Chapter Twenty-Six
Gillian
The morning light streamed into the curtains, casting a warm ray over my face. I turned over, still basking in the sweet moments from the night before. I could smell the sex and sweat, mingling with the scent of frying bacon and coffee. I stood up and pulled on my clothes. I had slept over at Dwayne’s house, nestled in his arms.
When I walked out, he was standing in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his white boxer briefs and an apron. He took the bacon out of the pan and set it on a plate. “That is so sexy.” I went up behind him and pinched his butt.
“Are you hungry?”
My eyes moved from the plate of bacon, to the pile of pancakes, strawberries, and eggs. “That looks delicious.”
“Here.” He picked up a strawberry and held it out. I bit into it, letting the juice roll down the side of my mouth.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I’ve decided that you deserve nothing but the best, and I will spend every moment I can making sure that you have it.”
“That’s a valiant effort, but I don’t need a man to do that for me. I’m happy just having you here.”
“I can try, though. Can’t I?”
“Hmm,” I rubbed my chin, pretending to think about it. “I suppose, but don’t go overboard.”
“There is no overboard.” He pulled a plate out of the cupboard.
He had a rose sitting in water next to my place. I sat down and let him fret over me. He poured the syrup over my pancakes and made sure I had enough before he even sat down. I felt honored, but I didn’t want him to think that he had to do all of that to be with me. He had me.
“Thank you,” I said when he sat down.
“You’re always welcome.” He bit into a sausage.
I started to cut my pancakes, then felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out. “Michael, as always, you have the worst timing.”
“Gillian…” His voice was low and hoarse.
“Michael, what’s wrong?” Dwayne looked up at me and leaned forward.
“It’s Mom.”
“What about Mom?” My voice cracked and I felt tears welling up.
“She’s not well. She’s in the hospital.”
“What happened? Michael, please tell me…” My breath caught in my throat. Dwayne took my hand.
“I don’t know what to say. She was having some pain in her shoulder last night and seized up, so Dad took her to the hospital.”
“Is it a heart attack?”
No response.
“Michael, did Mom have a heart attack?”
“Yes,” he was sobbing.
“I’m coming. If anything happens to her, let me know right away. You promise?”
“Yes,” he promised.
When I hung up, something cracked, and the tears started falling. I was shaking, struggling to catch my breath, holding onto Dwayne’s hand as if he could save me. “Come here,” he said, standing and walking around the table to hold me.
“She could die.”
“I’m not letting you go through this alone.”
I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. He would be my anchor, the one vibrant thing in a world that’d lost its luster. Everything was hazy, dull and numb. This didn’t feel real. I told myself I was dreaming and I’d wake up with my head resting on Dwayne’s shoulder. It made it easier to swallow what was happening. If it wasn’t real, it didn’t matter.
I was still sobbing when we pulled into the hospital and parked. Dwayne took my hand. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, okay?”
“Okay.” That was the only comfort I was going to get. It should’ve been enough, but it wasn’t. When we walked into the waiting room, still holding hands, the receptionist was talking on the phone.
She looked up at me and pointed a brittle finger at the clipboard sitting on top of the desk. I signed in and waited until she hung up. “Are you here to check-in?”
“No, my mother was admitted for a heart attack last night.”
“What’s the name?” She started typing something on her computer.
“June Halstead.”
“Go on back.” She buzzed us through into the maze of freezing cold corridors. I watched the rooms as we passed by. There’d be couples, holding their lover’s hand for the last time. Young men, bleeding out of fatal gunshot wounds, and children that never had a chance. I didn’t think they could raise the temperature in there if they tried. Death had become a part of the place, as much as the plaster and the paint.
Before we got to the room, I turned to Dwayne and took his hand, shaking now, sobs rolling down my body. He didn’t say anything. He just pulled me closer, making soft, soothing sounds. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“No,” I stepped back, “I have to do this myself.”
“Okay.” He squeezed my hand.
I turned back to the open door and took a breath, hoping to calm myself, so I could be ready for what I was about to see. I took a step closer, another breath, another sob. She was lying on her hospital bed, her normally perfect black hair matted and drenched in sweat.
I couldn’t believe how small she was. It was like she’d shrunk to half her size overnight, and her skin, like thin tissue paper, revealed a map of veins and arteries. “No, come on. You don’t have to be like that.” My Dad and Michael were standing next to her. “Come here,” she held out her arms. They stepped aside so could get through.
I held her for a moment, still sobbing, then pulled back. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m more worried about you. You look like you’re to go to a funeral. I’m not going yet.”
“What did the doctors say?” I asked.
“She’s stable,” Michael said. His face was bright red from crying.
“Thank God. Mom, I don’t what I would do if something happened to you.”
“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart.”
“She’s going to be okay,” Michael said. Something caught his attention, and he turned towards the door. His hands balled up into fists when he saw Dwayne was standing in the door looking at him.