Part 8 (2/2)

J a n e t G u r t l e r ”I suck at this. I freaking hate hospitals,” he says. He brushes my hand off. ”Go,” he says.

”It's okay, Josh,” I say, shuffling my feet, wis.h.i.+ng I knew what to say to help him. ”Lots of people aren't good at hospitals.”

”Go,” he says again, so I turn and go inside Mom's room.

One of the old men is gone, but the man with gas is still there.

He's sleeping. Mom's privacy curtain isn't pulled around the bed.

The bed is raised so that she's almost sitting up. She's staring into s.p.a.ce and looks pale and fragile under the baby- blue hospital bed-ding. It would wash out anyone, but without her makeup on, she looks especially vulnerable. When I approach her bed, she glances at me, the corners of her mouth turn up, and her eyes brighten. She hasn't looked at me like that in a while.

”You made it,” she says.

”Of course. You're my favorite mom.” I step beside the bed and take her hand. It's seems lighter and bonier.

”I'm your only mom,” she says and then sighs.

I stare down at her and, for a fleeting moment, get the sensation that our roles have been temporarily switched. I don't like it. I don't even like watching body- switching movies. They freak me out. This does too.

”Are you still mad at me?” she asks and turns toward the window.

The blind is pulled down. The redbrick wall is hidden from sight.

”No. You're still my favorite mom.”

She glances toward the door. ”They're coming to get me soon. I don't have a lot of time.”

”Mom.” I squeeze her hand. ”You're going to be fine. Okay?

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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e You'll have plenty of time after the surgery to do whatever you want. Except smoke.” The old man snores loudly, which I prefer to farting. ”The angiogram will find it if something's wrong, and they'll get you all fixed up.”

”I have a bad feeling. A dream.”

”Mom...” I start to say.

She takes her hand from mine and waves her fingers at me in the air. ”Let me talk. It's not about the dream.”

I press my lips shut.

”I'm sorry.” She blinks fast. Her eyes are bright and serious, and I see fear in them. She turns back to the blinds.

”The boys need you. They're going to rely on you to pull the family together. That's what women do. But first, you need to accept yourself for who you are.” She sounds as if a death warrant in her name has already been written.

”Mom. You're not going to die. You're coming home in a few days. You're just going to have to make some changes to your life- style, that's all.”

She doesn't answer me. She just sighs dramatically with her head turned toward the window.

”You need to know who you are first. I know that now. I wanted to protect you, Morgan.” She sniffles. ”That's why I never told you about your dad.”

I look around and outside the door, see Josh still lingering around in the hallway. He's not looking inside. Tears plop down my cheeks.

They roll one after another, after another. I want to keep my emo- tions under control, shoved down, but I can't. ”Maybe you wanted

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J a n e t G u r t l e r to protect yourself,” I say softly, knowing it's wrong to do this to her now. ”That's why you never told me.”

”You have no idea what it was like,” she whimpers.

”So tell me,” I plead. I want to know why she always made me feel horrible for wanting to know who my dad was.

There's a long pause, and she sniffles and gulps in air. Guilt pumps around my body, traveling through my veins. I open my mouth to apologize.

”The answers you might be looking for...who he is...”

I stop breathing. My heart pounds. The machines in the room whir and beep. The old man snorts and mumbles in his sleep. I push off the bed, get to my feet, stumbling a little as if I'm dizzy from low blood sugar or something. I fainted once in the hallway at school when I had too many Tylenol for cramps. It felt like this.

I reach out and touch the end of the bed to steady myself.

”What?” I can't think of anything else to say, so I walk to the closed window and stand in front of it, my arms crossed, my back to her.

”I don't want to go to my grave knowing you never got a chance to find the truth. I'd feel guilty the rest of my life. Well- the rest of my death, I suppose.” She attempts a laugh, but it fades as soon as it leaves her mouth. ”I'd have to hang around the hospital as a ghost or something, unable to move on to the light.”

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