Page 111 of Stranger to Love

My dad blinked at the chair. “It’s okay, Caroline. You should take it.”

Carrie shook her head with absolute finality. “I would much prefer you did.”

Dad was too tired to fight. He stood and sank into the blue leather. Carrie moved to me next, leaning down to kiss the top of my head while gently coaxing me to stand. She guided me down into the second seat. Compared to the plastic chair, it was like sinking into a cloud.

The nurse stammered, "I do apologise, Dr. Carter, but... there are no more available."

Carrie waved him away with a flick of her wrist, and he practically sprinted from the room. She pulled up one of the discarded plastic chairs next to me and sat.

"Carrie, we should swap," I whispered.

She gave me a look that made my protest die in my throat. I sank back into the recliner. Message received.

The door opened again, bringing the hurried energy of the night shift. A doctor in rumpled scrubs looked over the chart. "Mr. Fischer, and you must be Alex?" He cleared his throat. "We’ve got the preliminary results back from the bloods and the chest X-ray. The infection in her chest has progressed. It’s pneumonia."

The word hit me like a physical blow. People die of pneumonia. For someone as fragile as my mum, it felt like a death sentence.

"Fucking pneumonia?" The words slipped out. "How? She’s barely left the house."

The doctor started to give a textbook answer about reduced lung capacity, but my brain short-circuited. Then, a firm, warm hand settled on my shoulder. Carrie leaned forward, her focus shifting entirely to the doctor.

"Which lobe is affected?" she asked, her voice sharp and precise. "And what is the specific antibiotic protocol you’re starting her on? Given her previous reaction to penicillin, I assume you’re looking at macrolides?"

The doctor blinked, surprised, and quickly straightened his posture, realising he was talking to someone who spoke his language. I sank back into the recliner. I had no idea what they were talking about, but the sound of Carrie’s voice taking charge acted like a shield. She was fighting the battle I didn't have the strength for.

Once the doctor left, the room settled into a heavy quiet. It wasn’t long before the day caught up with my dad; his head lolled to the side, and a soft snore told me he was finally out.

I fought my own drooping eyelids, terrified that if I stopped tracking the condensation in Mum's mask, her heart might stop. Carrie’s slender fingers began to comb slowly through my hair.

"Get some sleep, Alex," she whispered.

"No," I muttered. "What if she wakes up?"

"She’ll need your strength when she does, darling. You can't help her if you collapse."

I looked at her, the absurdity of the situation hitting me. She was sitting on a rigid plastic chair in an expensive charcoal dress and heels, looking like an oil painting, a masterpiece accidentally hung in a public hospital.

"Carrie, swap with me," I sighed.

"Don't even think about it," she commanded softly. "Stand up."

I reluctantly let go of my mum’s hand and stood. Instead of taking the seat, Carrie pulled the lever, pushing the recliner back until it was almost flat. Then, with smooth grace, she wrapped her arms around my waist and pulled me down on top of her.

I sank into her, my head finding the crook of her neck, my body moulding into hers. The scent of sandalwood and expensive perfume wrapped around me like a fortress. Carrie held me tight, tucking me under her chin.

"I've got you," she whispered against my temple. "Get some sleep, darling."

Wrapped in her arms, the thudding in my chest finally slowed, and I let the darkness take me.

​* * *

The first thing I heard was a murmur—two voices weaving together in the quiet. I blinked my eyes open as morning light filtered through the blinds.

Mum.

I sat up abruptly, my heart jumping into my throat.

"Easy, darling. Easy," Carrie whispered, her hands steadying my shoulders.