“Lord,” Rosie laughed, though it quickly turned into a dry, painful cough. “You’d make the worst doctor. You’re too nice. I mean, look at Ken. He’s top of his profession because he doesn’t care.”
“Not really helping.” I sighed.
“Well, what do you like to do?”
“Besides chat with you?” I smiled. “I told you, I like having a purpose. Knowing I’m doing something worthwhile.”
“That wouldn’t be sitting with me, dear.” Rosie’s eyes sparkled and her lips curved upward just a bit. The hint of a smile. I’d done that—helped her feel better. If only for a moment.
“I disagree,” I said, softly. “I think this—helping individuals die,” my voice broke, but I held back the sob. Rosie deserved my strength as she lost her own. “Helping their loved ones get through it, this might be exactly what I’m supposed to do.”
Rosie considered me for a long moment. “You mentioned this last year when you were covering a story about the new cancer center. I liked the idea then.”
I nodded, lowering my eyes. She didn’t need to see the hurt in them. She wasn’t choosing to die. “I want to do something real. Something that actually makes a difference. For all that Ken’s emotionally stilted, he’s doing that. He’s helping people.”
“If you want to, you will. Ken’s a good man, just not the right one for you. He’d try to ramrod you into doing things his way and that’ll do nothing but make you both miserable. He needs a society wife—a woman like his mother. Now”—she smoothed her hands over her blankets, dismissing Ken and the rest of her family from our conversation—“tell me about Princess. I miss that ragamuffin.”
Not wanting to tell her how thin the cat was, I launched into the story about visiting Princess last night. I’d never owned a pet, and after Princess, I probably never would. To say it went poorly was an understatement.
“Then she darted into the living room and used her claws to mutilate one of the sofa cushions. She’d obviously been shredding it for days.”
“What? Did she have anything to eat?”
“A bowl full of food.” I paused. Rosie waited, too still. Best to simply tell Rosie all of it. “Your neighbor came by last night after work. She couldn’t get Princess to eat and she’d tried all kinds of different foods.”
“I left her enough money to make sure Princess was taken care of.” Rosie’s voice rose in agitation.
“It’s fine—everything’s fine. I’d bought some salmon at the market. Once I gave some to Princess she even purred a little. She sounds like a big dually truck when she gets going.”
Rosie chuckled a little, the sound weak but happy. “She likes you. Always has. I’m glad you’re watching her now.”
“I’ll make sure she eats.” I didn’t tell her I’d shut the bedroom door, terrified the cat would maul me in the night. Some things just didn’t need to be shared.
“Good,” Rosie sighed. “I’m glad I talked you into staying at my condo.”
She slid back into sleep, holding my hand. With slow precision, I extricated myself and stood. I bent to gather my purse.
“Hello, Briar.”
I stiffened my back but turned to face him. “Ken.”
“I called earlier. The doctor said you’ve practically been living here.” He cocked his head, eying me in that way most people look at a puzzle they can’t figure out. “She’s my aunt.”
“She’s like a mother to me,” I said.
“So you’re just trying to worm your way into her fortune? My money wasn’t enough for you. You want Rosie’s instead.”
My jaw snapped closed with a firm click. “I don’t want you because you tried to manipulate me. I’m here for Rosie because she’s my friend. A dear one.”
“I’m calling bullshit, Briar. You left us both without explanation.”
“Because you tried to force me into pregnancy,” I snarled.
“Now you’re all cozied up with my aunt in her last dying days. Any will she writes now, my father and I will contest. She’s on heavy medication. Definitely not in her right mind.”
I stepped closer to Ken and grabbed his tie so that we were nose to nose. “I. Don’t. Want. Her. Money.” Each word pushed through my teeth like a dart.
He yanked back. “See that it stays that way.”
“I’m going to be here this week. All week,” I said, staking my claim. “We both know you only stopped by out of obligation.”
“Of course it’s obligation. She’s my family.”
