Ella buried her face in his shoulder so that he couldn’t see her red cheeks.
How had she managed to mess things up so badly?
Ella knew her mother wasn’t curious, and there was a perfectly good reason for that. She didn’t know Ella was married. She didn’t know she had a granddaughter.
Ella hadn’t told her.
And the reason she hadn’t come to their wedding was because Ella hadn’t invited her.
Gayle
She was thirsty, but she couldn’t reach her drink. The pain in her head sliced from forehead to jaw, a vicious stabbing so relentless she would have given anything to be able to hit Pause on it for a moment. She had no say over when she took painkillers. Someone else made that decision. Gayle hated leaving other people to make decisions for her. Decisions were personal. She hated feeling helpless. She’d vowed never to feel this way again, and yet here she was, feeling it, and it was frightening how quickly all those toxic feelings trickled back into her life. She felt weak and feeble and it terrified her. She preferred to believe she was invincible, but this whole place was a reminder she was human. The footsteps, the relentless beeping of the machine next to her or the stomach-turning smells of disinfectant and plastic. Couldn’t someone at least light a scented candle? And the people around her talked in abbreviations the whole time so she only caught a fraction of what they were saying. It was all ICU and TBI, FBC and MRI. She was a patient, not a person. Why didn’t people teach doctors about communication?
It turned out that as well as a head injury, she had bruised ribs. Her chest felt as if she’d been crushed by an elephant. The dizziness was terrible, as was the headache she’d had since she woke up. It felt as if someone was constantly bashing her over the head with that stupid award.
Since she’d arrived at the hospital, she’d been subjected to numerous tests and questions. Her answers had been a desperate attempt to grasp back a little control. Yes I feel fine (lie). No headache (bigger lie). Despite the fact she was sure she’d given all the right answers, no one was letting her go home.
“Can I go home?” She croaked out the question, but as she could see two versions of the nurse in front of her, she wasn’t confident that the answer would be the one she wanted.
“Not yet. No one seems completely sure how long you were unconscious for, but it could have been around eight minutes. We want to keep an eye on you.”
As if she was the stock market or a currency trade.
“I want to go home.”
“No one wants to be in the hospital, but it’s the best place for you right now.”
That, Gayle thought, was debatable. Did the nurse realize how condescending she sounded? “My head hurts.”
“Yes.” The nurse turned as someone else appeared in the doorway. “Can I help you?”
Gayle saw a flash of bright scarlet and panicked. Blood? Was she bleeding in front of her eyes?
She heard the low murmur of voices and then the nurse returned to her bedside.
“You have a visitor, Gayle.”
Gayle? As if they were lifelong friends or family. Being ill was a dehumanizing experience.
The flash of scarlet moved, and Gayle realized it wasn’t blood, it was a person.
The nurse leaned closer. “Your daughter is here, Gayle.”
Daughter. Gayle moved her head, a decision that caused pain to slice through her. All that red was her daughter?
The figure stepped closer, shading the bright, overhead light. Gayle saw a slender woman in a red wool coat. A few strands of fair hair had escaped from the twist on the back of her head and her cheeks were pink from the cold. Her face was expressionless, and she paused several steps away from the bed.
Samantha! It was Samantha. And she was here, at the hospital.
As her heart lifted and flew, Gayle acknowledged just how afraid she’d been that her daughter wouldn’t come.
She thought back to the last time she’d seen Samantha, but it wasn’t a good memory so her brain touched on it and skidded away. No point in mentioning that. Best if they all ignored it and pretended it hadn’t happened. What they needed was a fresh start. Safer to talk about something safe and neutral.
But what?
What did you say when you hadn’t seen someone for five years?
“That looks like a warm coat,” she said, “although black would have been a better investment than red. That color will be out of fashion next season, and it will languish at the back of your closet.”