Page 62 of Sinful Promises

The drive to the hospital took way too long. But it was time I needed to simmer my rage and get a plan together. If I came on too aggressive, Mother would clam up like a vault.

No. I needed to play at her game. She was the smiling assassin. I needed to emulate her.

Mother was sleeping when I arrived, and it took all my resolve not to grab her shoulders and shake the shit out of her. Instead, I slipped into the chair at her side, and as I stared at her frail body, I wondered how someone so innocent-looking could be so fucked up.

Unable to sit there any longer, I strolled along the corridor between the patients’ rooms. Except for the incessant mechanical beeping and buzzing, and cloying disinfectant odor, it was mostly peaceful. But when I did hear voices, they were usually jovial and always loving.

When people were coming to the end of their life, that was the way conversations should be.

Mother’s motivation for wanting me here was obvious. . . she didn’t want to die alone. She wanted to die happy and loved. Based on what I’d discovered this morning, I doubted she’d get either. Because if what I was planning to ask her went the way I thought it would, with her refusing to talk, then I was going to walk out and never return.

Relationships were a two-way street, and it was about time Mother took her foot off the accelerator and cruised along with me for a change.

My return to her room coincided with the nurse escorting Mother to the restroom. The scowl on her face transitioned to a smile when she saw me. “Oh, Daisy, how lovely to see you, darling. Take a seat, and I’ll be out in a moment.”

Darling. I cringed at the falseness of it.

The woman was a fraud. A sneaky, smiling fraud.

It would serve me well to remember that.

I sat with my backpack at my side, and unzipping it, I plucked out her underwear and the change of clothes and folded them onto her tray table. Then I positioned the photo of the two girls within easy grasp in my bag, but out of sight. For now.

The nurse and Mother returned, and with a series of prolonged moans that I was sure were for my benefit, Mother wrestled her frail body back into bed. A couple of times the nurse glanced at me, maybe wondering why I wasn’t helping. But as much as her gaze embarrassed me, I just couldn’t do it. I’d rather strap Mother into an electric chair than tuck her neatly into bed.

Mother smoothed the sheet over her legs, and when she saw the stack of clothes I’d brought, her eyes lit up. “Oh, you remembered to bring me a change of clothes. Thank you.”

I nodded. “No problem.”

“Did you sleep okay in my bed?”

“I didn’t stay there. I went to the motel up the road.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that. I don’t mind.” She curled her brittle hair over her shoulder.

“It’s fine, Mother. The motel was just easier.”

She frowned at me, maybe sensing the agitation in my voice. The nurse silently slinked away; maybe she’d also detected my hostility.

“It’s so lovely to have you here, Daisy. I was telling Nurse Dawn how well I’d slept last night. It’s from seeing you. I’m certain.”

“Hmm.” I too had slept well but it was more likely from the food coma I’d been in from eating all that pizza. Or it could have been from all the wonderful images of Roman swirling through my dreams.

Mother reached out, silently pleading for me to grip her hand in mine. I regarded it for a moment, and while tempted, I just couldn’t do it. I was supposed to be acting, but there would be no Oscar nomination coming my way because it was impossible to push through my seething anger to hold her hand.

Smacking her lips together, she reached for her water and sipped through the straw. I silently watched her, keeping my distance. My hopes were that she’d fill the silence with stories. After all, that was what she was good at—making stuff up.

She cleared her throat. “We got a bit sidetracked yesterday and you never got around to telling me all about your fabulous job. I’ve told all the nurses about you traveling the world, doing what you love.” She winked at me like we were the best of friends.

Clearing my throat, I reached into the backpack and plucked out the photo. “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me about this?”

I placed the photo on her belly.

A tiny gasp left her lips as she collected it with trembling fingers. “You went through my things?”

“I was looking for your underwear. That photo was at the top of the drawer. Who’s in the photo, Mom? Is that you?” I forced my voice to sound sweet, and loaded it with just the right amount of pleading.

“Yes. That’s me.” She ran her finger over the girl on the left in the photo, the taller child of the two.

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