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Abby felt her heart squeeze. “What kind of tests?”
“An endoscopy, which is where we put a camera down the throat and into the stomach. It’s performed under sedation, so I’d prefer to wait until tomorrow when Rachel is a little more stable and we’ve been able to get some information from her.”
Abby blinked back tears, fearing what the tests might reveal. “Is it possible this is just a stomach bug, or something she ate?”
Dr. Carchedi steepled her fingers. “We cannot rule anything out yet, but it would seem, from the observations you’ve shared, that there may be something else going on. I’ve been in touch with Rachel’s G.P. and she had an appointment scheduled for later in the week, so something may have been bothering her.”
“Mum did mention menopause. Could these symptoms be related?”
“Her blood tests show a higher than normal level of hormones, which may indicate menopause,” the doctor conceded. “But collapsing is serious and so I’d like to be sure.”
Abby clung to that hope, trying to let it calm her. Rachel rarely got sick, and Abby had to believe this would turn out to be a combination of menopause, not eating properly and maybe a bug.
“How long do you think Rachel will need to stay in hospital?” asked Scott.
“It’s difficult to say until we get a better understanding of what is happening. While we get Rachel settled on the ward, perhaps you could go home and pack some essentials for her. Maybe enough for one or two days.”
He nodded. His bouncing knee stilled.
“Thank you, doctor,” said Abby. “We’ll do that.”
“When you return, come to reception in the main building. They’ll be able to tell you where to find Rachel.” Dr. Carchedi rose from her chair. Abby and Scott followed her out of the room and back into the waiting area.
“I managed to get a parking spot on the ground floor.” Scott led them outside.
Abby took a deep breath, but instead of the calm she’d been searching for, she began to shake.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Scott pulled her into his arms. Her eyes stung with the heat of her tears. Something inside her had been set adrift, making everything shift out of place.
She’s going to be fine.Abby repeated the mantra over and over in her mind, until she could breathe without trembling. Finally, she backed out of Scott’s embrace. He placed a kiss on her forehead before taking her hand and leading her from the hospital.
Mum’s going to be okay.She had to be.
Scott droppedAbby at her mother’s cottage, then headed home to tidy up, promising to be back in thirty minutes. She knew he always felt better with a practical task to do—they were the same in that way.
Using her key, she let herself into the cottage. Bruce gave an excited yap, and she reached down to rub the dog’s head.
“Hello, little man.” As she withdrew her hand, Bruce stood on his hind legs and wrapped his front paws around her wrist, his big brown eyes pleading for more. “How would you like to come and stay with me and Scott for a couple of days?” He licked her hand in response.
“I’ll come back and get you after I’ve seen Mum at the hospital, okay?” Bruce gave her a doggy grin, his tail wagging furiously. She scratched his chin before disentangling herself. “How about a treat while I pack?”
She found a rawhide chew in the kitchen cupboard and lowered it towards Bruce. He snatched it from her hand and trotted off to lay in front of the windows with his prize. If something was really wrong with her mother, Bruce would sense it. Wouldn’t he? He’d be crying for Rachel, waiting by the door for her to return? Just like the dogs in the movies. They had that doggy intuition.
“Everything is going to be okay.” Abby repeated the mantra under her breath and headed for her mother’s bedroom. She packed a nightgown, some socks and underwear, slippers, dressing gown and a change of clothes into an overnight bag. In the bathroom she found a hairbrush and toiletries. A quick search for medications confirmed Rachel only took herbal supplements. That had to mean something, right? Abby was sure it did. Imagining long hours waiting for tests and results, she grabbed the book from her mother’s nightstand and went in search of a sketch pad and pencils.
Finding nothing in the studio compact enough for the hospital, she decided to check the office. Switching on the light, Abby chuckled at the sight of grouped batches of paperwork–her mother’s idea of filing. She had no doubt that Rachel knew exactly where everything was, but no one else had any hope of making sense of the systematic chaos on the desk.
A bunch of sketch pads sat in a basket on the floor. A quick check revealed they were all filled. The bookcases were lined with novels and books on art and technique. Abby opened the drawers below and found what she was looking for.
“Bingo.” She pulled a brand new sketch pad from beneath a warranty for the sofa Rachel had purchased a couple of years ago. What were the chances she’d find a travel-ready pencil case too?
Abby rummaged through the drawers, pulling out unopened packets of artist’s pencils and other bits and pieces that might prove useful if she had to put together some supplies herself. In the bottom drawer she found folders stuffed with sketches. Curious, she pulled them out and flicked through the pages.
The first folder contained drawings of her as a child. In the portraits, chocolate brown eyes sparkled with a mixture of innocence and curiosity, framed by soft, golden locks that seemed to glow under the imagined sunlight. The attention to detail was remarkable, from the gentle curve of cherubic cheeks to the playful smirk that hinted at a mischievous personality. Other drawings depicted Abby in various scenes of play—chasing butterflies in a sun-drenched field, building castles in a sandbox, and laughing on a swing, the motion captured with fluid lines that conveyed a sense of movement and joy. The artwork was a vivid narrative of her childhood.
Tears gathered in her eyes. She had memories of her mother sitting with her sketch pad and pencils as Abby played, usually talking non-stop about whatever adventure she was on.
“This fort is going to be the best one ever, made of sand, sticks, and shells.” The sand felt cool and gritty, slipping through Abby’s little fingers as she worked.
