Page 16 of Honeybees and Sexy Tees
“And he’s still not responding to messages or calls?”
“Nothing.” I saw the worry in his eyes when he parked the car in his parents’ circular drive. “We know he left Florida on the yacht weeks ago, but that’s the last time anyone saw him. It’s like he’s dropped off the face of the earth.”
“It doesn’t bode well, does it?” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist to keep him from getting out of the car. His whispered ‘no’ told me everything. “Well, we’ll keep hoping he gets in contact until we know otherwise.”
He nodded and climbed out, but I could tell he didn’t believe he’d ever talk to Milas again. While Mathias had declined investing in his cruise business, citing the environmental hazards the boat posed to the lake, he remained friends with Milas. We had shared many dinners together at Mathias’s condo. While I thought Milas was a funny guy with a lot of great stories to tell, I never trusted him as easily as Mathias did. Maybe it was because I wasn’t Danish and they were, or maybe it was because I’m a woman, but whatever the reason, I found myself not always trusting the things Milas said.
The last time we’d heard from him, he was on his way back to Duluth, but that was well over three weeks ago. He should have checked in, even if he’d lost communications or his cell didn’t work. He would have had to stop several times on his way back here and could have checked his messages.
Mathias opened my door and took my hand, squeezing it as soon as I was out of the vehicle. Today he’d driven his BMW convertible, which was always a treat to ride in. I was grateful when he kept the top up on the way here, though, since my mind was already a mess without the wind rushing through it. As we stepped out onto the driveway, the front door flew open, and a blur whizzed out, enveloping me before I could make it two steps away from the car.
“Honey,” Birgitte said, squeezing me tightly. “I’ve missed you. Are you okay? What did the doctor say? Did he give you medication for your headaches?”
Mathias grasped his mother’s shoulders, pulling her away from me and into his arms, where he held her for a moment before directing her back toward the house. “Let’s go inside, Mor,” he said encouragingly. “It’s warm out here.”
She climbed the steps, checking behind her to make sure we were following until we were all safely in the house. “Come to the kitchen. I have lemonade ready.” She took my arm the way a mother does when they’re worried about their kid, and my heart melted. I loved her so much. Thinking about her being sick or in pain was too hard to comprehend.
I patted her arm gently. “That sounds great. I’m parched after the drive.” I leaned into her gently. “I missed you too.”
A smile grew on her face as we stepped into the sunny kitchen. Against the far wall, floor-to-ceiling windows gave a spectacular view of Lake Superior year-round, and this afternoon was no different. I accepted a glass of lemonade from her and took a sip. As usual, it was perfectly sweet without losing the zip of the lemons.
“How did the appointment go?” Her head bobbed between the two of us as she waited for an answer.
“Good. I liked Dr. Newsome,” I answered, then took another drink of the tart liquid until I could hold back the tears threatening to fall. “Thanks for getting me in to see him. I appreciate it more than you know.”
She waved her hand once. “It was no problem. We play bridge with Dr. Newsome and his wife every other Sunday. I mentioned your problems, and he was concerned. Now stop lying to this old lady.” She pointed at her son. “He looks scared, and you look like you’re in shock.”
Mathias sighed and set his glass down, glancing at me. I nodded, so he answered while I lowered myself to a barstool. “Dr. Newsome thinks she’s having seizures.”
Her hand flew to her chest, and she gasped. “What? Seizures? Oh no,” she cried, her head shaking.
Mathias held his hand out to her. “Mor, relax, not the kind you’re picturing,” he said quickly.
“What other kinds are there?” Her voice was high-pitched and warbly when she spoke.
“Lots of other kinds, apparently,” I answered, spinning my glass on the granite island.
“I just don’t understand how this could happen.” Her hands were wringing, and it was too much for me to deal with after the appointment I’d just gone through.
“Let’s just stop with the pretense and call it what it is,” I said, my eyes finding Mathias’s. “My mother drank alcohol and did drugs when she was pregnant with me. I’m lucky to be alive with as few problems as I have. Dr. Newsome had no qualms in agreeing the seizures are directly related to my birth and my issues afterward. He said Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorders present in different ways for different people. After running through the problems I’ve had over my lifetime, he believes I probably have Alcohol-Related Neurodevelopmental Disorder.”
Mathias jumped in and filled the empty space. “He also said if you and Far hadn’t stepped in and taken such good care of her, she wouldn’t have made it to where she is today.”
Birgitte cleared her throat before she spoke. “I’m sorry, Honey. I know you deal with enough as it is. I suppose we probably all knew that your mother’s problems were the reason for yours. They didn’t diagnose things like this back when you were a kid like they do now.”
I nodded with resignation. “You’re right. That’s what Dr. Newsome said too. He is setting me up with an expert at Mayo for an official diagnosis.”
“Are you going to go?” Mor asked, her eyes full of tears.
“I am,” I said, nodding. “Dr. Newsome thinks it’s important to have the official diagnosis for anything that might happen in the future. It will be months before I can see them, though, so we’re going to focus on taking care of the migraines first.”
“Do your migraines have something to do with these seizures?” she asked, wiping a tear from her cheek.
Mathias put his arm around my waist protectively. “He called them simple partial seizures, but she can explain it better than I can.”
I set my hand on the island and motioned at it. “When my fingers point up in the air, that’s part of the seizure. I’m fully aware of my surroundings, but all the symptoms I have before the fingers start acting funny, and afterward, are from the seizure. He thinks my headaches are also linked. He wants to do some tests to study my brain waves, but I’m not going to do them.”
“Why on earth not?” she asked immediately.
