“Be sure and dump enough in there to kill Aiden jizz,” Dom said, tossing the few leaves and blades of grass he’d skimmed over the chain link fence.
Kieran nodded, added a bit more liquid from a jug, and then tested the water again. “Don’t go in there,” he said, getting to his feet with a wince. The ugly scar running from mid-thigh almost to the top of his foot was a deep pink, fully visible against his pale skin. “You might sprout a third eye.”
“I won’t,” I said, getting comfy and listening to the oh-so-familiar sounds of Love family life—brothers squabbling, baseball game coming from a speaker on the patio, all set against the buzzing backdrop of a lawn mower.
Chapter Seven
My mother’s radical mastectomy was scheduled for eight a.m., so we all trooped in behind her and Daddy at seven, per the nurse’s instructions. The wait was unbearable, thanks to the nervous pacing and fidgeting and twitching all the Misters Love were doing.
“Will y’all just sit, already? Here, I brought a pack of cards,” I said, pulling them from my purse after finishing my fifth, or maybe eighth, cup of coffee.
Distracting them as a group seemed the best plan. So we played Texas hold ‘em for about an hour. By eleven, I’d taken all their change, and Antony was getting pissy about losing to me so often. He stomped off, making noises about finding food. I closed my eyes, content to listen to music on my phone, but still aware of the tension wafting through the small family waiting room.
By the time a scrubs-clad tall man knocked on the door and entered, we were all like a pack of nervous cats, jumping at every sound or hint of one. “Yes,” Daddy said. “It’s done?”
“Yes, Mister Love.” He looked around at the group, his smile sending relief shooting down my spine. “She’s in recovery for a while. We got everything we could locate. But you should know that she’s in for some pretty hardcore treatments going forward.”
“I know,” Daddy said, wiping a shaking hand down his face. “We decided to do everything we could, based on what everyone was recommending.”
“When can we see her?” Aiden asked the question on everyone’s lips but mine. I didn’t want to see her. I had no desire to witness my mother reduced by anything, much less nearly four hours of surgery.
“You can go in now,” he said, indicating Daddy. “When she’s moved to a room, probably in about two hours …”
“Why two hours? Rosie said her Mama was only in recovery for thirty minutes after similar surgery,” Antony interrupted, looking like he was about to jump clean out of his skin.
The doctor frowned and glanced at his computer tablet, poked on it a few seconds then sighed. “Missus Love had a cardiac incident during surgery,” he said.
We absorbed this news. He looked at his tablet again. “But we were able to revive her. She needs to stay under longer. You can go in,” he said again to my father, whose mouth was hanging open.
“Cardiac incident,” Kieran said, his voice dipping deep into pissed-off Love male territory. “Is that a heart attack?” He moved closer to our father, I suspected to prop him up.
“Yes,” the doctor said, clutching his tablet to his chest and looking a little defensive.
“Then why not just call it that?”
“It doesn’t matter now, son,” Daddy said, putting a hand on Kieran’s arm. “Y’all start making calls and letting everyone know she’s out and she’s fine. I need to see her.”
He followed the doctor out.
Dom blew out a breath and flopped onto the couch. “Je-sus,” he said. Kieran pulled out his phone and made a call, as did Aiden. I watched them, still stunned from the early morning wakeup, the hours of pent-up tension, and now the news of a “cardiac incident” and “hardcore treatments” from her doctor.
Three hours later, we circled her bed, watching her breathe. She’d had a tough time coming out from under the anesthesia, according to the harried-looking surgeon. But she was stable now, and breathing on her own with no trouble. Sleeping and liable to stay that way for about six more hours, they said. Nurses came and went, adjusting her IV and sticking needles into the lines. So many drugs, I thought, my mind reeling from the sight of her—such a frail wraith, barely a lump under the thin hospital blanket.
“Oh, bless her heart,” I heard a woman say and looked up to see Rosie. She went straight to Antony and hugged him. “I’ve been praying.”
He nodded and swiped at his eyes. Aiden moved away from them, frowning and heading toward the door.
“Your refrigerator is overflowing, Mr. Love,” Rosie said, touching Daddy’s arm. He nodded but kept watching my mother’s face, brushing it with his fingertips, tucking her hair behind her ears and fiddling with her covers.
Rosie turned to look at the rest of us. “I’ve made up a little schedule so someone’s always with her, but no one has to stay for too many hours at a time. It’s great you’re here, Angelique.” She smiled, but I was barely able to return it.
“I’m not leaving,” Daddy said, his voice low and firm. “Not for a good while, anyway.”
“Okay, I figured that much,” Rosie said, pulling out a piece of paper from her purse. “I’ll stay with you tonight. Let the boys and Angelique go on home for now.” My brothers all nodded, their expressions reflecting mine, which felt slack, loose, and helpless from seeing our powerful, dominating mother laid out like a corpse.
“Come on,” Antony said, tugging at Kieran, who turned away from Mama’s bedside, his face pale. “Let’s go.” Antony put an arm around Rosie’s shoulders and kissed her hair. “Thanks, honey. I’ll be back at …” He stopped, blinking as if losing his train of thought.
“Seven a.m.,” Rosie reminded him. “Aiden’s opening the garage.” She glanced over at Aiden. When he visibly flinched, I knew as sure as I knew my own jeans size that something was going on between them. But right then it simply didn’t matter. I grabbed hold of the raised bars on my side of Mama’s bed.
“I’m gonna stay a bit longer,” I said, leaning against my father. He put an arm around me. “Rosie, do you think you could find us something to eat?”
“Of course,” she said, ever chipper and hyper-organized. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Once the room had emptied out, I felt more in control of myself and the situation. I made Daddy sit in the lounge chair I scooted close to the bed and got us both a soda from the machine. “Doctors say she’s doing great,” I said from my perch on the other chair across the room. “She’s not about to die on us, Daddy. I just know it. And you know she’s not a quitter.”
He nodded but didn’t reply, holding onto his untouched soda can until I took it from him and set it on a nearby tray. He barely acknowledged the pizza Rosie brought, but I made him eat one slice—one sixth of what he could usually put away.
“It’s almost eight o’clock. Want me to find the baseball game?” I flicked on the television mounted on the wall opposite the bed. He nodded, but kept his gaze on my mother’s face, where it had been riveted for the past however many hours we’d been sitting and waiting, watching, and expecting her to sit up any minute and start bossing everybody around.
It was not the first time I’d been privy to the powerful connection my parents shared. Aiden was even trying to sell a novel about it … about us, I guess, but with the names changed. But today, sitting here in this stuffy room that now smelled of pizza and rubber and bleach, it made me burst into tears.
Startled, Daddy looked over at me, blinking fast, as if I’d waked him up from a deep sleep. He was white knuckling the railing
“I’m s-s-s-sorry,” I blubbered. Not even sure why I was doing it, other than being in mourning for my upside down life and my poor, miserable-looking father. Or maybe, if I was completely honest with myself, I was accepting that I would not be returning to New York anytime soon.