I narrowed my eyes, but before I could say anything further, Rosie’s voice, filled with amusement, drifted over from the bed. “Ken, still being your charming self, I see.”
He glared at me before ducking around to press a kiss to Rosie’s check. “How are you feeling?”
She leveled him with a look that had him squirming in those perfectly pressed Brooks Brothers trousers. “If you really wanted to know, you would have come by sooner than this.”
“Of course I want to know. I plan to talk to Dr. Chin every day.”
“Kenneth,” Rosie sighed. “You aren’t going to win Briar back. I’m not planning to change my will. It’s been set for weeks. While I appreciate the visit, we both know you came to antagonize Briar for not being more interested in a life with you. Which, as I told her, would only end in bitterness and probably divorce. Do us all a favor and look for a beautiful but vapid young woman who only wants to be your arm candy. Everyone will be happier.”
I stepped out into the hall, unwilling to listen to anything else. Before I pushed through the double doors, Ken stormed past. “I don’t know how you’ve wrapped my aunt so tight around your finger, but you better believe what I told you.” He stabbed his finger into my shoulder. “You’re not getting any of my aunt’s fortune. And my parents have already blackballed you from all the lists.”
“I don’t care about your stupid high society. Never did.” I blinked, shocked to realize that was true. Maybe I’d liked the trappings of wealth, but I’d never felt comfortable with those people, who catalogued my dress and my verbiage, waiting for me to show how out of place I truly was. I took a deep breath, feeling freer than I had in years. “All I wanted from you was an apology.”
He smoothed his tie and did up his suit buttons. “You’re not getting one. You’re a cold, heartless bitch, Briar, and I will expose you as such.”
Chapter 9
Hayden
A nurse was in the room with my mum, looking grim. Middle-aged with graying light brown hair and sensible shoes. Her scrubs were a size too small but still managed to work on her.
“Bad as all that?”
“And you are?” the woman barked.
Crikey. Friendly sort.
“My son.” My mum’s voice was thready but stronger than it’d been earlier. “Hayden.”
The nurse’s dire look softened. “Glad you’re here. I’m Kelly, Miriam’s day nurse.”
“You’re the one who called,” I said.
She nodded. “Your mom asked. Cost an arm and both legs by the time I got through, but I wanted to see Miriam happy.” Kelly patted my mum’s leg gently. “That working better for the pain, Mir?”
“Sure,” Mum said, but both Kelly and I frowned. “Leave it, Kelly. I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” Kelly turned toward me. “This is stage four. Her doctor is shocked she’s lasted so long. I would be, too, but this woman is stubborn. She’s waited for you to show up. Except she wouldn’t call you.”
Emotions roared up through me, but the one I latched on to was confusion. “But you called me. I’ll reimburse you for the calls, of course.”
“I already handled the money,” Mum said. Her eyes were cloudy with the drugs and the remnants of pain. “I didn’t think you’d want to see me. You must hate me, Hayden.”
I was silent because there was no way I could refute that. I did hate what she’d done to me, even though my feelings were mixed up with the images, mostly from photographs, of her hold
ing me as a baby, kissing me, snuggling me in close.
“You chose to leave,” I finally pointed out.
“George and I decided I should sever contact,” she said. I glanced at Kelly, whose face was set, eyes pleading me to listen.
“Without ever asking me what I wanted?” The words wrenched from my throat. This was it—if I didn’t ask now I might never know. She needed to explain how she could grab her own child in a viselike grip so tight and shake his teeth near loose. I’d worn the bruises for weeks. She hadn’t explained her screaming and hitting me on the head, shoulders, chest, before shoving me through the window. It took me years to fight off the nightmares of that day.
“I was sick. Very sick. I spent nearly two years in that facility after you and George left before I could manage any kind of life on my own. And then only with a pillbox full of prescriptions. I missed you so much, I kept falling back into the depression.”
“So, it was fine to move me from my friends, from my life, from you?” I stood, not sure why, just knowing I couldn’t sit there and listen to her recounting.
