Page 14 of Close Match
Reaching out to squeeze her hand, I whisper, “I know.”
My heart feels lighter now that I know my mother hadn’t fallen back into her alcoholic habits, something that almost cost her everything when I was a young child. Maybe she will pull through.
Maybe just knowing we’re all here pulling for her will give her star enough energy to brighten again.
Seven
Evangeline
I’m afraid to open the door.
It’s not like I can’t see into my mother’s cubicle since it’s made of glass, but sliding open the door is taking a level of courage I’m not entirely sure I have. Closing my eyes, I lay my head on the cool glass while I grip the handle tight in my hand. Even when my father was in a little cubicle like this when he died of cancer, I didn’t feel this level of terror. When he passed, all I felt was an overwhelming sadness of a life being cut too short by a disease that wreaked havoc on his body.
After blinking back the burning in my eyes, I pull the handle. I’m hit with the scent of antiseptic and the persistent monotony of pings from the machines keeping my mother alive. “God, Mom,” I choke out as I quietly close the door behind me. “This isn’t your best look. It won’t go with your new Judith Lieber at all.”
I want her to sit up and make some smart remark at me. Instead, I take inventory of the incision I can just make out at her collarbone disappearing down beneath her gown that’s loosened at her neck. Wires are attached everywhere, not to mention the IVs. There are two poles pumping fluid into her body, including—I wince—bagged blood. When Bristol asked about it earlier, she was told it wasn’t uncommon for cardiac patients to need some blood as there might be some bleeding due to the internal incisions.
I’m horrified by the thought my mother could still be bleeding.
But more than anything, it’s the ventilator making its hiss and sigh sound that’s gutting me. Even though it’s keeping her breathing, that damned machine is stopping my mother from drolly replying to me, “Darling, I had no idea about being sick. Stop making such a big deal about it.”
At least that’s what I want her to say. The ventilator pushing air into her lungs is preventing her from confirming my suspicions. In the meantime, I weave my fingers through the hand with the least amount of wires and squeeze. Hard.
“You got a standing ovation last night, Mom. You were—are—brilliant. You’re everything. There was no one on that stage who didn’t see it was the performance of your career. I’ll never play another part I’ll be prouder of than this one.” Lowering my head to the side of the bed, I whisper, “How am I supposed to get back on that stage without you?”
I don’t get an answer.
“You and Bris? You’re more than just family; you’re my best friends. You’re two of the people I trust, and in our business, that’s two more than most people have. We’re so blessed, Mom. We have Simon and Bris’s baby coming. We have family, but we need you. You have to…”
I’m interrupted by a screeching so loud, it mimics the feedback from a microphone gone awry.
Suddenly, Mom’s twitching on the bed. “Mom? Mom, it’s me, Linnie. Can you hear me?” I squeeze her hand so hard. I have to be digging the IVs in uncomfortably, but I don’t care.
Maybe she heard me and is waking up.
The door flies open to her room. Two nurses dressed in dark blue come running in. “Ms. Brogan, please step back.”
“She’s waking up,” I cry out, overjoyed but confused at the grim expressions on the faces of the people coming into the room.
Dr. Pilchner strides into the room. Barely sparing me a glance, he barks, “Get her out of here!” to the third nurse who follows after him.
It’s Cara. “But I want to be here when she wakes up,” I protest. Cara takes my arm. I rip it away. “No! I need to be here, don’t you understand? She’s going to wake up, and I need to be here.”
Pilchner stops barking orders long enough to come to me. “Evangeline, we have to take your mother back into surgery. Her blood pressure drop indicates there’s internal bleeding I need to see to. Now. I don’t have time for this.” He turns and proceeds to bark more orders.
I’m numb as Cara leads me down the hall toward the room where my family’s waiting. Finally, I get my wits about me. “Stop. Please stop.”
“Evangeline…” she starts.
“I can’t go back in there like this. I…” Spotting the bathroom across the hall, I barely make it into a stall before I begin to vomit. My retching is echoing off the halls, much like Bristol’s does since her morning sickness started.
“No! No, damnit!” I punch the side of the stall. I hear the door open and close softly. I appreciate Cara giving me my privacy to get this out because I know I have to be strong when I walk back into that room.
The door opens and closes again. A hand reaches under the stall with a damp towel. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“I left some mouthwash on the counter for you,” Cara says quietly. “Take your time.”
Appreciating her calm practicality in a world so completely out of control, I take a few more minutes to make sure I’m not going to be sick again. Pushing myself to my feet, I flush before exiting the stall. On the vanity is a small hospital Dopp kit that contains a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, moisturizer, and a comb, among other things. Touched by the simple generosity, I avail myself of the oral products to get the bitterness out of my mouth; nothing will get it out of my soul. Meeting my gaze in the mirror, I find it saturated with fear.
