'No, ma, you-'
Her hand squeezed down on mine and the corners of her mouth deepened into near dimples. It was a ghost of her old impatient expression.
'Yes,' she said. 'Shouted and swatted you. Back . . . of the neck, wasn't it?'
'Probably, yeah,' I said, giving up. 'That's mostly where you gave it to me.'
'Shouldn't have,' she said. 'It was hot and I was tired, but still . . . shouldn't have. Wanted to tell you I was sorry.'
My eyes started leaking again. 'It's all right, ma.
That was a long time ago.'
'You never got your ride,' she whispered.
'I did, though,' I said. 'In the end I did.' She smiled up at me. She looked small and weak, miles from the angry, sweaty, muscular woman who had yelled at me when we finally got to the head of the line, yelled and then whacked me across the nape of the neck. She must have seen something on some-one's face-one of the other people waiting to ride the Bullet-because I remember her saying What are you looking at, beautiful? as she lead me away by the hand, me snivelling under the hot summer sun, rub-bing the back of my neck . . . only it didn't really hurt, she hadn't swatted me that hard; mostly what I remember was being grateful to get away from that high, twirling construction with the capsules at either end, that revolving scream machine.
'Mr. Parker, it really is time to go,' the nurse said.
I raised my mother's hand and kissed the knuckles.
'I'll see you tomorrow,' I said. 'I love you, ma.' 'Love you, too. Alan . . . sorry for all the times I swatted you. That was no way to be.'
But it had been; it had been her way to be. I didn't know how to tell her I knew that, accepted it. It was part of our family secret, something whispered along the nerve endings.
'I'll see you tomorrow, ma. Okay?'
She didn't answer. Her eyes had rolled shut again, and this time the lids didn't come back up. Her chest rose and fell slowly and regularly. I backed away from the bed, never taking my eyes off her.
In the hall I said to the nurse, 'Is she going to be all right? Really all right?'
'No one can say that for sure, Mr. Parker. She's Dr. Nunnally's patient. He's very good. He'll be on the floor tomorrow afternoon and you can ask him-' 'Tell me what you think.'
'I think she's going to be fine,' the nurse said, lead-ing me back down the hall toward the elevator lobby. 'Her vital signs are strong, and all the residual effects suggest a very light stroke.' She frowned a little. 'She's going to have to make some changes, of course.
In her diet . . . her lifestyle . . .'
'Her smoking, you mean.'
'Oh yes. That has to go.' She said it as if my
mother quitting her lifetime habit would be no more
difficult than moving a vase from a table in the living
room to one in the hall. I pushed the button for the
elevators, and the door of the car I'd ridden up in
opened at once. Things clearly slowed down a lot at CMMC once visiting hours were over.
'Thanks for everything,' I said.
'Not at all. I'm sorry I scared you. What I said was incredibly stupid.'