“That was George’s decision. He’d missed Melbourne and I—I wasn’t capable of helping raise you.” The skin around her mouth turned white when she pressed her bloodless lips together. “I’d hurt you enough.”
I glanced up and saw a flash of fabric. It was the blue of Briar’s top. Shit, she must have heard that as she passed my mum’s room.
So many emotions bubbled up, but the strongest was anger. I didn’t want anyone to know my mum’s struggle with mania and depression. Especially not Briar. She was a bloody journo. No matter what she said, I feared she’d turn my mum’s death to her advantage. Except . . . except she understood the unfairness of parents putting their desires—hell, even their wellness—before their child’s. Not fair, that thought, but I wanted Briar to see me, not the musician, not the son of a sick woman. More, I wanted Briar to like what she saw.
“Yes, you did.” Which was why I’d planned to pat my mum’s hand, fix up her bill, leave. Simple. That was more than she deserved after she’d pummeled me in a rage for interrupting her piano practice.
“I couldn’t see you again, Hayden.” Her voice was full of regret. “What if I had another violent episode? That last one sent you to the hospital for a week.” Her lips trembled as a tear splashed over the thin lid.
She’d left me in some noble attempt to protect me? My dad told me to find my mum. To listen to her. Bloody hell. I didn’t know what to believe anymore.
“And better to ignore me for the next two decades than to write something? An apology, maybe?”
“I’m bipolar, Hayden.”
I’d known she struggled with mental illness thanks to some of the papers my father had locked in one of the drawers in his study. But my dad didn’t talk about bipolar disorder or mania or even my mother’s depression much, so old-school in his beliefs, he assumed people needed to want to change to stop their strange, sometimes dangerous behaviors. The word, bipolar, tied a heavy weight around my neck. Mental illness was hereditary, passed down from a parent or close relative.
Bloody fucking hell. Bipolar. From what little I knew about mental health, the disorder was serious, on par with schizophrenia.
My mum exhaled hard, struggling against the forced oxygen that was being pumped regularly into her nose. “For me the depression is aggressive, angry. And it’s much harder to climb out of that than the mania.”
“And I was the easiest target.” I pressed my fists to my forehead.
“Because you were there. That wasn’t my first episode with you. Just the worst. Your father told me I either got help or he would leave me.”
“So you got help and he left you.”
“Not exactly,” she said. She stopped twisting her sheet in her fingers. “I asked him to take you away. You were a temptation I couldn’t resist. I wanted to be with you, not in a treatment center.” She gestured to the room. “They weren’t as nice as this. I found out later, after years of therapy, the intensity of my love for you also brought about more focused negative emotions like rage and depression. They were focused on you because I loved you. So much.”
“You loved me so much you ran away?” I sneered.
Kelly stepped forward, laid her hand on my mother’s frail shoulder. The nurse sent me a glare that said “you better calm down” before she refocused on my mother.
I gnashed my teeth. I didn’t want to calm the fuck down. I wanted to yell at the nurse. I wanted to run from my mother’s comments. My fingers were through my hair, trying to ease the confusion and anger cracking open my chest. “Dad said you needed time. But you’d decided I wasn’t worth the effort.”
“No! God, no, Hayden. I just . . . I struggled for years with the depression. Because I missed you. I spent most of that time in and out of facilities.”
“Well, isn’t that convenient,” I scoffed. “For your story.”
“George told me that leaving was best for all of us. That I could start over.” The machines started beeping.
“Miriam, you need to calm down,” Kelly said.
“Why? So I can live longer? I’m dying. Hayden needs to understand—”
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” I said as I strode toward the door.
“Hayden, I was your age.” My mum’s voice was edged with panic. “I didn’t know how to fight for you. We didn’t know then what we know now about the disease.”
I stopped, turned slowly to face her. “That you passed along the chance of me being just as fucked up as you are? That’s all I know about bipolar disorder. It’s genetic. You gave me a life sentence, just like yours.”
