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I reach over, grabbing his hand and squeezing.
The next twenty minutes are spent with him pouring his heart out to me. I’m horrified at the things he’s telling me about his mom and Riley’s father.
“Is your mom going to be okay?” I ask.
He shrugs, looking defeated.
“I’m not sure. The nursing home has been calling me, but I’m afraid to pick up. I know he’s stopped paying and they’re calling to tell me she can’t stay there anymore. I’m just not ready to face the reality of what that means.”
“Let me help,” I tell him.
“Absolutely not,” he says, straightening up in the chair.
“Clark—” I start, but he puts his hand up to stop me.
“I told Mitch, and I’ll tell you too, this is something I have to do on my own. I don’t want a handout. I know coming from the two of you, it wouldn’t be, but it’s still something I need to do myself.”
“I understand,” I tell him, squeezing his hand.
“Do you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Yes. I know how it feels to have something that you need to do for yourself. Something you don’t want anyone else’s help with. I’ve been there. Shit, I’m still there.”
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Just my grief over Mallory. I thought it was something I had control of, but it’s not. I’m still struggling.” I sigh.
“I think you’ll struggle for the rest of your life, unfortunately. She was your sister, your twin at that. Surely, that’s not something you’re just programmed to get over.”
“No, I know that. It’s just finding her diary has brought up a lot of shit that I think was intentionally trying not to confront. Like the fact we weren’t as close as we once were when she died. I carry a lot of guilt over that.”
“Mitch told me about the diary. I’m sure that’s got to be tough.”
I nod, agreeing with his statement. “It is. I wish she would have told me what she was going through,” I say, tears filling my eyes.
“Hey, there’s no use in beating yourself up over things you can’t change. She’s obviously looking out for you now in her own way.”
Before I can say anything else, Mitch and Delaney walk back in, laughing.
“You’re already looking like you're feeling better,” Mitch says, smiling.
“I’m ready to go home. Any word on when that might be?” I sigh, leaning back in the bed.
“No, but I can find out. I’m sure you have to stay a couple of days, though, you had surgery.”
I close my eyes, feeling down in the dumps about being here alone for days.
“Hey, I’ll stay as long as I need to,” I hear Clark whisper.
“I would never ask you to stay in the hospital with me,” I tell him, huffing.
“I know you wouldn’t,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Good news, Mar. You can go home tomorrow, as long as you promise to take it easy,” Mitch says, walking back into the room.
“Like first thing in the morning?”
“Probably not until the doctor does her rounds,” he says.
