“They seemed well enough,” I say with a shrug. “They were very kind to us, and their brotherhood was welcoming as well.”
The rest of our ride is silent.
We finally pull up to the nursing facility where my mother lives, but no one greets us on the ample front porch as they usually do. My mother likes to sit on a rocker with a cup of tea or by the checkerboard table so she can play a game with a friend. But she isn’t there.
My nerves are fraught by the time I get out of the car. My hands shake, and I’m still wearing the stupid sheath. I sure as hell hope Stefan will bring me clothes to change into. We aren’t far from the compound.
I don’t want to go in here alone. I don’t.
“Would you like me to go with you?” Marissa asks. I shake my head. The only person I would have wanted with me yesterday was Stefan, but after he’s acted today, I don’t even want him there.
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” I tell her, but I know it isn’t the truth. I won’t be fine at all. My nerves are frazzled and I’m wearing practically nothing. And my mother, God, my mother. She could be dying. I’m steeling myself for what I’ll see when I go in. For what I’ll face.
“Take this,” Marissa says, taking off her own sweater and handing it to me. It’s such a small gesture, but when I place it on, my nose tingles and my throat gets tight.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She squeezes my hand. “Stay strong.”
And I know she isn’t just talking about my mother, but more. She knows things aren’t right with Stefan. She doesn’t know exactly what I’ve been through, but she knows it hasn’t been all sunshine and daises.
Caroline’s words come back to me. The women of the Bratva stand together.
They do. They do.
When I enter the lobby, my stomach churns with nausea from the strong scent of antiseptics. The overwhelming hopelessness of this place makes me want to run, but I have to stay. I can’t leave now. If he flew me here from Russia with the clothes of a slave still on my back, this is important. Something is very, very wrong.
I go through the routine of checking in and giving them my name. The guard at the main desk gives me a curious look at my weird outfit, but the sweater does make me look a little less conspicuous. I make my way to my mother’s room, and when I arrive, I see a familiar nurse, Leah.
“Oh, Taara,” she says, coming to me. “Thank God. We were told you’d traveled outside of the country and no one could reach you.”
A lie, but whatever. This all happened so quickly, I imagine that I couldn’t have really gotten here any faster than I did.
“How is she?” I say. “I got here as soon as I could.”
She sighs and shakes her head. “Not good,” she says softly. “She suffered a heart attack and has been moved to the intensive care unit on the hospital side of the facility.” She gives me a look of sympathy. “She’s holding on, though. We aren’t sure for who or what, but perhaps you’re the answer.”
“Oh.” Oh.
Oh God, this is not good. I let her lead me in a sort of stupor to the other side of this floor, past rows and rows of people in wheelchairs or walking on wobbly walkers. But my mother will be in bed. Who knew how much I’d want to see her in one of the wheelchairs today?
“Be prepared,” Leah says softly when we reach a closed door. “She isn’t well at all. She has breathing tubes and an IV and may not be conscious.”
I nod, unable to speak. The lump in my throat is so tight I can’t even swallow.
Leah opens the door. When I go in, the first thing I notice is how dark it is. The second thing is how quiet it is.
“Mom?” I go to her bedside, only to see that she is indeed, asleep. And God, she looks terrible. Breathing tubes and apparatus surround her.
“I’ll leave you,” Leah says softly. “Ring if you need anything at all.”
I take my mother’s hand. “I’m here,” I tell her. At first, I think she isn’t going to even know I’m there. She’s so deeply asleep, she doesn’t even hear me. But after a moment, her paper-thin eyelids flutter open briefly. “I knew you’d come,” she whispers, then she closes her eyes once more.
I sit beside her and I take her hand, placing it on my cheek. Needing to feel my mother’s touch.
We sit in amiable silence. I listen to the sound of her oxygen, and the quietest beeping of the machines she’s hooked up to.
“Where were you?” she whispers, and it’s odd, but I know then that my mom is at her most lucid. I haven’t gotten to talk to my “real” mother in so long, it feels a little out of the ordinary.