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As if she knows I’m thinking about her, I pick up the ringing phone on the hotel nightstand.
“Hey,” I breathe into the receiver. “How are you feeling?”
I asked about her condition immediately, even though I just saw her yesterday, a few hours before I boarded my flight. The same flight that my physical therapist decided not to join me on. You better believe Greg got a call about that. I mean, seriously, who declines a private jet ride with some of the best, most legendary players from the Chicago Bears? A crazy person, clearly.
“Hey, sweetheart. I'm doing good,” she responds, sounding a little winded. “H-how's Arizona?”
I sit back on one of the queen beds in my hotel room, getting comfortable as I answer, “Dry.”
She laughs, and it's music to my ears.
“I bet. Especially compared to home in Florida,” she comments, and my brows lower in confusion. “You always loved the warm, humid heat of back home, didn’t you?”
She’s confused. Dale. Dale is from Florida.
“Mom, we’ve never lived in Florida,” I reply cautiously. “Born and raised in Indiana.”
“Oh.” There’s a slight pause before she chuckles nervously.
There’s a shuffling noise against the phone, and I hear soft voices in the background. Finally, the scratchy sound retreats.
“Hey Lake, it’s Dale,” my mother’s partner says into the phone. “Sorry, Lydia’s a little confused right now. It’s the new pain medicine she’s on.”
“What?” I ask harshly.
“The doctor is trying to find the right dose while keeping the pain at bay, and it seems as if th—”
“I knew I shouldn’t have left.” I interrupt him. “Why are they switching her medicine up? She doesn’t even know where we lived?!”
I’m irate now, my stomach twisting into a knot.
“Lake, she’s just tired. Needs her rest,” he says calmly.
I sigh. There’s a huge part of me that wants to be here, on the road, for her, but the other part needs to be there for her. It’s hard being away, knowing her condition. Any day could be her last, and that thought pulls me into my dark place again.
“I’m right here with her. You know I’ll call you…”
I hate that sentence.
I hate that he left it open-ended, as if leaving room for the inevitable.
I don’t want the inevitable.
Time matters, and no matter how little I may have left with her, I need to hold it close. Speaking of time, I look at the electric clock on the nightstand near the bed and sit up straight.
“I have to go,” I rush. “Call me. Anytime. For anything.”
“You know I will,” Dale answers.
I hang up the phone, and my heart breaks.
11
Dylan
Isitattheend of the king-sized bed with my hands in my lap. I’m almost afraid to touch anything in here. Never have I seen a room so big. So furnished. So expensive.
I know this bed beneath me has a flat sheet. Fucking Eric would be so jealous. The tool.
