only to reopen them a second later. She smiled. 'Paige.'
I moved to the chair next to her bed and took her hand.
'Mom. What the hel's going on?'
'Language,' my mother cautioned, and looked at the
plastic pitcher on the nightstand. 'Can you pour me some
water? I'm dying.'
Alarmed, I stopped halfway to grabbing the pitcher.
'Mom!'
'Shh,' she said.
'Mom. You're not dying.'
'I'm dying of thirst. Give me a drink, for God's sake.' She frowned. 'Am I going to have to ring for a nurse?'
'No.' I poured and held it up for her to sip, but she waved me away with an irritated sigh.
'I can do it.'
I watched her sip delicately at the water, and I watched as
she spiled it al down her chin to wet the neck of her
hospital gown. When I took the cup away, I handed her a
tissue from the holder next to the pitcher. She blotted her
mouth and held the tissue to her nostrils, one then the
other, before crumpling it in her fist.
'I know you think I should have told you what was going
on,' she said.
'No shit.'
'No shit.'
'Paige.' My mom gave me one of her looks, but it left me
unaffected. She sighed again. 'I didn't want to worry you.'
'How long have you known? Mom, my God.' I wasn't
thirsty, but I poured myself a cup of water anyway to give
my hands something to do. Then I remembered I was in a
hospital, the air afloat with who knew what sorts of
noxious germs, and I put the cup down.
My mother watched me from dark-shadowed eyes.
Without her makeup on she looked so much younger.
Prettier, even, despite the circles and lines of fatigue
etched at the corners of her eyes. She'd never have gone
out in public like that, but I liked seeing her without so
much paint covering her face.
'For a few months. I found a lump one day and went to
have it checked out. They did a biopsy. It was cancer,
so…' She gestured with her fingertips at the room.
'But why didn't you tel me?' I didn't mean to whisper, and the way I clutched at her hand surprised me. I bent
forward to press my forehead to her hand in mine, and that
surprised me, too. 'I'd have helped you!'
'I didn't want you to worry,' she repeated. 'And you are helping me. You're taking care of Arty. Where is Arty?'
I felt hot, feverish, my mom's hand cool on my skin the
way it had been for countless childhood ilnesses. Only,
she was the sick one this time, not me. 'He's at home with
Leo.'
'Oh.'