“I didn’t understand how to manage the disorder then,” she whispered.
My shoulders hunched inward. “Do you have any idea how hard it was, growing up with a dad old enough to be my grandfather and a mum who ran away?” I asked, my voice vibrating with a fury I’d worked for years to suppress. I searched her face. “Do you have any idea how hard being alone was on Dad? How much I wished for one phone call—just one—where you told me you loved me?” I crossed my arms over my chest, holding in some of my righteous anger. “Of course you don’t. You didn’t see Dad age overnight or hold me when I cried into my pillow for weeks on end. Because you left.”
“No, honey. Your move, my leaving . . . it wasn’t like that, Hayden. I always loved you . . .”
“Not enough to do anything about it.”
I strode down the hall and slammed my hand against the release bar of the front door with more force than necessary. I cursed as I stumbled out the door. The cool air slapped me in the face. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I wanted to hit something but I wouldn’t. I refused violence of all kinds. I still remembered those moments when my mum had slapped me.
I glanced around, looking for some outlet. Nothing. I needed to calm down enough to drive myself away from this place. I pressed my palms against the side of the building, trying to draw in enough air to loosen the tightness in my chest. I needed a keyboard to pound out my frustrations. No one would get hurt if I played out my emotions.
A hand slid over my wrist. I turned to see Briar, this woman I barely knew, thankful for her steady presence. I buried my nose in her neck, my arms wrapped tight around her, and finally I could breathe. She slid her arms over my shoulders and rocked me like mums do their small children. And just as I’d always assumed, there was comfort in that sway, in those warm arms.
“You listened,” I mumbled into the soft skin of her neck.
She nodded. Her fingers slid into the hair at the nape of my neck. I liked that she didn’t offer platitudes. “Enough to know this isn’t our afternoon. I’d just gotten into it with Ken.”
“The wanker stopped by?”
“To pronounce Rosie very sick and me very stupid. Cold and calculating.” She closed her eyes, trying to mentally shake off his words.
“My mum’s always been sick.” My voice cracked. I heaved a breath, pulling her tigh
ter against me. I wanted me in her, buried so deep I couldn’t feel this anymore. “I knew that, but I didn’t know how sick. After my dad died, my anger drove me deeper into music, deeper into myself.” I shut my eyes and tipped my head back, swallowing hard. “Now that she’s dying, she’s trying to take my anger at her leaving me, too.”
“I totally get that.”
“Will you . . . I don’t want to be alone.”
“I’m pretty raw right now, too.”
“Because of the wanker?”
“He called me a cold, heartless bitch.”
“Didn’t know you well, did he?”
“Even when I was with him, I never let him in.”
The sound that erupted from my throat was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. “I understand. And in this case, you were right to keep him at a distance. He’s a total shithead.” I glanced around. “I need to get out of here. I’ll come back in the morning, talk to the director then. Keep me company, Briar. We’ll do each other some good.”
She hesitated, her shoulders stiff. She wrestled with her thoughts while I waited, just as tense. After drawing and releasing a deep breath, she pulled back just enough to cup my cheeks. She stared into my eyes, forcing me to steady my gaze, to regulate my breathing.
“I’ll make you a deal, Hayden. For as long as you’re in Seattle, you don’t have to do this by yourself. I’ll be here with you, for you.”
I nodded, inhaled deep and leaned my forehead against hers. “I’d like that. I’ll offer the same. Get you through your shit-tastic evening and we’ll come back tomorrow. I’m sorry you saw me . . . ” I waved toward the front door. “I’m not usually so . . . ”
“Look, I don’t know how to deal with my mess of a life. I’m not going to judge how you deal with your problems,” she said with a sigh. “I want to spend time with Rosie. She doesn’t have much left.”
I stared into those beautiful blue eyes. “I’m not saying tomorrow will be better.”
Her lips flipped up in a sardonic smile. “It’s possible tomorrow will be worse. This is hospice after all.”
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