Page 112 of The Do-Over

“Is everything okay?” I snapped on the lamp on my nightstand.

My mother took an audible breath and when she spoke, her voice was infinitely gentle. “It’s Mimi.”

“What about Mimi?”

“The apartment complex manager called. She was complaining of chest pains, so they’ve taken her to the emergency room by ambulance.” Her voice cracked, along with my heart.

“She’s okay, right?” I raced to my closet and yanked a t-shirt off a hanger without even looking at it.

“For now. I think it would be a good idea if you and Phoebe came to the hospital. Your father and I will meet you there.”

Phee drove and, on the way, I texted Mathias to let him know. Even though it was after midnight, he texted me right back and told me to keep him posted.

We arrived at the hospital twenty-five minutes later. Daddy was pacing the length of the waiting room. He wrapped us in a hug. “Your mom is worried sick. Go sit with her while I get us some coffee, okay?”

I knew after a week and a half of sleeping in his office, Dad had moved back to the house, and they’d continued with marriage counseling. He said things were getting back to normal. Well, a new normal. A better, more honest, open normal.

While I’d been happy to hear they had reconnected, it still hurt that Mom hadn’t tried to reach out to me. Not even once. In the end, I’d stopped trying to call her, too. I’d been afraid I’d make things worse.

My mother sat straight-backed, trying her hardest to appear ladylike in her long white nightgown with the tiny blue flowers Phee and I had dubbed the Old Lady Gown. A pair of sweatpants peeked out from the bottom, and fuzzy pink slippers covered her feet.

Without discussing it, Phee and I took a seat on either side of Mom. Each of us took one of her hands and we sat there in silence.

“Have they said anything yet?” Phee asked, after the quiet dragged on.

Mom shook her head. “We’ve been waiting for someone to come and tell us something.”

“I’m so worried,” I whispered.

Mom squeezed my hand. “Me too.”

Finally, in what felt like three hours but was more like twenty minutes, a woman in scrubs and a friendly smile entered. “Family for Mona Perkins?”

At Mom’s nod, the nurse beckoned us to follow her. She led us to a small room at the end of the hallway. There on the bed lay my grandmother, pale and shrunken, eyes closed. An IV fed saline and whatever else into her arm. The steady beeps of the heart monitor were reassuring.

My mother stepped to Mimi and touched the back of her hand. “Mama?”

Mimi’s eyelids fluttered open slowly. “Bobbie Jo, I’m glad you’re here.” Her voice sounded weak, thready.

“I was worried about you.” Mom sniffed.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Do you need some water?” My mother scanned the room, her eyes a little wild. “Where did that nurse go?”

“Don’t go bothering anyone, now. I’m sure I’ll be—” Cough. Cough. She placed a hand on her chest.

Mom frowned. “Craig, go find that nurse and get some water.”

“Of course, of course.” Daddy slipped into the hallway.

After pulling a chair close to the bed, Mom arranged herself in it.

“Perci? Phee?” Mimi waved us closer. When she could, she grabbed my hand and squeezed so hard I almost winced. Her eyes met mine with bright, straightforward clarity. She coughed. Again. “Perci, go close that door for your grandmother. Phee, pull up a chair.”

I nodded, suspicion forming by the second, and did as she asked. By the time I returned, Mimi had made a small space on the bed and patted it for me to sit.

“I’m so glad you could come to be with me.”