Page 23 of Never Die for a Sinner
My heart drops in panic at the thought that she might not be here someday. Instinctively, my fingers tighten around hers, and she winces. Immediately, I loosen my grip.
“Of course, it’s worth it. Does it at least make you feel better?”
“I guess,” she yawns. “Though I’m exhausted all the time. I feel like all I do is sleep.”
“Sleep is healing.”
“Ava,” she says softly, her smile sad. “We’re going to have to talk about it at some point.”
I shake my head.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Nana. You’re going to keep taking your medicine, and soon the cancer will be gone. I know it.”
She’s gracious enough to smile at me, though I can almost read her thoughts.
The medicine is pointless. Brain cancer is nearly impossible to come back from, but advanced brain cancer?
Every day I wake up wondering when it will be the last. If I’ll be too late visiting her and find her permanently asleep.
“Have you spoken to your mother lately?”
I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.
“No . . . Have you?”
“No,” she says, her eyes heavy. The medicine wears her out. Especially on the days following her treatment. “Not in a few weeks.”
I bite my tongue because what I really want to say isn’t conducive to helping her feel better.
So, I say nothing at all.
“Have you thought about speaking to her?”
“No. Why would I?”
It’s been years since I last spoke to my mother, and I’d still prefer a dozen more.
“I just . . . I worry about you, Ava.”
“No need to worry about me. I’ve got everything I need.”
It’s a lie, but Nana doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, you promise me if things get tough, you’ll speak to her?”
I wouldn’t ask my mother for a paper towel, let alone her support.
“Of course.”
“Good. You’re a good girl, Ava. I just want you to be okay.”
As her eyes start to grow heavier, I watch her. It’s hard to believe the same woman who used to braid my hair and watch cartoons with me every morning is the same one who lies in bed day in and day out, unable to do any of the things she used to love. Just . . . waiting. Waiting for the next round of medicine. The next meal . . . waiting for death.
Slowly decaying while I can’t do anything to stop it.
Sometimes—and I’d never tell another soul this—it’s like she’s already gone.
“I’m sorry, Ava. I’m just so tired,” she yawns, her eyes heavy. “That treatment this morning wore me out.”
