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They walked to the door. There, Johnny paused and looked down at her.
“I wonder if you know how much this would mean to her. ”
“I know how much it means to me. How often do second chances come around?”
“If you get overwhelmed—”
“I won’t drink. Don’t worry. ”
“That wasn’t my worry. I want you to know that we’re all here for her. And for you. That’s what I was going to say. ”
She stared up at this gorgeous man and said, “I wonder if she knows how lucky she is. ”
“We didn’t,” he said quietly, and Dorothy saw regret etch itself into the lines of his face.
Dorothy knew better than to say anything. Sometimes you simply made the wrong choice and you had to live with it. You could only change the future. She walked him out of the house and watched him drive away. Then she closed the door and went back to stand by her daughter’s bedside.
An hour later, the nurse showed up and handed Dorothy a care list and said, “Come with me. ”
For the next three hours, Dorothy shadowed the woman’s every move; she learned step by step what to do to care for her daughter. By the end of the visit, she had a notebook full of notations and reminders.
“You’re ready,” the nurse said at last.
Dorothy swallowed hard. “I don’t know. ”
The nurse smiled gently. “It’s just like when she was little,” she said. “Remember how they constantly needed something—diaper changes, a little time in your arms, a bedtime story—and you never knew what it was until they quieted? It’s like that. Just go through your list. You’ll be fine. ”
“I wasn’t much of a mother to her,” Dorothy said.
The nurse gave her a little pat. “We all think that, hon. You’ll be fine. And don’t you forget. She can probably hear you. So talk, sing, tell jokes. Anything. ”
That night, when she was alone with her daughter for the first time, Dorothy slipped quietly into the bedroom and lit a gardenia-scented candle and turned on the bedside lamp.
She hit the bed’s controls and elevated it to an exact angle of thirty-five degrees. She paused it there and then lowered it. Then she raised it again. “I hope this isn’t making you dizzy. I’m supposed to elevate and lower your head for fifteen minutes every two hours. ” When she was done with that, Dorothy gently peeled back the blankets and began massaging Tully’s hands and forearms. All the while, as she massaged her daughter’s limbs and gently put her through passive exercises, she talked.
Afterward, she had no idea what she’d even said. She just knew that when she touched her daughter’s feet, smoothing lotion onto the dry, cracked skin, she started to cry.
* * *
Two weeks after Tully left the hospital, Marah had her first meeting with Dr. Bloom. As she walked through the empty waiting room, she couldn’t help imagining Paxton there, with his sad and soulful eyes, and the black hair that continually fell across his face.
“Marah,” Dr. Bloom said, welcoming her with a smile. “It’s good to see you again. ”
“Thanks. ”
Marah sat down in the chair facing the polished wooden desk. The office seemed smaller than she remembered, and more intimate. The view of Elliott Bay was beautiful, even on this gray and rainy day.
Dr. Bloom sat down. “What would you like to talk about today?”
There were so many choices; so many mistakes to work through and things to figure out and so much guilt and grief. She wanted to fidget and look away, or count the leaves on the plant. Instead, she said, “I miss my mom and Tully’s in a coma and I’ve screwed up my life so badly I just want to crawl in a hole somewhere and hide. ”
“You’ve done that already,” Dr. Bloom said. Had her voice always been that gentle? “With Paxton. And here you are. ”
Marah felt a shock of recognition at the words; a new understanding muscled its way in. Bloom was right. It had all been a way of hiding—the pink hair, the piercings, the drugs, the sex. But she had loved Paxton. That, at least, had been real. Broken, maybe, and unhealthy, and dangerous, but real.
“What were you hiding from?”
“Then? Missing my mom. ”
