Tessa
Three days have passed, and I haven’t seen one sign of Rhea, or her sister for that matter. I’ve kept a close eye on Rose’s room during each shift I’ve worked, and not one person has come or gone. My mind has been going crazy with the possibility that the woman lying unconsciousness in the room is Hawk’s mom. I’ve wracked my brain trying to remember if he ever said anything more about his mom during the years when we were kids. All I know is that she left him and his dad when he was young, maybe six and she was never heard from again. Rumors swirled that she wasn’t cut out for the life of being an old lady. Rumors also swirled that her life was threatened and that was the only reason why she left without her son.
Taking the razor, I dig into a wad of gum that’s hardened on the tile floor. My knees ache, and my muscles burn in my arm, but I continue to tear at the nastiness that was once in someone’s mouth. I can think of so many other places I’d rather be, but know that this is where I need to be. I have responsibilities, bills that need to be paid. If Croy were able to give me more money an hour and more hours a week, I wouldn’t have to do this, but that’s not the case.
“How much longer do you think she’ll be like that?”
Hushed voices draw my attention from the task and hand at towards the direction where they’re coming from, Rose Calhoon’s room. Two nurses stand, head to head as they talk.
“I’m not sure, there’s no telling. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“And there isn’t anything more to it, other than alcohol? Nothing medical?”
“That’s what her intake papers say.”
“What about the mumbling? She keeps repeating that name over and over again.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Well, it’s creepy, and I don’t want to be in that room by myself. She gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
The one nurse physically shakes as she stalks off in the opposite direction of where I’m squatting on the floor. When the second nurse catches me staring, she gives me a glare and continues on her way down the hall towards the nurses’ station. Martha is one of the only medical staff here that actually pays me any mind. Everyone else looks down their noses at me all because they have some sort of education while I barely make a living.
When I stand, my knees crack. I arch my back, trying to stretch out the kinks. I’m not even thirty yet, and my body feels like it’s twice that age. Placing my hand on my chin, I give my head a quick tug, allowing my neck a much-needed pop. I glance around to make sure no one is coming. When I see the coast is clear, I make my way towards Rose’s room. The conversation I overheard between the nurses has me even more curious. If she’s asking for her daughters, maybe I can have Martha make a phone call.
Stepping into the silent room, I pad over to the nightstand and click on the light. My eyes scan the room. There isn’t anything unusual about the décor. Every room is the same in the facility. They all have floral prints on the wall, eggshell colored walls with rubber baseboards and industrial tiled floors. There isn’t anything added to make this room seem more personal No flowers from family, no pictures placed on the nightstand.
Her brown hair is pulled up into a high ponytail that’s resting on her pillow. Her hands are placed on her stomach. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she has passed. I lean over and quietly pull open the drawer to the table. When I see that it’s empty, I try for the bottom, but no luck. That drawer is empty too.
I take a few steps towards the wooden wardrobe and pull the doors open. Only a couple of shirts are hanging along with a few bottoms folded on the top shelf. There is no clue as to who she really is.
“Haaaawking.”
The groan of her voice startles me, making me slam the door closed and quickly turn around. I stay rooted in one spot, my hand on my racing heart, watching the woman stir on the bed.
“Rose,” I whisper, seeing if she’ll answer me, but I get nothing. Taking my chances, I approach her side. Her eyes continue to flutter, and her feet twitch as if she’s having a bad dream.
“Hawking,” she murmurs, her brows pinch tight. She brings her hands to her head, making fists on either side and that’s when I see it. Etched on her wrist in green ink are the letters, D.F. They’re the same letters I used to see on Bianca’s wrist. The realization makes me jolt back. She is Hawk’s mom. The woman who abandoned her son. The one who ran from her life because she no longer wanted it. She caused so much pain to Hawk. I saw it when we were younger. He was broken because he thought his mom didn’t love him enough.
“I’m sorry,” she breathes. Her hands drop to her side, and her chest hitches as she takes a deep breath and her body relaxes.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I spin around and see the same girl who stomped out of here a few days ago standing in the doorway. Her eyes cut to me and get even harder when they fall to the bed where Rose has calmed.
“She was whimpering. I came in to check on her.”
“She’s unresponsive. She doesn’t do or say anything,” she snaps as she walks farther into the room.
“That’s not true. The nurses say she’s been muttering a name.”
“Is there a problem in here?” Martha asks from the doorway, and I physically relax.
“Yes,” the girl barks. “Your stupid cleaning girl is in my mother’s room. She’s not supposed to be in here.”
“I’m sorry, Martha. I heard moaning, and I wanted to make sure the patient—”
“Like I said, my mother doesn’t make any noises, so—”
“Actually,” Martha cuts her off. “Your mother has been saying a name over the past couple of days. If you or anyone else in your family came by to visit her, you would know that.”
I smile because I love Martha. She is one hundred percent for the patients, and when we get family in here who are either mean or unsupportive to a patient’s recovery, she lets it be known.
“I have a life and things that I need to do on a daily basis. I can’t waste my time sitting in a room with a woman who did this to herself.”
“And with that,” Martha take a few steps towards the girl before wrapping her fingers around her arm, which causes the girl to huff. “You need to go and let your mother recover like I’m sure you want her to do.”
Loa tries to pull her arm from Martha’s grasp. “You can’t do that,” she argues. Then she looks at me. “Are you going to allow her to manhandle me?”
I shrug. “What do I know? I’m just the stupid cleaning lady.”
I witness Martha gently but firmly escort her out before closing the door, cutting the girl off from the room, and us. When Martha turns around, her brow is furrowed, and her mouth is puckered. “Why, baby girl, are you in a patient’s room?” She places her hands on her hips.
“I—”
“Don’t even think about lying to me.”
My shoulders slump. “I know.” Taking a deep breath, I meet Martha’s stare. “You remember me telling you about the boy from my hometown?”
Since I moved to Los Angeles, Martha is the only person whom I’ve opened up to about my life. Croy doesn’t even know what happened or the things I endured before I fled New Mexico. My cousin didn’t ask questions back in the day, and Croy has learned not to ask any either. Even to this day, my past is mine to keep. Martha has always been different. I don’t know if it’s because she’s so much older, has that motherly way about her or if her eyes reveal that she’ll support me no matter what. All I know is that opening up to her has never been a problem.
“Yeah, I remember.”
I point to Rose who’s still lying peacefully on the bed. “She has his name tattooed on her chest.”
“Baby girl, that doesn’t mean anything.”
“It says Hawking, Martha. How many people do you know with that name?”
She shifts on her feet. “Why does this have you so riled up, Tessa? It’s been years, baby.”
“She was moaning his name, Martha.”
“Tessa.”
“She has the club’s initials on her wrist. The same lettering that the president’s wife had. I know it’s her, Martha.”
“Again, why does this have you so riled up?”
“Because I know her leaving destroyed the heart of a boy that I cared very much about.”
“And now you think he needs to know?”
Biting my lip I give her a tight nod.
“Are you willing to dance with the demons of your past to give this news to him? You’re asking for trouble, Tessa, and I’m not even talking about the policies in patient privacy that you’re going to be breaking. This trouble is going to be way more than that. More than you might be able to handle.”
“My gut is telling me to do something.”
“Let me tell you something that you may not know.” She brings her hand up, signaling for me to come to her. When I reach her, she takes my hands in hers. “A woman’s intuition is the only thing she can rely on in life, Tessa. If you’ve got something telling you that you need to do something about this situation, then do it. Your gut will never lead you on the wrong path. You need to listen to it. Always.”
She’s right. Now I need to find the courage to make that call and hear a voice I never planned on hearing again.