One to Chase (One to Hold 7)

“You never told me about the gala.”

I shriek and nearly toss it. “Sylvia!” Holding a hand on my chest, I try to calm my galloping heart.

She laughs, but it’s breathy, almost weak. “Sorry to startle you.”

“Where were you yesterday?”

I’d spent most of the morning in bed sleeping off the night before, and when I finally emerged, the condo was empty. I exchanged a few texts with C.J. who was making a weekend of it with his new crush—the young-looking boyish one I won’t refer to in the same manner as my friend.

No complaints here. I moved from the couch to the kitchen to have a very unhealthy lunch and then back again before collapsing in bed for the night around seven. Still no sign of my mother.

She moves past me into the kitchen, carrying a mug, and I get the distinct impression she’s trying to evade my question. “I had a lunch date,” she finally says.

Lunch date? Sipping my coffee as I watch her, I can’t help noticing how slowly she moves. She’s also not wearing her usual casual day-chic—dark jeans and a loose blouse or even black pants and a sweater. She’s wearing a robe.

“A lunch date all day? Who did you meet?”

She’s standing at the cabinet not answering, staring inside, but not seeming to see what’s in front of her.

“Mom?” I walk over to her and set my down my coffee, reaching for her arm.

When CRASH!

My entire world tilts.

My fingers close around empty air as my beautiful mother collapses to the floor.

“SYLVIA!” My throat closes up and I’m shrieking. I’m on my knees beside her, shaking her arm, panic gripping my chest. “Sylvia! Sylvia!!!”

No response. My vision blurs, and I can’t see. I’m crying. I’m sobbing. My breath hiccups, and a cry rips through my lungs. Pushing off the floor, I dive for my phone on the counter.

“911! 911!” I scream the numbers as I dial them. An operator is on the line asking what’s my emergency. “My mother’s unconscious on the floor.” I’m back beside her, my hands fluttering near her face. I can’t stop shaking. I don’t know what to do.

“We’ll have an EMS unit there in two minutes.” The woman’s voice is unnaturally calm, and I waver between gasping for breath and screaming at her.

“How do you know where I am?”

“Your address appears with your number.” Her voice doesn’t change. She’s speaking like I’m placing an order at Sax.

“You’re not taking this seriously enough!” I’m about to be sick.

“Miss, I need you to remain calm and answer my questions.”

What the fuck? Stay CALM? “Are you kidding me?” I shout. “My mother. Is. Unconscious!!!” Oh, god, I’m crying more. Snot is on my upper lip.

“Has she been experiencing any unusual pain or nausea?”

My hands are trembling, and I can’t stop stroking Sylvia’s forehead. Her eyes won’t open, and her body is rigid. “Her muscles are flexed, like she’s fighting something.”

“They’re seconds from your building. Do you know if your mother has had any pain in her jaw or back?”

Oh god oh god oh god. I hold her hand, my mind racing, trying to think. “She thought she had food poisoning last week...” Oh god oh god oh god. “She made a dentist appointment for TMJ—”

“Has your mother ever been the victim of a stroke?”

“NO!” I scream, fear twisting my stomach so hard I nearly drop the phone. Oh god oh god oh god oh god! Not Sylvia!

A feral sound, somewhere between a whine and a strangled shriek rips through my throat as my eyes squeeze shut. Tears wash down my cheeks, and loud banging starts on the door.