push my buttons to get what she wanted, but she also knew how much these trips took out of me. “Come back home afterward and I’ll make you breakfast.”
“I can’t.” I scrubbed my eyes and resisted the sudden impulse to yawn. “I’ve been working at the restaurant all night and I really need some sleep. Send me the details about her parents and the ward number, and I’ll give you a buzz once I’ve been to see her.”
“Good. Are you still up for our lunch on Thursday?”
I smiled. Thursday lunch had been something of a ritual for my entire life. My mom and Aunt Riley—who wasn’t really an aunt, but a good friend of Mom’s who’d taken me under her wing and basically spoiled me rotten since birth—had been meeting at the same restaurant for over twenty-five years. They had, in fact, recently purchased it to prevent it from being torn down to make way for apartments. Almost nothing got in the way of their ritual—and certainly not a multimillion-dollar investment company.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Good. See you then. Love you.”
I smiled and said, “But not as much as I love you.”
The words had become something of a ritual at the end of our phone calls, but I never took them for granted. I’d seen far too many people over the years trying to get in contact with the departed just so they could say the words they’d never said in life.
