My phone begins buzzing once again.
What the hell? I mumble as I read the screen and see my sister’s name. It’s almost four in the morning.
“What’s the matter?” I whisper as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and sit upright.
“It’s Mum. We’re taking her to the hospital. I think she has pneumonia.”
A hazard of chemotherapy is the teardown of blood cells and the immune system’s ability to protect against the average fall cold. Mum was coughing yesterday, but I hadn’t given it a thought. I’d been buried under my irritation with Ella, and then she had to be so damn sweet and gift Mum a headscarf from her future clothing line.
“I’ll meet you there.” I hang up and reach for my jeans on the floor. After slipping into them, I walk up to Ella’s room. Leaving a note seems heartless, and as she’s leaving later this morning herself for her trip, I want to tell her where I’m going. I can no longer provide her the ride I promised to give her to the airport.
“What’s wrong?” she asks the second I enter her room as if she’s been awake waiting for me. She sits up as I step closer to the bed.
“My mum. Karyn thinks she has pneumonia, and they’re taking her to the hospital. I need to meet them, which means I can’t give you a ride to the airport.”
“Of course. Go. I’ll find my own ride.” Ella isn’t making me feel guilty, but I do. I know how she feels about going places, and we don’t have regular cab service in the area.
“I can get Pam to drive you.”
“I’ll call Pam. Don’t worry about me.” She pauses, wringing her hands together while she sits in bed. “I hope your mom is okay. She’s so sweet.”
For some reason, I crack a little, chewing at my lip as I lower my head, shaking it side to side.
“E,” Ella says, scrambling from her sheets and kneeling up before me. Her arms wrap around me, and I fall against her, dipping my head into her neck. I inhale her spicy-floral scent, and my eyes sting. I miss her. I miss her so damn much, which is crazy. She’s in the house with me, but we might as well be across the country from one another.
“She’ll be okay,” Ella coos, combing her fingers into my thick hair and tugging my head up so she can look me in the eye. “She’ll be okay.”
I nod although I’m not certain. This is the second time my mother’s had cancer, and the treatments aren’t going well. Ella tips up for me, pressing her lips to mine in a sad kiss. I can’t help myself, so I open. My tongue surges forward as my hands fall to her waist. I’m pressing her back, lowering her for the bed, desperate to connect with her.
“Ethan, your mom,” she says, turning her head from me. “You need to go.”
“I need you,” I say, fumbling with her loose pajama shirt, flattening my palm on her stomach. Her hand covers mine, holding my wrist still, rejecting me.
“No, Ethan. Not like this. Not now. You need to go. For her.”
My heart races in my chest, and my dick strains in my jeans. I need inside her. I can be quick, and that’s when it hits me. As she said, not like this.
I press off her, pulling back from the bed and swiping a hand into my hair, holding it at the top of my head. Shit.
“Ethan,” she whispers, but I don’t have anything to say. She’s right. I need to go. Without another word, I turn away from her and head to my room to finish dressing.
When I arrive at the emergency room, Karyn is the first person I meet. She waited for me. My dad went with our mother to the oncology floor.
Adrenaline courses through my veins. I’m a mix of emotions lately, and I collapse into a seat next to Karyn and cover my face with both hands. To my surprise, my sister wraps an arm over me and tugs me to her smaller frame.
“Hey. She’ll come through this,” Karyn tries to reassure me, but my heart hurts. For my mother. For Ella. I’m messing everything up, and she’s going to leave. She’s going to go away and never look back.
“Let’s see if she has a room yet.” Karyn stands, and I follow as I wipe both hands over my face.
When we find Mum in a room, she’s coughing hard and trying to sit up. She sounds like a small barking dog.
“Mum?” I question, rushing to her as my father stands on her other side, holding her hand.
Mum falls back and weakly speaks. “I’m okay. It will pass.”
Karyn’s a nurse, and I peer over at her for reassurance. She doesn’t look convinced my mother’s oversimplified diagnosis will be so easy. When I glance up at my father, the dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t slept in days. He must have made a quick decision to dress because he’s wearing slippers with his jeans and an old, insulated flannel, buttoned haphazardly. His ball cap rests crookedly on his head. Karyn glances at him as well and circles the bed to his side to fix his shirt.
“Leave it,” he growls.
“Jack,” Mum mutters.
“She’s only trying to help,” I interject.
“Something you would know nothing about, my boy.”
“Dad, not now,” Karyn scowls. Mum goes into another coughing attack when she tries to open her mouth. Dad glares at me as if it’s my fault.
A nurse enters and mentions a necessary X-ray, and we all step back, allowing the nurse to hook up machines and rearrange the wires and tubes. My dad steps forward to follow, but Mum waves him away.
“I’ll be right back,” she says through a hoarse voice.
Karyn suggests some coffee, and Dad wordlessly follows us down the hallway to a set of vending machines. He’s removed his cap and continues to spin it round and round in his hands, making me more nervous with every twist of the damn thing.
I want to holler stop it, but I bite the inside of my cheek. We settle into seats in the hallway and wait.
Patience, Mum said.
I proved I lacked the skill this morning when I threw myself at Ella. I should call her and apologize. I should check in with her and phone Pam, but I can’t muster the energy for anything but to sit here and stare at the tile floor, holding a cup of coffee between my hands.
Karyn isn’t drinking her cup either, and I glance over at my father. It’s been almost six weeks of silence between us. It’s the longest we’ve gone without an argument about the failure I am in life. He looks so tired, weathered and beaten, and it’s more than the farm taking its toll.
As the son of a son of cherry farmers, Jack Scott was proud of his heritage and assumed his sons would be as well. He failed to remember he’d had a rebellious streak himself which once took him across the pond, literally, all the way to Ireland. He worked where he could, drank what he willed, and traveled where he wanted, and then he fell in love with a young maid, as he called Mum.
Love at first sight, he’d tell us. I might know the feeling.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Do I look okay?” he growls back.
“No.”
He snorts. “I’m tired,” he murmurs. “I’m tired of her lying in bed all day. I’m tired of watching her hardly eat and still be sick. I’m tired of feeling so goddamn helpless.” His voice shakes. If I didn’t know my father so well, I’d think he was about to cry, but tears are something Jack Scott never had. He did not stand for them in others.