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Right. Dr. Moreland would have to do. “Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Carly let go of the door and let Dr. Moreland gently glide past her, the same professional-grade rubber clogs that Carly wore in the kitchen making a familiar whisper against the floor. Hundreds of miles away, Adrian was in the middle of running a dinner service in a restaurant that had her name listed on the menu as the head chef.
It all seemed so far away.
“Knock, knock.” Dr. Moreland paused for a split second before brushing past the curtain, and Carly could now see that the smudges were in fact hummingbirds. “I brought you a visitor.”
Carly lifted her chin to look at her mother and fought the urge to shrink back in shock. Her mother, who was a petite woman to begin with, looked downright tiny in the hospital bed, surrounded by scary-looking machines and equipment. Her face was drawn and tired, her dry lips cracked. The hospital gown framing her too-thin shoulders gaped at one side, showing her collarbone in stark relief against skin as pale as the bed sheets. Carly stumbled forward, grasping for some semblance of strength along the way.
She missed by about ten city blocks.
“Hey,Mama,” she croaked, lurching to an awkward stop next to the bed.“Carlotta,” her mother whispered, a wan smile flitting over her lips. “You look like hell.”
Carly choked out a laugh. “Thanks.”
“So, Dominic…called you,” her mother rasped, laying her head back on the pillow. Carly’s eyes skimmed over the hummingbirds on the curtain by her mother’s bedside, trying to focus on something other than the ominous-looking jagged lines on the monitor by her head and the tubes snaking from her stick-thin arm.
“Of course. He’s in the waiting room with Vin and Frankie and…yeah,” Carly fumbled. “We’re all here.” She propped her hip against the bed, afraid to put all her weight on it even though her mother barely took up half the space. Dr. Moreland caught Carly’s eye and gave her a tiny nod of approval before slipping past the curtain, shutting the door with a barely-there click.
“Well. I suppose I put a damper on everyone’s day.” The words, which normally would’ve been delivered with trademark di Matisse zing, sounded suspiciously vulnerable.
“Don’t worry about that. Just concentrate on getting better, okay.” Carly scooped up her mother’s hand—God, when did she get sofrail—and gave her a tiny squeeze.
“I have…things I want to say to you,” her mother said, but her voice trailed off in exhaustion.
“Shh,Mama.” Carly steeled herself. Screw what Dr. Moreland had said about the TIA happening no matter what. Carly wasn’t about to bring her mother one step closer to a stroke by re-hashing their argument. Why hadn’t she kept her big mouth shut in the first place? “We can talk later, okay? I’m not going anywhere. For now, you need to rest.”
“Mmm.” It was as close to a concession as Carly had ever heard from her mother. Whatever was in the IV dangling above the bed must be the good stuff. “Later, then.”
Hermamadrifted off, and Carly buckled down on the overwhelming urge to curl up next to her in the bed and cry herself to sleep.
* * *
Jackson glanceddown at the untouched bowl of chicken noodle soup and crinkly package of Saltines in front of Carly. After spending the last three hours doing the emotional merry-go-round of switching off with her brothers while their mother slept, Carly looked absolutely wrecked.
“I know it sounds trite, but you really should eat.” Out of everything in the cafeteria, the soup had seemed the most comforting. And since he’d had two bowls himself, he knew for a fact it wasn’t half bad.
“Isn’t that my line?” Carly asked without cracking a smile. She sighed. “Sorry. I’m just tired. And not very hungry.”
“Do you think you could do me a favor and just take a bite or two? I promised your brothers I’d get you to eat something. And to be honest, being on their bad side isn’t a concept I’d like to explore.” He teased her gently, and she finally lifted the edges of her lips in the tiniest of smiles.
“My brothers know better than to think you can get me to eat if I’m not hungry.” But still, she dipped her spoon into the broth, giving it a half-hearted swirl.
“Well then, maybe you could humor me just this once.”
Jackson watched with relief as Carly took a couple tentative bites of soup. She peeled back the cellophane on the crackers, and Jackson found himself thinking he’d get her a thousand more packages just like it if it would erase the look on her face right now.
“I’m glad your mom is resting. The doctor sounded really hopeful,” Jackson said, hoping the reinforcement of good news would boost her mood a little.
Carly nodded and gave a demi-shrug. “Yeah. She’s pretty out of it from the sedatives. I really only talked to her for a few minutes.” She put her spoon down and leveled him with a serious stare. Christ, seeing those pretty brown eyes so full of deep sadness was killing him.
“We can come back first thing in the morning. I checked, and ICU visiting hours start at ten.”
“Okay, yeah.” She sat stoically for a minute, as if the four bites of soup she’d taken had sapped her strength rather than replaced some of it. Not knowing what else to do, Jackson reached out to wrap his fingers around hers, resting their entwined hands on the timeworn Formica table next to her tray.
Her eyes flickered with emotion, but it lasted for less than a second. “Thanks.”
