One Wild Night (Hollywood Chronicles #1)(62)

"Don't," Judy shushes me. "Don't beat yourself up. You're here now, and this is when we really need you."

I nod and wipe the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand as I try to compose myself.

"Let's get you to bed so you can rest,” she suggests. “I'll walk you through all the fine details in the morning when you get up."

I don't argue with Judy. Instead I quietly get up from the kitchen table and retrieve my suitcase. I pad lightly down the worn hard wood floors to my childhood bedroom at the end of the hallway. I pause before entering and stare at the old door's white paint, chipping off in little slivers. The glass doorknob feels smaller in my hand than it used to as I twist it and open the door. My hand searches the wall, flipping the light switch on when I find it. A dull yellow light casts a low glow in the small room, just enough to see that nothing has been touched since I left over ten years ago.

My heart stills at the sight of the posters on the wall and the pictures still propped perfectly in their frames on my dresser. The same bedspread is still spread across the mattress I slept on as far back as I can remember, and my bookshelf is still covered in books I’d read throughout my childhood.

I drop my suitcase on the floor at the foot of my bed and peel the covers back. The old white sheets are now yellowed, but they smell freshly washed. Mom always washed our bedding weekly, a habit, it appears, she continues to keep up even though I'm no longer here.

I don't bother to undress; I simply crawl into bed and lay my head on the old, flat pillows, letting sleep overtake me before I even have time to close my eyes.

***

I wake with a start when I hear my cell phone ringing. Scrambling to the end of the bed, I grab it from the top of the suitcase where I tossed it last night. Six twenty-seven shines brightly on the screen just under Ted's name. I tap the answer button, but before I even have a chance to speak, Ted is barking at me.

"Jesus Christ, Frances, I've been worried sick about you. You didn't even text me to let me know you made it." The agitation in his voice is palpable.

I close my eyes and toss myself back onto my pillow, holding the phone away from my ear as he chastises me for my lack of consideration.

"Sorry," I mumble and cover my eyes with my forearm to block the bright early morning light. "It was just so late, and…" I pause.

"You sound like shit. Get some rest and fill me in later—maybe actually call me this time," he snaps, disconnecting the call. I stare at the screen as his name disappears and wonder what the heck just happened. I've known Ted for six years, and he's barely raised his voice to me, ever.

I see Faith's text message from five hours ago, telling me she's on the redeye flight home and will be here in the morning, which should be anytime now. Flipping the switch on the side of the phone to silence it, I roll over, covering my head with throw pillow. I've only been asleep a few hours and I know I'll need a few more before I'm able to fully function.

Sleep doesn't come to me, though. I toss and turn in my lumpy old bed, wondering if my mom is awake, so I can see her and update Faith when she arrives. My stomach twists and I'm not sure if it's nervousness or hunger, but I finally push myself out of bed. The house is quiet as I make my way down the hall and through the living room where I find Judy sitting at the kitchen table where I left her just hours ago.

She looks twice at me before giving her head a little shake. "You really should get some more sleep," she says, turning back to her iPad and the book she's reading.

I ignore her remark at my appearance. "What are you reading?"

"Mary Higgins Clark. She's my favorite."

"Mysteries, huh? And do I really look that bad?" I shuffle over to the coffee pot that has a freshly brewed pot just waiting for me.

She glances at me out of the corner of her eyes. "Kind of," she murmurs.

I laugh. I actually let out a loud laugh, and she begins to laugh along with me.

"Thank you for your honesty," I tell her, pouring myself a mug of piping hot coffee. "I'm used to getting mere hours of sleep, though. After I catch a shower, I actually clean up quite nicely." I join her at the kitchen table, in the same spot I sat a couple of hours ago. "So, Judy, shoot it straight with me. What can I expect when I see her?"

Judy sets her iPad down and looks up at me. “Like I mentioned before, her left side has paralysis. She moves slowly and struggles with her arm and leg. She also struggles to eat. We were cleared to bring her home from the hospital and to feed her, but," she emphasizes loudly, "we have to be very careful." She taps her pointer on the kitchen table. "She can choke very easily. We've been keeping her to softer types of foods to help with her ease of swallowing. There is a list on the counter." She gestures over her shoulder to a binder on the counter next to the refrigerator.

“I think where you're going to struggle the most, Frances, is with her speech,” she continues. “She has, what we call, aphasia. She has trouble finding the correct words, or piecing together a sentence that makes sense. This is also extremely common after a stroke,” she reminds me. “A speech therapist will be coming to help with this. Your mom's case is relatively mild, which is good," she sighs. "With on-going therapy, this is something she can hopefully recover from."