Part 4 (1/2)

1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e for Amy.” He meets my gaze. ”You know I kind of have to be a jerk at work, right? Or no one will listen to me.”

”At least you do it well.” I grin as I say it. He doesn't laugh, but he does smile back. Something pa.s.ses between us. Friends, I think.

We really could be friends.

”See ya, Morgan,” he says softly. ”Keep me posted.”

I have an urge to grab his arm and ask him to stay. I have a feeling he would, but he's walking, and he waves at my brothers and keeps going toward the elevator.

Almost immediately, Josh and Jake walk back to my side. ”Was that your boyfriend?” Josh asks.

”No!” I glance at the back of Adam's head, hoping he didn't hear as he disappears around the corner.

”A good guy won't care about that video, Chaps,” Jake says. ”He was looking at you like a boyfriend,” he says. ”Do you owe me ten bucks?”

My cheeks burn. ”Check your texts. Lunch was a disaster. You owe me ten bucks. He's my boss, and he already has a girlfriend.”

There's a rat- tat- tat of clicking heels behind us, and we all turn. A woman in a white doctor's coat, carrying a clipboard and tapping a pen against the side of it, walks toward us.

She stops when she reaches us. ”You're Maggie McLean's kids?”

she asks.

We all nod in unison.

”Good. I'm Dr. Sally. Libby Sally.”

I study her face. She has high cheekbones and dark lashes, and far as I can tell, she's not even wearing makeup. She's naturally beautiful. Not only that but she can slice into human skin and

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J a n e t G u r t l e r deal with copious amounts of human blood and save lives. It seems rather unfair.

”We need to talk about your mom.”

I hold my breath.

The tone in her voice doesn't sound good.

”She's definitely got a heart condition. I suspect she'll be needing angioplasty surgery, but we don't know for certain until we go in.”

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chapter three.

2. Heart disease happens to other people.

#thingsIthoughtweretrue Y ou can go in and see her. I'll be with you in a minute,” Dr.

Sally says after delivering her news. She described how high risk Mom is for a heart attack, with her smoking and high blood pressure, and talked about other symptoms and probable causes.

Heart disease. My mom. It's hard to digest.

I step into the hospital room. Four beds. In the bed closest to the door, a pale old man hooked up to a bunch of tubes lies on his back, covered by a blanket. His papery white feet stick out of the bottom of the blanket, his toes pointing straight to the ceiling. He snorts and grumbles with his eyes closed.

Across from him, in an identical bed, there's another sleeping man with tubes everywhere. He's old, with thin skin and white hair. The bed beside him is empty, but across from it is my mom.

A half- closed privacy curtain separates her from the old man beside her.

I walk closer and see she's tucked into a narrow bed. The steel sides of the bed are pulled up, almost as if she's in a crib for adults.

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J a n e t G u r t l e r Her eyes are closed, and plastic tubes stick out of her. She's attached to a pole with IV bags hanging from it and more tubes that run to another machine. It looks scary and obscene, as if she's a giant voodoo doll. I worry I'll trip on a tube and unplug her and try not to imagine what will happen if I do.

She looks tiny and vulnerable under the thin covers. Her hospital gown falls opens at the neck, and her skin is translucent. I study her pale face, and it occurs to me that she doesn't have her lipstick on. She always does her makeup so early in the morning, it's rare to see her without it.

She's incredibly still, no indication of her chest rising and falling even. Worried she's not breathing, I move closer and hold my hand above her mouth. She swats away my hand and rubs her nose.

Then she sputters and opens her eyes and glares at me. I pull my hand back.

”Geez, Mom. You scared me,” I say and drop my backpack on the ground beside her bed.

”Did you think I was dead?”

I frown at her, and she giggles, but it's frail and fades off. Jake steps behind me and reaches over and pats Mom's hand.