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Although Grant told me Mom was fighting and she promised me she was fine on the phone, the attending nurse said she sleeps a lot. She didn’t bat an eye the whole time I was there with my fingers tangled in hers.
But it’s fine.
...it’s not fine.
Mom hasn’t beenfinefor a long time, and I almost wanted to yell at her for hiding her deteriorating condition.
For making it hit that much harder when I finally got to see her for myself.
I didn’t try to wake her, no, not even to hear her voice.
Not when rest is exactly what she needs to heal and fight on.
So I came back home and started tidying up the house on top of trying to call Ros again. It takes six texts and two voicemails, but she finally calls me back.
Holy hell.
It’s like she doesn’t hear me at all from whatever strange planet she’s on when I try to tell her how Mom’s doing.
That’s not my sister on the line.
There’s somethingwrong.
She’s giggling too much, slurring her words.
Then there’s a male voice in the background before she shushes him and ignores me when I ask who he is.
“Ros?” I ask, trying to force down my bubbling frustration—and fear. On top of Mom being gravely ill, I’m worried to death that there’s something awful going on with my sister. “When are you coming home tonight?”
“Tonight? Oh, Ophie, I don’t know. Still have to do inventory at the shop,” she says matter-of-factly. It comes out forced like a blatant excuse. “You need something?”
“Um, yeah, to see my sister? Ros, I’ve been back here for two days and you haven’t dropped in for more than five minutes. What’s going on with you?”
“It’s just... busy. Calm down,” she says defensively—and I catch Background Guy muttering again, even if I can’t make out his words. “You remember how tourist season gets, right? Everybody wants their beeswax candles and scented soaps, and when that’s over we get the online rush for the holidays when their people back home find out where they bought it from. Just chill, Sis. I’ve been doing this on my own for a while now. If you really want to see me, youcouldcome help clean up the back room for storage. Packing and postal runs and all that organizing takes time. I mean, you’d know if you’d been here all these years...”
Ouch.
Guilt rips through me.
“Okay, okay. Maybe I deserved that.” I sigh. “I’ll stop by the shop once I’m done here, okay? Let me know if you need help with the back orders.”
“Sure,” she says, but she already sounds distracted again. Like she’s checking out, pulling the phone away. “Later, Ophie.”
“Ros—”
Too late.
I stare down at my screen, the phone blanking with a disconnected call, then sigh and push my face into my palm.
“Dammit, Ros.”
I curl up on the sofa and spend a few hours surfing job sites, looking for work. I think I’m just in denial right now because all the listings I apply for are in Miami.
Part of me thinks this is all a temporary hiccup, I guess.
Mom will miraculously get better.
I’ll blow in and fix whatever’s up with Ros.
