by G. Benson
“I think we are, Hayden.”
Hayden kept her eyes closed, but she let those words worm into her, and sleep pulled her under.
She woke up hours later to the sound of footsteps.
CHAPTER 15
Hayden sat up, shrouded in darkness.
Those had definitely been footsteps. Down the stairs. Why would that wake her up? People went for water all the time. Or maybe Sofia couldn’t sleep. Or Javi was sneaking downstairs to watch early morning kids’ shows. He worked the remotes better than Hayden could ever hope to do.
The next generation was going to rule the world.
Groping for her phone, she glanced over where Sam was a lump under the blanket, the top of her head sticking out. Her breathing, slow and steady, filled the room. She was as far over as she could be. Hayden was surprised she hadn’t fallen out of the bed completely.
Finally, her fingers brushed her phone and she grabbed it, checking the time. The screen was way too bright. She squinted, then finally managed to focus. Just after three a.m. Definitely not Javi walking downstairs.
She lay back down. It must have been Sofia. Or Abuela.
Or her mother.
Suddenly, she was wide awake.
Taking in a deep breath, Hayden got out of bed, her toes hitting the cold floor. She stumbled around, using her phone as a light, hoping she didn’t wake Sam. Her suitcase was still flung open in the corner of the room, Sam’s next to it, neatly zipped up. Hayden really needed to at least try and keep her stuff together. Or not. She fished out a pair of socks and her hoodie and opened the door as quietly as possible, slipping into the hall. The light was left on there in case Javi needed the bathroom or for her mom if she did wander. Luckily, Hayden’s pajama pants had huge pockets. She dropped her phone into one and tugged on the hoodie and socks. It was Florida, so it wasn’t exactly cold, but it was comfortable. The whole house was silent; that moment in the true early hours of the morning when it felt as if the entire world had gone still.
She heard a noise downstairs, and that bubble burst.
She walked down the stairs as quietly as she could. At the bottom, she looked around. No lights were on down here. Everything was encased in long shadows thrown by the light filtering down the stairs. She turned left and headed for the kitchen. It was even darker in there, and Hayden squinted. Someone was moving around. Her eyes adjusted further.
Her mother was in the kitchen.
“Mamá?”
The shadow froze, and Hayden flicked the light on, the sight in front of her making her stomach go cold. Her mother was squinting at her, wild-haired. She was in a summer dress, back to front.
It would be comical if not so sad.
“Who are you?” Her mother’s eyes were as wild as her hair.
“I’m Hayden.”
“I don’t know you.”
Hayden swallowed, holding her hands up, placating. “I’m your daughter.”
“I don’t have a daughter.” She narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?”
“Hayden.” Repetition. All the time. A constant. “My name is Hayden.”
“I need to go.” Her mother’s eyes were narrowed slits now, eyeing her. “I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to meet Bradly.”
Hayden’s stomach dropped. “Dad—Bradly—isn’t here.” She kept her voice calm.
“Well, obviously. That’s why I need to go. I’m supposed to meet him. At four.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes. Yes.” Her mother’s voice was impatient, and she shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. It was too cold for that dress. Maybe not to Hayden, who was used to much colder, but for her mother… “When else?”
“Look out the window, M—Paola.”
For a second, Hayden thought she was too suspicious to do so. She was watching Hayden as if she was afraid Hayden was going to launch herself over the counter and attack. Hayden tried to remember that, for her mother, she really was an unknown right now—or always, these days.
Finally, though, Paola did turn her head, looking outside at the dark yard. She turned back, her brow knitted.
“What time is it? And who are you?”
“I’m Hayden. It’s about three in the morning.”
“I’m supposed to be meeting my husband.”
Hayden dealt with this fairly regularly at the hospital. But with her mother, it had never been the same. Little words tugged at her, left her unraveled. Like those ones.
“Well, not at three a.m.”
“I suppose not.”
Hayden stepped forward, and her mother stepped back. “Who are you?”
