“You have to calm down and let me help you, Doris,” she said softly, trying to find composure herself in the midst of the storm. “Tell me what happened.”
“It’s my daughter,” Doris said, when she finally managed to speak after Seychelle had gotten her water and tissues. “She called and said her husband doesn’t like her coming so much, and she wants me to sell my house and move closer to her. Maybe into a home where someone caretakes me. She loves to visit and so do the kids, but he can’t be bothered, and it annoys him if she comes here alone, because she isn’t there to fix his dinners. She only comes once every six weeks, but she still chooses him over me.”
Another fresh flood of tears. “I won’t move there. I love it here. She knows that, and he won’t let her come see me anyway. How can she decide to stay with him?”
Doris began to cry again like her heart was breaking, and Seychelle knew that it was. Her sons lived several states away from their mother. She didn’t expect them to visit very often, but her daughter had always been her best friend, and she adored her grandchildren. She knew she wouldn’t see them anymore unless her daughter chose to leave her selfish husband.
The stress of the call had brought on the terrible migraine she had been subjected to on and off throughout her life. The vicious headaches came on fast, very severe, taking her vision and making her sick; the migraine had made her disoriented. Crying, she had twisted her ankle and fallen.
It took effort to get Doris off the floor, into her nightclothes and into bed. Seychelle made certain Doris took her migraine medication and drank plenty of water. All the while as she did so, Seychelle began to take on more of her pain. She drew it slowly from the older woman, afraid Doris would have a heart attack and die in the night from the stress of the choice her daughter had made.
The more Doris’s pain poured into her, the sicker it made Seychelle until, like when she’d first arrived, she could barely stand up. She doubled over beside the bed and then found herself on her knees. That sobered Doris up immediately. She leaned forward in the pristine white cotton gown that Seychelle had helped her into.
“Are you all right, dear? Should I call someone?”
Seychelle shook her head. Who was there to call? She indicated for Doris to rest and dragged herself to her feet, using the furniture to pull herself up. This was going to be bad. Already her vision was so blurred she could barely make Doris out, and she was right in front of her. Her head pounded and her stomach was churning. In another few minutes she was going to black out if she was lucky; if she wasn’t, she was going to be very, very sick.
She staggered into the living room and found herself on her hands and knees, crawling to the front door. Managing to get out of the house by falling through the door frame, she jerked the door closed after her and rested against it, her heart pounding. There was no way she could drive her car home. The only person she could think to call was Savage. He’d programmed his number into her phone, but she’d never used it—not once in the weeks they’d been friends. Weird friends, but friends.
She had no idea if he was back from San Francisco or, if he was, whether he’d really come for her, but she didn’t have much choice. He’d been gone three days. It was possible he was home, but he hadn’t contacted her. If he didn’t come for her, she’d be riding this out on Doris’s front porch, and it was really cold outside. She was so sick. She was going to vomit, and she didn’t want to do that on the porch.
With shaky fingers, she texted him. Need help, very sick at Doris’s, can’t drive home. Can you get me home? On front porch.
The answer came back immediately. On my way.
She closed her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She knew he was trying to figure out the way her gifts worked. She couldn’t tell him, because she didn’t fully comprehend how they worked, but she was fairly certain that having taken on her parents’ illnesses to prolong their lives and now helping others the way she was doing was slowly killing her. She just couldn’t fight the compulsion.
It seemed like hours passed, because she was in agony, but she knew it was only a few minutes before Savage was crouched down beside her, sweeping the hair from her face with gentle fingers. Her heart contracted at the look on his face. So gentle. The caring there. She could see it so plainly, and everything in her responded to it. No one had ever looked at her the way he did—as if she was his world.