Chapter 14: The Hours She Had Left
The nurse didn't look at the bride or the man in the suit. She looked at my dad.
"You have five minutes," she said quietly. "She's very tired. If her breathing changes, I'll need to come back in."
My dad nodded. He hadn't let go of my shoulder since we'd gotten to the room. When the bride took a half step forward like she was going to come with us, he turned his head.
"Wait outside," he said. It wasn't loud. "Both of you. Please."
The bride's mouth opened. She glanced at the lawyer, then back at him. For a second I thought she was going to argue, that she'd try to grab the plastic parcel again. But the lawyer put a light hand on her elbow and shook his head once. She pressed her lips together and stepped back into the hallway.
The nurse pulled the curtain halfway and then slipped out, pulling the door until it was just cracked. The room got quiet except for the oxygen machine and the rain hitting the small window.
Mom was awake. Her eyes found mine first, then moved to my dad standing behind me. She looked even smaller against the white sheets than she had an hour before. Her hand was on the blanket, and I went to her and took it. Her skin was cool and dry, her fingers thin.
"Hey, baby," she whispered. Her voice crackled. "You did it."
I swallowed and couldn't answer for a second. My sweatshirt was still damp against my back, and my hair kept dripping onto the blanket. I didn't want to let go.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her eyes filled up and she didn't try to hide it. "For making you be the one to carry it. For nine years of making you hide with me. You shouldn't have had to run into a chapel by yourself."
I shook my head. I held her hand tighter with both of mine.
"You kept us safe," I said. My voice was small and I felt my dad shift closer behind me. "It's okay, Mom. I forgive you."
She squeezed back as best she could. A little air came out of her like a laugh or a sob. "You were always braver than me, Lucy."
My dad made a sound and knelt down on the other side of the bed so he was level with us. He didn't reach for her right away. He just looked at her face like he was trying to memorize it again after a long time.
"Olivia," he said. His voice was rough. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She turned her head slowly toward him. "I did. At the start. You didn't answer your phone. And then she came to the apartment. She had checks already written. She said you agreed it was better if I left. That you would marry her and we would have nothing if I stayed."
"I never — I didn't know she paid you," he said. He closed his eyes for a second. "I thought you left because you didn't want this. I told myself that for nine years."
"I never wanted the money," she said. Her breathing was shallow and she had to stop between words. "I only wanted her to leave Lucy alone. When I saw the first check was real... I realized I could keep Lucy fed. Keep a roof over us. That's the only reason I took it. And every time, I put the record in that plastic so someone would believe us someday."
He nodded, and his shoulders shook once. He finally put his hand lightly over hers and mine where they were joined on the blanket.
"Will you —" She paused and gathered air. "Will you take care of her after tonight? Not money. Just... make sure she's not alone. She knows how to be good. She just needs someone to stay."
My dad looked at me then, not at her. His eyes were red.
"I've got her," he said. "I promise. I will not leave her again."
Mom's eyes fluttered and she looked at me one more time. She gave me a tiny nod, like she was telling me it was okay to let go for a minute.
I remembered the parcel then. It was still clutched in my right hand, crinkled and damp from my grip. I had held it all the way from the chapel, through the parking lot, through the hallway. My fingers ached when I finally loosened them.
I lifted it and placed it with both hands into my dad's open palms. The clear plastic rustled. Inside, the folded papers were still dry.
"This is hers," I said quietly. "She trusted you to hold it now."
May you like
He stared down at it. He didn't open it. He just closed his fingers around it the way I had, and held it against his chest for a second before resting it on the blanket near Mom's hand. It was no longer just my weight to carry.
Mom's breathing slowed. She didn't let go of my hand. The machine kept its steady beep, and the rain kept hitting the window, and for those minutes there was no bride and no lawyer and no wedding waiting outside. Just the three of us in that small room, together while we still had time.