“I’m Hayden.”
Something, a shadow, flitted over her mother’s face. “Why are you in my house? I don’t know you. Get out.”
Her voice was rising. Hayden needed to calm her down. Her pulse was raising, something tight in her chest making it difficult to breathe.
Who was Hayden? But she could remember her father? That asshole? It was unfair to be angry about it; it wasn’t her mother’s fault. But it still stung irrationally. This entire thing was unfair. Her mother had been brave and quick and intelligent. Independent.
“Paola, I—”
“How do you know my name? I don’t know you.”
“You’re okay. You’re safe here.”
Her mother darted to the door that led to the yard. But she was uncoordinated now she thought she was in her twenties, yet she was in her fifties, with advancing Alzheimer’s. She stumbled. Hayden jumped forward and around the counter, but not fast enough. Her mother’s head collided with the door with a crack that made Hayden’s blood run cold. The cry her mother gave was pitiful. She didn’t fall: her hands flattened against the door to steady herself. Hayden reached for her mother, but as soon as her fingers closed around her arms, her mother pushed backward, throwing her arm over her head in a blind hit, and Hayden felt the elbow collide with her mouth, her head snapping back.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Mamá.” Hayden went to reach for her again, but her mother’s hand gripped at the wall to hold herself up. Something metallic-tasting was in Hayden’s mouth. She dropped her hands when her mother drew in a sharp breath, her look wild.
Blood was dripping down her mother’s eye and cheek from a gash on her forehead. A bruise seemed to already be blooming, noticeable even on her dark skin. Hayden scanned her, mentally checking the injury. Superficial, mostly. The crack had been loud. Could she be concussed? Hayden needed to get closer to manage that. “Let me help you. You’re bleeding.”
Her mother swiped a hand at her face and examined it. She looked down at the red smears there and blanched. “No. I have to go. I have, I have somewhere to be.”
She was definitely dazed. But she had been before.
“Is everything okay?”
Hayden spun around. Sam was standing in the doorway, straight-shouldered and tall, even in a wrinkled T-shirt and pajama pants.
Hayden shook her head. “No. She—she tripped, trying to leave.”
Sam didn’t try to step closer, and Hayden quickly checked on her mother. She was cowering against the door, bloodstained hand held in front of her face.
“You’re bleeding too.”
Hayden licked her lip, that metallic tang hitting her taste buds. She’d thought her mom had barely touched her. “Oh,” was all Hayden said. She turned back to her mother. “Mamá—Paola.”
Her mother flinched away. It could have been another slap all over again. She stepped back, hoping it would make her feel better.
“Paola?” Sam was beside her. Hayden’s mom shrank back again.
“Who are you?” she asked sharply. “What do you want?”
“My name’s Dr. Thomson.”
“Doctor?”
Hayden stepped away, until she was around the counter and by the door. Her hands were shaking.
“Yes. I’m here to have a look at your head. Do you know what happened?” Sam had the voice on t
hat she used at the hospital. Hayden hadn’t heard this exact version, though. It was softer.
Hayden’s mother looked back down at her hand, then back at Sam, who stayed a few feet away. “Remember? No. I—No.”
“That’s okay. You’ve hit your head. Do you mind if I take a look?”
Her eyes were less wild as she looked around, her gaze landing on Hayden. “Who is that?”
“That’s my nurse.”
“Oh. Well, then.”
Sam stepped a bit closer, and Hayden’s mother didn’t flinch. “Can I take a look?”
“What has happened?” The whispered voice behind Hayden made her jump. Abuela’s hand held her upper arm, the touch grounding her.
“She was down here, insisting she had to meet Dad.” Hayden watched as her mother let Sam lead her around the counter to sit at the table. As she walked past the doorway, she eyed the two of them standing there. Hayden tried to make herself smile and not look threatening when all she wanted to do was walk out the door. She didn’t know if Abuela did the same. She couldn’t take her eyes off her mother. “She got scared when she didn’t know who I was. She tried to run for the back door and tripped and hit her head. When I tried to help her get her balance, she hit me, accidentally, really.”
