Mason was right about bringing Zoe. When we prop her on Marcella’s lap, she holds her close and her crying eases within moments. She seems to steel herself after that, focusing her attention on Mason and the baby after the two Marines leave.
“It’s going to be okay, Mom,” Mason says, squeezing his mother’s hand as he helps support Zoe on her lap.
She heaves a long breath and reaches out, cupping Mason’s cheek and stroking it with her thumb. Her tears have stopped but she swallows and opens her mouth to try to speak.
“Y-you’re al-alive,” she says in a halting voice, struggling to make the words. “I h-have all I n-need. Are y-you okay?” Her gaze slides to me, then back to Mason, and she lifts one eyebrow.
I’m not in my usual scrubs and white coat, so she’s probably caught on that my visit tonight isn’t official. I checked in on her a few hours ago before leaving for the night, but now I’m back with her son and granddaughter. No doubt the circumstances are a little telling. This is the first time she’s seen us together as a couple.
Mason laughs and his cheeks redden slightly. He clears his throat and reaches out a hand to me. “Mom, this is the woman who saved my life.”
I take his hand and let him pull me to his side. He looks up at me from where he’s perched on the edge of the bed, his eyes so full of love my heart somersaults and I bend down to kiss him. When I look at Marcella again, she’s beaming, one hand pressed flat to her chest. She doesn’t speak again, but she gives a single nod of approval, which is more than enough to signal her acceptance.
As somber as the next few days are, it’s as if a weight has been lifted from both Mason and his brother Maddox. The other three members of the Santos clan are absent, though they’ve shared many phone calls since the news of their patriarch’s death.
His remains won’t arrive for several more days, and in the meantime, Marcella is improving . Her career as a dance teacher made for a healthy, resilient body, and a mindset that favors deliberate, practiced movement. Daily visits from her son and granddaughter provide even more incentive.
The fact that she’s preparing herself to be able to walk to her husband’s funeral isn’t lost on any of us, but she’s determined to get discharged before the service.
I surrender to my craving for Mason’s company and wind up spending nights at his house rather than escaping after booty calls. After the night of his father’s death and all we shared, it’s too difficult to stay away when we barely have time to see each other during the day as it is. But it works out for the first few days because he drives to the hospital every morning to visit his mother anyway, so at least I’m not the one dealing with navigating LA cross-town traffic.
Marcella is discharged only a few days later, and Mason, Zoe, and I are the ones who drive her home. It’s been nearly a month since her stroke, nearly a month since Mason and I found each other again, yet it seems like a lifetime has passed.
All our lives have been turned upside down, and we’re all trying to acclimate to a new normal, but the mood on the way through town is optimistic. Marcella is buckled in the back seat next to Zoe, practicing her speech exercises. At a glance it looks like she’s just sticking her tongue out over and over at the baby. Then she shifts to repeating simple syllables, which sound like baby talk even though they’re designed to help her regain normal speech.
Zoe babbles back, every now and then managing to repeat the sounds her grandmother makes. After a little while it’s clear Marcella is repeating “mémé” more often than anything else.
“What does mémé mean?” I whisper to Mason.
He glances in the rearview mirror and chuckles. “It’s what we called our French grandmother before she died. Not that we had much interaction with her. Mom was disowned when she married Dad, so we only interacted with our grandma when we went to our grandfather’s funeral. I think it was just me and Maddox at the time too. If I remember correctly, Mom was pregnant with Marco. I always felt like the old bat disapproved of all of us, so I don’t think we missed out on anything.”
“Well, she is clearly thrilled to be a grandmother.”
Marcella reaches across the back of Mason’s seat and grips his shoulder. “More happy than sad,” she says, her diction clear but slow. Then she reaches for me, and I grasp her hand and squeeze.
We pull into the driveway a few minutes later and I’m giddy with excitement. We have a wheelchair for Marcella, but she insists on walking with only the aid of a cane. I gather Zoe while Mason walks alongside his mother, ready to catch her if she loses balance. Her usual grace is evident in her straight posture. She’s as tall as I am, but several weeks in a hospital have made her unsteady and a little stooped. She straightens and takes a deep breath, then begins the deliberate walk toward her front door.
The house is deceptively quiet when we step up onto the porch. Mason unlocks the door, then opens it and steps aside for her to walk through.
The moment she passes the threshold, voices erupt from inside in a chorus of, “Surprise!”
The outburst is expected, but what shocks me is the two familiar faces that smile out from the crowd. Faces that I thought I
