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Sandra had grabbed the remote control and switched on the large screen on the wall. And there was her mother, tumbling from a chair, her normal poise deserting her as she flailed. What was that thing in her hand? It looked like a lump of granite.
Samantha winced as her mother crash-landed. She’d forgotten her mother was mortal. Capable of bleeding.
Anxiety washed over her. She found her mother aggravating, frustrating and many other things—but she didn’t want her to actually die.
She shifted on the spot to try and ease the discomfort of guilt. She should have reached out. Tried to open a dialogue. Explained how hurt she and Ella were. But they’d both been waiting for their mother to apologize for being so unsupportive, and then time had passed, and...
What if she’d left it too late?
Numb, she stared at the screen, watching as staff scurried round, as EMTs arrived. Lying there, still and bleeding, her mother looked vulnerable. Samantha couldn’t think of a single time in her life when her mother had looked vulnerable. Gayle Mitchell didn’t do vulnerable.
“Oh my—that had to hurt,” Charlotte whispered. “Why would they film this stuff? It’s so intrusive. Can you sue someone? Wow, that’s a lot of blood. Is that normal?”
Samantha pointed the remote at the screen and turned it off.
Her heart was punching her ribs, her pulse galloping.
Had her sister seen it? Ella would be upset. Despite everything that had happened, she still yearned to be a warm, close-knit family. She’d talked about making contact with their mother, but in the end she’d been too afraid of rejection to take the plunge.
Samantha had forgotten the other people in the room until she felt Charlotte’s hand on her arm.
“You’re in shock—and that’s not surprising. Come and sit down.”
Samantha extracted herself. “I’m fine.”
Charlotte exchanged looks with Amanda. “We know you’re not fine, boss. You don’t have to pretend with us. We’re like a family here. And this is your mom we’re talking about. I mean, if it was my mother I’d be in pieces.”
If it had been Charlotte’s mother, Samantha would have been in pieces, too. Charlotte’s mother dropped by the office frequently with Amy, bringing with her homemade baked goods and a level of maternal warmth that Samantha had never before encountered.
But this wasn’t Charlotte’s mother. It was her mother.
“The phone call...” Her voice didn’t sound like her own. “Did he say how bad she is?”
If she was dead, they would have said so on TV, wouldn’t they?
Not dead. But seriously injured, if the film footage was accurate.
And Samantha was going to have to go to the hospital.
Her conscience wouldn’t let her do otherwise.
This was her mother, and Samantha wasn’t a monster.
She had to ignore the fact that her mother hadn’t been present for any of the emotional highs and lows of her life. And the fact that, if it had bee
n Samantha in the hospital, her mother probably wouldn’t have come. She didn’t want to model herself on her mother. When faced with a situation that required judgment, she often thought What would my mother do? and was then careful to do the opposite.
Which answered her own question.
She turned to Charlotte. “Call the assistant back and tell him I’m on my way. Clear my schedule. I’ll go to New York tonight.”
Charlotte nodded. “No worries. Totally understood. I mean, it’s your mother, right?”
“Right.”
Samantha ran her hand over the back of her neck.
Was she doing the right thing?