Sam was murmuring to Hayden’s mother, trying to get her to follow her finger. But it had been a while since her mother had followed the simplest instructions. She either forgot what she was doing or couldn’t understand what was expected of her. Abuela’s fingers tugged on her chin, and Hayden acquiesced, turning her head and finally locking eyes with her. Abuela’s gaze roamed her face.
“She has split your lip,” she whispered. Her thumb grazed Hayden’s bottom lip.
“It really was an accident.”
“She hit me once, some months ago. Normally we can calm her before she gets that…that agitada.” Abuela sighed. “I get worried about Javi.”
Hayden didn’t know what to say to that. Abuela’s fingers, achingly gentle, were still on her chin. Hot shame pooled in Hayden’s throat. She should have been able to calm her mother down, to do what Sam was doing just now. “Me too.”
“I did not wake up.” Abuela sighed, her hand finally falling away from Hayden’s chin. “I always wake up.”
“Maybe she was very quiet.”
“I think it was the champagne.” She tutted at herself. “No more.”
Hayden swallowed and looked back. Sam was covering her mother’s eye with one hand, pulling it away quickly, a makeshift way to check her pupil response without a flashlight.
“Is she okay?” Hayden asked. Her voice was raspy after whispering to Abuela, combined with sleep and emotion.
Sam looked over. “She’s fine.”
Hayden felt her entire body go loose. “Good.”
“It could use a stitch or two, but Steri-Strips will be okay too.”
“We must to go to the hospital?” Abuela asked.
They’d had to a couple of times before. It often led to the need for sedation. The situation was too confusing and involved pain and lights and new people.
“I always have some first aid things in my suitcase.” Sam had her eyes back on Hayden’s mother. “Hayden, can you get it? There are some strips and creams.”
Wordlessly, Hayden turned and headed for the stairs. Her lip was starting to sting. Actually, it was hurting a lot. But she could deal with that later. As quietly as she could, she walked into their room—weird thought—and squatted in front of Sam’s suitcase. Hayden’s fingers were trembling a bit. That was embarrassing. She’d dealt with far worse in the hospital.
Her own suitcase was spilling its contents, and she shoved a few things back on top to make it appear neater, which didn’t do much. She unzipped Sam’s and flipped it open. So much organization greeted her that she almost had to squint. It was as if her suitcase was sectioned, and Hayden poked into the neatly stacked clothes just to check a divider wasn’t deftly separating them all. Nope. Wow. The inside pocket of the suitcase held a zipped bag with a list taped neatly on the front. It listed all the things you’d normally find in a first aid kit, plus a few extras. Written next to each item was a number indicating how many of each should be in there.
This went beyond simply being organized. This was utter nerd.
Which Hayden wasn’t complaining about right now.
Hayden zipped it open and pulled out a sterile pack of Steri-Strips, gauze, some numbing cream, and some antiseptic. She zipped it closed and was tempted to drop it on top of the neatly ordered contents of the case and leave it open, purely to enjoy a bit of destruction. It was all just so perfect. Instead, she replaced the little bag and zipped the case closed.
Upstairs was still quiet as she tiptoed back down to the ground floor. Thankfully, Javi and Sofia hadn’t woken up. Hayden swallowed at the thought of the conversation she was going to have to have with her sister tomorrow night. Tonight? It was technically morning.
Before this, she already hadn’t been looking forward to such a conversation. But now? How often had this getting up in the middle of the night stuff been happening? For how long had her mother been this aggressive in her confusion? Was this a one-off? It was the first time Hayden had seen her like that, but Abuela hadn’t seemed surprised.
In the kitchen, Abuela was pouring steaming hot water into four mugs. Her mother was sitting at the table still, and Sam was beside her. She appeared calm.
“My head hurts,” she said.
