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The weight of the truth pushes down on my shoulders. “I know.”
“There are some things Dr. Chase didn’t tell you, because I wanted to tell you myself.”
“What is it?”
“My heart is bad. The transplant is a chance. If I don’t get it, I may have two to three months before… before there’s no hope.”
“But the loan. There’s a chance I’ll get it.”
“I pray for that, my darling. But if you don’t get it I don’t want you to put yourself under any more distress or danger for me.”
“Mom—”
“No, Chloe. No. Sometimes enough is enough. This right here has to be enough.” She raises my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles. “Seeing you again and having you here is my gift. It was all I wished for as my heart gave out and I thought I was going to die. I prayed that if I could open my eyes again, I’d see you. And I did. So please listen to me. You hear me?”
I swallow hard, trying to breathe through the dryness in my throat. She stares at me with such intensity that I nod. But my agreement is with reluctance because not trying isn’t something I can promise her. I don’t tell her that, though.
“Good. Now that we’ve spoken, let’s try to enjoy the day together. Roxy said she’ll bring a movie later for us to watch at lunchtime. And Luis is sending my favorite cake.” She gives me a warm smile, but I can tell she’s not okay.
“That would be nice.”
“Yeah. I might be in the hospital but at least we can have a taste of home together.”
I give her a smile I don’t feel. “Yes. We’ll try to stay positive.”
“Exactly.”
Mom nods and somehow she reminds me of my father. He had that same solemn look on his face when he knew he was going to die.
It’s five thirty, so nearly six p.m. I was left in one of those sullen moods after the talk I had with my mother this morning. And I haven’t heard back from the bank yet.
I was hoping they would have called already so I’d know where I stand. It would have been nice if they’d called before I reached the dance studio.
I’m here now and I love the place. I love it even more than I thought I would.
I’ve been checking out the space with Mr. Corbin, the owner of the building.
He’s an older man in his seventies. The building is an old factory that has been redone and repurposed. There’s only one other business in the unit—an accountancy firm. Mr. Corbin was hoping to rent out the rest of the unit to one person/business, so he was keen when I told him I wanted to open a dance school.
Over the last hour that I’ve been here, he was fascinated with my experience. His late wife loved ballet. This was her building, so he thought she’d love to have a dance school here.
His reception of me was so different from the horrid experience I had on Friday night at that job interview.
“I can make sure the floors are redone for you with the correct flooring, if you need,” he says heartily, motioning at the floor.
“That would be amazing. I was going to ask about getting sprung flooring.”
“Just say the word and I’ll have it done. You also have my permission to put mirrors on the wall and whatever else you need. I do also happen to have a friend who sells second-hand pianos. You seem to be a teacher who’d prefer having a pianist accompany your classes.”
I smile, appreciating that he’d know that about me. “Yes. I’m exactly like that. There’s something different about having a pianist with you. Maybe it’s the blend of creativity.”
“I believe that, too, although I don’t dance, as you can probably tell.” He points to his potbelly and laughs. “I do work as Santa at Christmas for the children’s home, though.”
“That’s so sweet.” I smile back at him.
“Thank you. Anyway, take your time and get a feel of the place without me. See what you think.”
“Thank you so much. A building so beautiful must receive a ton of inquiries.” I’m trying to gauge how many people I may be up against.
