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“No. It’s nothing like that. I haven’t even talked to Dad yet this week.”
“So then, what do you mean about visitors?”
“Not him,” Rory sighs, probably wishing she hadn’t brought the subject up. “I was only asking if you’ve seen unfamiliar faces around. New nurses or whatever.”
“I mean…” Eleanor shrugs so the rustle of her sheets becomes audible. “I don’t know. There are a lot of nurses here, Ror. Lots of faces. And lots of medicine. So I…”
“It’s okay.” Aurora moves on the stairs again, so they creak and echo all the way through the house. “Forget I mentioned it, okay? Have you been awake a lot today?”
“No.” The woman yawns again, her energy quickly waning. “Just woke up. I was in a little pain this morning, so the doctors gave me this stuff to rest.”
“And you called me as soon as you woke?” Rory’s tone softens. Sweetens. “I was the first person you thought of?”
“You’re the first, last, and everyone in between.” She smacks her lips and mumbles, “always and forever, Aurora Eleanor. I love you, you know?”
“I love you, too, Mom. Are you in pain now?”
She’s losing her mother to sleep again. Chasing an enigma as consciousness slips away from the woman on the other end of the line.
“Mom?”
“Mm.”
“You said you were in pain this morning, and that the doctors gave you meds. Now you’re awake, which probably means you’re in pain again.”
“Mm…” she licks her lips. “Little bit.”
“You have to press the button to get the nurses to come back to you. Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Press the button, silly! When you wake up and have all that energy, you call the nurses first. I’m texting Brenda, okay?” Maybe she types something, and I don’t know because it’s silent. Or maybe her promise to text someone named Brenda is just an idle threat. I don’t know, because I can’t see her. But I get to listen, firsthand, as the sick woman’s breathing evens out. How she slips away to sleep again and leaves her daughter hanging.
The ease with which a lively conversation turns to nothing makes me wonder how often this happens. How many times Rory has listened to her mother sleep, and how often the older Swanson has wanted to stay awake but simply couldn’t.
“Good night, Mom.” Rory’s words are merely a whisper. The gentlest wish not intended for her mother’s ears at all. But maybe for the angels watching over them both. Maybe for God, if she believes in that sort of thing, to hear and bring peace to her mother’s suffering. Ending her call and dialing someone else, I continue to listen as the ringing echoes through the kitchen. “I know you’re there, Detective Banks.”
My heart thuds painfully in my chest as the other two cops chatter and organize our newest safe space. But before I get a chance to speak, Rory starts again, “Hey, Brenda. It’s just me. Mom called.”
“Yeah.” Brenda’s an older woman. Softly spoken and seemingly someone who’s been around awhile. “Is she out again? I was gonna head in and check on her in a few minutes.”
“Yep. She lasted about five minutes, I guess. Sounded okay. Labored breathing at the end. She’s asleep again now, but she mentioned pain, so I figured I’d give you a heads up, since she’s playing the martyr.”
Brenda snickers and walks the halls of the hospital so her sneakers touching the smooth floor are audible. “I’ll head in there right now, honey. And listen…” She stops for a beat and sighs. “Things are getting a little quieter here, okay? You haven’t been around as much this week, so I don’t know if you’re just not coping.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s—”
“It’s not my place,” the older woman inserts. “It’s not appropriate. But we’re friends, right? You and me. We’re honest with each other.”
“Of course.” Rory’s voice crackles with an ache that makes my throat itch. “Honesty, always. Please.”
“She’s running out of time, Sweetpea. If you’re not coping and you need your space, then I support you. More than you know, I support you. But if you’re prioritizing school right now, or you think you have more time, I just need you to know it’s running out.”
“How…” She sniffles, heart-breakingly sad. “How long?”
“Days.” She says the word the way another might drop a guillotine. “Maybe a week. But soon, honey, she’ll be living on morphine only. Sleeping all day and night. And eventually, she simply won’t wake up.”
“Okay.” Rory’s voice cracks again, but she swallows it down and tries to be strong. That’s who she is, I suppose. The one who pretends, until she has a moment to crumble in privacy. “I’m doing my best to get there. I promise.”
