CALEB
“Mom!”I shout again, stomach dropping to the floor.
No, no, no!
Silas sweeps her into his arms and lays her on the couch, and her eyes start to flutter open again.
Relief slams into me, but it’s short-lived.
“Mom!” I drop to my knees on the floor beside the couch, grabbing her hand up in mine. It’s cold as ice.
Check her pulse at her wrist: weak but steady.
Check her breathing: shallow but present.
Check her skin: pale. Too pale.
Check her eyes: unfocused but tracking.
Four checks. Even number. She’s alive. She’s here.
But something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong.
“I’m fine,” she says, waving us off like she’s just dizzy. “Probably just stood up too fast.”
She tries to sit up, but both Silas and I immediatelyurge her to stay laid down. With a horrible sinking feeling, I realize how pale she is underneath her makeup.
How did I not notice before now?
I should have noticed.
I’ve been so distracted.Too distracted to notice your own mother is sick?For five years, I was so vigilant, being the good son and following my rules so strictly, then I dropped the ball and now?—
“Mom,” I choke out, throat raw with tears I’m not allowing myself to shed. Not yet. Not in front of everyone.
I remember the last time she looked like this. The last time she fainted.
The chemo. The radiation. The way her skin turned translucent like paper. The way she’d smile and tell me everything was fine, even when I could see her hands shaking as she reached for the prescription bottles.
I was twelve then.
I try to say something. To ask another question.
To askthequestion.
My jaw opens. Closes. Opens. Closes.
Four attempts. Even number.
My hands are shaking. I grip Mom’s hand tighter. Count her fingers wrapped around mine. Five fingers. Odd number. Wrong.
Breathe. Count to four. One. Two. Can’t get past two.
Try again. One. Two. Three. Can’t reach four.
I still can’t say it. Askit.
The one I already know the answer to.