“You had an accident.” Keeping her voice low, Hayden handed the things to Sam. She sat down. “But you’re okay.”
Her mother furrowed her brow, then winced. Someone had cleaned up her face. The cut wasn’t too bad. Sam was right: one or two stitches would do, and the Steri-Strips should work fine. But the skin around it was raised. A lump was forming.
“But what happened?” she asked.
“You slipped.” Sam turned to face her. “I’m a doctor. Can I look at your head?”
Paola nodded, and Sam reached up. Her mother pulled back. “That hurts!”
“You hit your head,” Sam said.
“It does hurt.”
“It would. I’m just going to have a look.”
Hayden jumped as a cup was put in front of her. Abuela touched her shoulder. “You go to bed, Alejandra.”
“Who are you?” Hayden’s mother was staring at Abuela. “Where am I?”
“At home.” Sam was using some gauze to smear cream over the cut. “I’m a doctor.”
Every time she said it, Hayden’s mother relaxed. “My head hurts.”
Sam hummed. “It’ll be okay.”
“I need to meet my husband.” Her mother’s eyes were flicking between them all, even as Sam smoothed down the strips over the cut. “I’m going to be late.”
“It’s three in the morning.” Sam pulled her hands away, and Hayden’s mother stared at her. “But maybe if you go to sleep now, the time to meet him will come sooner.”
“But I need to meet him.”
“Look out the window.” Sam indicated it with her hand, and Hayden’s mother turned.
“It’s dark.”
“So maybe it’s time to go to bed until it’s time to meet him.”
“No, I need to go.”
Hayden took in a deep breath. “What about watching some television until he comes?”
“He’s coming here?” Her eyes were sharp as she turned to stare at Hayden.
“Yeah. So why not watch some TV until then?”
“Oh. Okay.” She stood up, unsteady as always.
Abuela held her hand out, and Hayden’s mother took it. The sight made Hayden’s stomach ache.
“You two go sleep. I cannot, not after this.” Abuela looked at them both. “Take your tea. Thank you, Samantha.”
Real gratitude deepened in Abuela’s eyes, and Sam shifted. “You’re welcome.”
Abuela led Hayden’s mother around the table and through the door that connected the kitchen to the living
room. After a second, the sounds of the television filtered through. Hayden pressed her lips together, her eyes burning. But that made her lip sting more. Her tea was cooling on the table in front of her. The steam was faint now. She should have offered to go in Abuela’s stead. To sit with her mother. That was what she had flown here for. She could have at least offered.
“Hayden—”
Sam’s voice was still soft, softer than it usually was, but Hayden was standing up already. She took her tea and walked around the counter, dumping the contents into the sink. Without looking at Sam, she tried to smile but imagined it looked pretty gruesome. It felt it.
“Don’t tell Abuela.” She’d meant it to sound lighthearted, but instead it came out choked. “Thanks for your help. You’re really good with her.”
Hayden left the room, walking quickly back upstairs to the bathroom. She closed the door behind her as quietly as possible and fell back against the wood. Her reflection stared straight back at her. Her lip was definitely split. Not terribly, but blood was smeared at the corner of her mouth. It was swollen too.
It hurt. And would probably do so even more in the morning, when it became more swollen. Hayden dropped her head back against the door, closing her eyes. Could she have stopped that from happening? The few minutes in which it had all occurred were a blur now. She always handled confused patients so well in the ER. Hayden sighed and was horrified when it turned into a weird, sobbing hiccough. She clapped her hand over her mouth, ignoring the burning sting. This was not happening. She did not cry in the bathroom. Crying was for in bed. Or in the shower, maybe. But she did not cry about this. None of this was her mother’s fault; she couldn’t help it. Hayden squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed heavily, hoping it would push that lump in her throat away. She took in a long, deep breath. When she blew it out, it came out shaky. She did it a few more times until it sounded steady.
Only then did she open her eyes.
She told herself again this was not her mother’s fault. The woman downstairs wasn’t even really her mother, not anymore.
