CHAPTER 20

Meg

You really don’t have to stay home from work today,” I told John early Friday morning.

He leveled a patient look at me. “Your mom’s having surgery. Her family should be there.”

But we wouldn’t be there. Not all of us. I’d told Beth and Amy not to come in two long, agonizing telephone conversations. Amy had argued, I remembered, and Beth had cried.

I swallowed. “I’m meeting Dad and Jo at the hospital. And I already asked Sallie to watch the kids. She’ll be here in”—I glanced at the big kitchen clock—“an hour.”

“Good.” My gaze flew to his. He smiled. “That way I can go to the hospital with you,” he explained.

The tight band of pressure holding me together relaxed. “Oh, John, that would be wonderful. I know she’ll be happy to see you.”

“I want to see her, too. I love your mom. But I’m going for you, Meg.” He held my gaze. “I want to be there for you.”

I moved into his arms, resting my forehead against his chest. “Thanks.”

John cleared his throat. “Anytime.”

I closed my eyes as he stroked my hair. I wanted to stay like that forever.

But of course I couldn’t. Daisy was missing a barrette and DJ, a sock. I needed to load their breakfast dishes into the dishwasher and write down last-minute instructions for Sallie. The twins were surprisingly okay with being left with their new playground friend.

John dropped me at the hospital entrance while he parked the car. Even so, by the time I found the surgery unit, Jo was alone in the waiting room.

The main lobby had been decked with artificial trees and plastic poinsettias, the fake cheer of the Christmas season. But the surgical waiting area was beige and bare and quiet, as cold and sterile as I imagined the operating room must be. I shivered. Our mother had already been admitted behind the painted metal doors.

“Dad’s with her,” Jo said.

“I want to see her.”

Jo scowled. “She can only have one person, the nurse said.”

John strode in, putting his hand on the small of my back. Straightening my spine, I approached the nurse’s desk. “I’m Meg Brooke. Abigail March’s daughter. How is she?”

“She just went back.”

“I know. Could you let her know I’m here? Please?”

The woman in purple scrubs referred to her computer screen. “I’ll go check.”

I shivered. A flat-screen TV in one corner droned with a morning news program. The other big screen displayed strings of numbers highlighted in glowing yellow, red, and green.

“Patient numbers,” Jo said. “Red for waiting, green for surgery, yellow for recovery.”

“Which one is Momma?”

She shrugged.

The nurse reappeared, smiling, and beckoned. “You can come back for a minute.”

We all stood.

“Just you,” she said to me.

“And my sister,” I said.

Her gaze went from me to Jo. “I guess . . . Just for a minute.”

“Go,” John said.

“You’re lucky we’re not that crowded today,” the nurse said, leading the way back.