Unbreathed Memories

chapter 15

The next week was a blur. Just when we thought everything was going well, Mother’s heart went wild again and she had to be shocked back to life. Soon after that, her doctor transferred her by ambulance from Anne Arundel Medical Center to the coronary care unit at University Hospital in Baltimore. I spent my mornings at St. John’s, trying to lose myself in the worlds L. K. Bromley had created. The afternoons were spent visiting my mother. Daddy was at her side day and night. Nobody had seen Georgina.

All day Monday I tried to contact Ruth in Bali. The only thing I remembered about the resort was that it had “Ubud” in the name, but I recalled that she had found it on the Internet, so it wasn’t long before I came up with a list of possibilities. When I finally found the hotel where “Missy Gannon” was staying, she had already left on a bus trip to Mount Batur and Uluwatu Temple, but a woman with a voice like temple bells promised to deliver my message as soon as the tour group returned.

Needless to say, I didn’t make it to All Hallows on Wednesday. I telephoned Mindy and told her why. She made sympathetic noises and hoped I’d be back the following week. I said I didn’t know. I was supposed to be having surgery myself.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Oh, no,” I lied. “Just routine.” I hadn’t mentioned the breast cancer before, so I thought it’d seem a little strange to bring it up now.

Frankly, I didn’t know what to do about the reconstruction. With Mother so sick, no one could fault me for canceling. But after they moved her to Baltimore, her condition stabilized and it looked like she might be coming home before long.

Paul encouraged me to go ahead, effectively erasing his prior claim of impartiality. Maybe he’d been looking at the photo of me in the yellow bikini, too. “Your mother couldn’t be in better hands,” he said reasonably. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do for her that isn’t already being done.”

“But I won’t be able to visit her in the hospital,” I complained.

“Why don’t you ask her what she thinks,” he suggested.

So I did. Mother let me know in no uncertain terms that she’d be seriously annoyed if I didn’t go through with my surgery. “It’s the next step in the healing process, Hannah,” she said.

The nurse had propped Mother up in bed so that I could comb her hair. I took the brush, eased the tangles out of the back where the hair had become matted from rubbing against the pillow, and fluffed up the flyaway wisps that framed her face. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” She touched my cheek. “You’ve been looking forward to this for so long. You must go ahead with it now.”

“You won’t miss me?”

“Of course I’ll miss you, sweetheart. But, trust me, you’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t follow through with your plans. And neither will I if you let my little”-she raised the arm that was connected to the IV-“my little inconvenient illness stand in your way.”

So on Thursday I returned to Anne Arundel Medical Center, where they x-rayed my chest, drew my blood, had me pee into a plastic cup, and pronounced me fit for surgery the following Monday.

That night, Ruth called collect. Through a poor connection that echoed everything I said into my ear two seconds after I had said it, I explained the situation. When she heard the news, she panicked. She’d book a flight right away; but who would arrange it? Her ticket was nonrefundable; what would she do? She had paid for everything in advance; how would she get her money back? The waiting list for the workshop was two years long; when could she ever come again? I had to put Paul on the phone to calm her down. Eventually we decided that since Mother’s condition had stabilized, Ruth would stay in Bali for the time being. She gave us the number of the hotel’s fax machine and we promised to send her daily progress reports.

I spent that weekend in Baltimore, reading to Mother from Queens’ Play. Escaping to sixteenth-century France with Dorothy Dunnett’s dashing Scotsman, Crawford of Lymond, was just the diversion we both needed. On Sunday afternoon I laid aside the book, smoothed back her hair, and kissed her forehead, leaving her sleeping peacefully. Take care of her, I prayed. Please take care of her until I get back.

And I checked myself into the hospital, as planned.