The Mother's Promise(10)

The phone rang. It was Kate, the nurse from the hospital.

“How are you doing,” she asked gently, “after this morning?”

“I’m fine,” Alice said. “I’ve taken the afternoon off work.”

“I think that’s wise. It’s a lot to take in.”

“So, what do I need to know?” Alice asked once the niceties were out of the way.

“You shouldn’t eat anything after midnight the night before the operation. On the day you’re to wear no makeup, no lotion, no antiperspirant, no jewelry, no piercings or acrylic nails—”

“Nothing to tempt the doctors away from their wives,” Alice said. “Got it.”

There was a short silence and for a horrible moment, Alice thought she’d have to explain that she was joking. Then, finally, came the stilted laugh.

All at once Alice had a sharp longing for her father. If he’d been here, she knew, he’d have been chuckling. She thought of that strange, sad day she’d returned to her family home after her mother had died. Alice had been twenty-five. Alice’s brother, Paul, of course, had turned to his best friend Jack Daniel’s to help him through the ordeal, so it was up to Alice to support her father through his grief. He was sitting on the green velvet couch, watching a black-and-white family movie, when she got there. As Alice peered into the room, she saw him crying openly, while an image of her mother, visibly pregnant and smoking a cigarette (because you did in those days), talked to the camera. Alice tried to duck away without being seen, but her father glanced up suddenly, slyly wiping away a tear.

“I was looking for my dirty movies,” he said finally with a shrug. “This was all I could find.”

Humor, Alice always thought, was tragedy’s best friend. Her dad had agreed. A few years back, minutes before his own death, he’d startled a nurse in the hospital who, noticing that his chest had stilled, had leaned over him to listen to his breathing. He waited until she was nice and close before whispering “Boo!” into her ear. Alice was still chuckling a few minutes later when he slowly slipped from this world.

Kate continued with the list. Alice tuned out until the part where she said, “If you have a living will, bring it on the day of surgery.”

A living will, Alice thought. Try as she might, she couldn’t think of anything funny about that.

“Sonja, one of our hospital social workers, will be in touch with you about providing support these next few weeks. And Alice? I’m here if you have any questions. My cell is on the card I gave you, and you can call twenty-four hours.”

Alice hung up, remembering only the barest details of what she’d been told, but feeling certain that everything would be in the e-mail Kate promised to send. She was comfortingly earnest, Alice thought. Whether it was staged or not, Alice did believe that Nurse Kate would, indeed, be there if she had any questions.

She tossed the phone onto the couch beside her and immediately it began to ring again. Alice silenced it. She didn’t want to talk any more. She planned to spend the rest of the afternoon—or at least until Zoe got home—wallowing in self-pity. But the time went quickly and before she knew it, keys were jiggling in the door.

“Mom?”

Alice uncrossed her legs and lay back, trying to look relaxed. “In here, Mouse.”

It had always been such a perfect name for Zoe. She was so small and easy to miss, and inclined to scurry away when someone noticed her. A few seconds went by; then Zoe’s dainty little face appeared in the doorway. “Why are you lying down?” she said.

Alice sat up. The girl didn’t miss a trick. “What? Can’t a woman rest?”

Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “How was your doctor’s appointment today?”

Alice searched for some truth she could tell her daughter—a truth that wasn’t terrifying. “Nothing to worry about,” she said eventually. “Though I do have to have a small surgery on Monday.”

Zoe’s face paled a few shades. Since she was a child she’d been plagued with terror that something would happen to Alice, and even now, whenever Alice seemed threatened with some ailment—be it a dentist appointment or tonsillitis—Zoe was paying attention.

“What’s the surgery for?”

“Gallstones.” Alice hadn’t planned to lie; it just slipped out. Immediately she felt the weight of it.

Zoe dragged in a breath. “But … aren’t gallstones, like, painful?”

“They can be when they flare up,” Alice said, hoping she sounded authoritative. “That’s why they want to take them out—before they cause me any more problems. I’ll have to stay in the hospital for a few days.”

“A few days?” The rest of the color drained from Zoe’s face. “So I’ll stay here by myself?”

Zoe hated being home by herself, even during the day. It was one of the ironies of social anxiety disorder. Zoe didn’t like being by herself; in fact, she wanted nothing more than to be with people and in places surrounded by chatter and noise. Problem was, when she was in that kind of situation, she became so caught up in what everyone thought about her, she either had a panic attack or had to leave.

Unfortunately, staying at a friend’s place wasn’t an option. Apart from an attempt at a sleepover when she was ten (which didn’t end well), she’d never slept anywhere but in her own home in her entire life.