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Scott got to his feet. “Did you want something to eat?”
Abby shook her head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll just get some rest before I head back to the hospital.”
She lay back down and curled herself into a ball, trying to escape the emotions crashing like turbulent waves against the walls of her fragile psyche. Fingers of blame descended, each one stinging like an open wound. An overwhelming sense of loss consumed her. It was as if another piece of her heart had been ripped away, leaving behind an emptiness that echoed in every corner of her being.
Chapter 27
It was mid-afternoon when Abby and Zep returned to the hospital. Zep’s mood was unreadable. She’d gauged that The Devils had been involved in a couple of gunfights with the Isobel clan, and from what she could tell, The Devils had come out as victors. Yet Zep seemed unprepared to say the war had been won.
As they approached Dodge, who stood in his usual spot against the wall, Zep told him he’d meet him in the café in ten minutes. Dodge nodded at Abby, then headed in the direction she and Zep had just come from.
Abby was eager to see her mum. She’d even cope with her gallows humour—anything to keep her mind off the impending well of grief she was about to fall into. As she entered the room, she stopped short at the sight of Dr. Carchedi and a nurse bending over her mother.
“Rachel, can you squeeze my hand? Rachel?” The nurse spoke as Dr.Carchedi shone a small torch into her mother's eyes.
“What’s happening?” Adrenaline shot through Abby, followed by a sickening dread. Her heart raced as she approached the bed. The sterile scent of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anxiety that permeated the room. She tried to steady her trembling hands, her mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions.
Dr. Carchedi looked up, her brow creased with concern. "Abby, your mother had a good day, and after visiting hours, she wanted to have a nap. The problem is, we’re having trouble waking her now." Her voice was soft but laced with gravity.
Fear gripped Abby's chest, constricting her breath. She felt as though the walls were closing in around her, suffocating her hope. “What’s wrong with her breathing?”
Rachel’s breath was slow and shallow, punctuated by a strange rattling sound.
“I’d say she has some fluid in the throat or chest. It wouldn’t be causing her any pain,” said the doctor. She took a step closer. “Abby, I think we’re nearly there.”
“What?” Abby’s head snapped up. “You said she had time, days?”
“People with pancreatic cancer can become ill very quickly over a short space of time, and we often don’t get much warning that the end is near.”
“No! It can’t be time. Not yet.”
Behind her, Zep sucked in a noisy breath. “Will she wake up again?” he asked.
“Yes, I would say so. She will want to sleep more often, but I imagine there will be windows of lucidity.”
“But she was so good this morning,” said Abby, still not believing what she was hearing.
“It’s not uncommon, Abby.” Dr. Carchedi’s tone was gentle.
“I’m taking her home.” His voice encouraged no debate.
Abby spun around. “What?”
“I promised your mother that she wouldn’t die in this hospital.” Everything about Zep looked the same, hard and mean, except for his eyes. In his eyes, Abby saw the man from Rachel’s drawings.
Reality hit her hard. Her legs became boneless. Zep reached out and steadied her, helping her to the chair. She heard him on the phone, in the corner of the room, telling Scott they were coming home.
“Abby.” Dr. Carchedi crouched in front of her. “Even if Rachel is unconscious, she may still hear you speaking to her. Talk to your mum, hold her hand.”
Abby nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“She probably won’t feel like eating but make sure you give her frequent sips of water, maybe some ice chips. Keep her warm with blankets and I'll give you some morphine patches. That should keep her comfortable.”
Zep moved closer. “When can she leave?”
“Any time now. Would you like us to organise an ambulance?”
“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”
