Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(45)
I suck in a breath. Mama’s one of those medical types who loved raising her daughter to understand her body. We spent nights nerding out over anatomy books with me inside her arms, where she taught me the Latin names for my bones and body parts. It led to my first social faux pas when I lifted my shirt in kindergarten, pointed to my belly button and told the class, It’s my umbilicus!
All that to say, I know the significance of what she’s saying. I know that an artery carries blood from your heart to the rest of your body, except when it’s severed—then, it’s pumping your life source right out of your body, faster as your panic increases and your heart rate accelerates. It’s a fatal injury and a swift death unless drastic measures are taken.
“Shit, Mama.”
Mama nods. “Everyone was already crawling back to the chopper. Alex was the last man out there, holding Williams, who was gone by that point. The captain was screaming at me to get in, but I couldn’t leave Alex, so I ran out, ripped off the bottom of my shirt, and tied the world’s fastest tourniquet around his upper thigh, then dragged his ass back to the chopper.”
She slides her gown off her shoulder, pointing to the nasty scar on her shoulder blade. A wound that got infected, she told me years ago, when she decided I was old enough to know the truth. “Took a bullet that lodged nicely in my scapular, but I got us to safety, otherwise unscathed.”
Stars dance around the edges of my vision, alerting me to the fact that I’ve been holding my breath, listening to this story. My exhale is one big gust of air. “What happened?”
Mama shrugs. “We both received treatment. Alex went in for surgery. I did too, but not urgently. My wound got infected, didn’t respond well enough initially to antibiotics, but eventually, it came around. I got off easy, but Alex lost his leg from the mid-thigh down. He was lucky he survived at all.”
A shaky exhale leaves me as fresh tears prick my eyes. I know my mama’s brave. I’ve always been proud to say on Veterans Day that my mother served her country in places so many people are afraid to go. But this is a new depth of understanding. It’s the most specific she’s ever been with me.
“Mama.” I palm away my tears. “I don’t think I tell you enough how much I admire you. You’re badass. And brave.”
Mama wraps her hand around mine and squeezes. “You’ve told me plenty, Willa. I know you’re proud of me, and I know being a military brat for a single mom wasn’t easy, but you were always such a trooper. New schools, new homes, new neighbors. You always bounced back from another change with that wide smile and your wild hair, walking up to kids’ doors with a soccer ball on your hip, banging on the windows, inviting them to come play.”
Her free hand tucks a loose curl behind my ear as she smiles at me. “Soccer’s always helped you cope. It’s what connected you to people, it’s how you grew into yourself, your confidence and grace. It’s such a vital part of you.”
It’s true. Soccer isn’t just something I’m good at. It’s as integral to my existence as my most basic needs.
I shift on the bed, sitting straighter so that we’re eye to eye. “Why are you telling me this now, about you and Dr. B?”
Mama’s eyes leave mine and dance away to the window, watching rain pelt the glass and trickle out of view. “Money, Willa. Money’s not flowing. You and I were always modest spenders. We’re not materialistic people and we’re simple women. We don’t have huge wardrobes or bags full of makeup, but still. Breast cancer was expensive, leukemia is even more so. Alex has worked tirelessly with my insurance to cover everything they could, but, he’s also been encouraging me to consider getting out of the hospital where it will be significantly less costly. Taking my care home.”
I reel. I haven’t been to our apartment in two months. Mama hasn’t either. The place needs a deep clean. She’ll need round-the-clock care. “But how would that work?”
Mama sighs. “Well, I should begin by telling you I’ve sublet the apartment, Willa. What valuables you didn’t take to your and Rooney’s place are in storage, and mine are, too.”
“What? Why?”
Finally, she turns away from the window and meets my eyes again. “Because there was no point in paying for a place neither of us was living in.”
I swallow my shock and try to focus on the pressing matter. “So where will you go?”
Mama squeezes my hand reassuringly. “Alex and his wife, Elin, want me to stay with them. They have a big family, and all but two of their kids are out of the house. They’re near-empty nesters with more space than they know what to do with.
“Alex said since his injury, he’s wished he could thank me in a way that feels adequate, in gratitude for his life. I don’t see him as owing me anything—I just did my job—but this is what he wants to give me, and, Willa, I’m inclined to let him.”
It bristles. It scares me. Mama and I have only ever lived alone, the two of us, except for seasons when Grandma Rose came to stay. When I was little, I had babysitters and Grandma Rose, and eventually went to daycare, but our life, our routines, our home—it was only ever ours. Now, whenever I want to see my mom I have to go to some stranger’s house? Will she have privacy? Will I be able to stay with her over the summer?
Mama’s hand patting mine breaks my thoughts. “My dear verbal processor.”