Let Me (O'Brien Family, #2)(57)

Finn gathers me to him, shielding me with his body. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “Jesus Christ, I’m so sorry . . .”





My hands quiver as I lift the paper cup to my lips. It’s tea. Killian was nice enough to buy it for me, but I can’t bring myself to sip it and lower it back down to my lap. I’m shaking so badly it can’t be normal. That chill, that same one that’s claimed me since first seeing my mother, continues to rack my bones despite Finn’s strong arms around me.

In the corner, Teo is on the phone with Evie. This is the second time she’s called. But like the time before, Teo doesn’t have anything new to share.

The cuts to her arms weren’t fatal, nor did she sever any major arteries, but she’d lost so much blood. My head pounds as I recall the smears of red splattered all over the walls, the floors, and on our clothes.

Sofia crouches in front of me. “Do you want me to hold it for you?” she asks, motioning to my cup.

I nod because I’m done talking. Thank God the questions from the police were few, and thank God Curran assured me they’d stay that way. Tía called Teo instead of the police. It’s just like her not to phone the police directly. Thankfully, Teo reached out to Curran and he took charge, assembling everyone my mother needed.

My mother . . . my mother is a sick woman.

My attention travels to my right, where my poor father sits in a metal chair, his head bowed and his focus on his clasped hands. I think he’s praying again, for my mother, for strength, and for heaven knows what else. God knows we need it all.

Finn tucks me against him when I cover my eyes with my hand. He probably thinks I’m going to cry. But even if I wanted to, I’m all out of tears.

No, crying is the last thing I want to do right now. I just can’t look at my father then. It’s too hard. Not only because he appears so worn, but because he seems so defeated.

When I wasn’t looking, my father became an old man, aging as a result of caring for the woman he promised forever. How could he know this woman would change so much, that she’d forget who we were, and that she’d inflict so much damage to herself and those she should most love?

“Sol,” Sofia says, quietly. “I know you don’t want to take anything, but the doctor on call says he can prescribe something if you need it.”

I lower my hand slowly. “I don’t want any meds.”

“I know you don’t, sweetie, and ordinarily I wouldn’t push you. But Sol, right now you’re not in a good place, and I’m worried.”

Sofia doesn’t like medication and avoids even ibuprofen at all costs. For her to insist I should take something, proves I look about as good as I feel. “I don’t want anything,” I repeat, adding to her concern by shuddering.

She watches me, but doesn’t say anything else, lifting her chin to face Finn. “How are you doing?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, his hand stroking my arm. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t sound fine. He hasn’t since he ran into my house. My body tenses when I see how pale he remains. Killian and Teo offered to get him something to eat, but like me, he declined.

“I thought she was okay,” Papi says.

We turn his way, but he doesn’t look up, choosing instead to talk at the floor. “She seemed in good spirits. Happy. When they called me into work early, I thought it would be a good way to make money―to remodel the kitchen for her. I thought, I thought . . .”

My father breaks down, weeping into his hands. Sofia rushes to his side, hugging him and whispering kind words in Spanish.

“He wasn’t gone long when I arrived,” Tía adds. “Five, maybe ten minutes.”

It’s not the first time they’ve told us as much, but their guilt over what happened causes them to repeat their stories. Mami was fine. Papi left. Tía walked in after paying the cab and found her. Mami wasn’t alone long. But it was long enough to carry out her plan, or should I say, the plan the voices came up with.

We glance up when the attending physician walks toward us. Teo stands to greet him, Killian just to his right. But it’s my mother’s treating psychiatrist that my attention skips to. “Mrs. Marieles is stable,” the doctor says. “Physically, she should make a full recovery.”

But not mentally, he doesn’t add.

“We’ll keep her here until we’re sure she’s safe to transfer.”

“Transfer her to a different unit?” Teo questions.

It’s what he asks, and what we expected. But the doctor’s tone leaves the impression that a different unit won’t be enough. He edges away allowing Dr. Franco to step forward. “I need to speak to you privately, Mr. Marieles,” he says to my father.

Papi shakes his head. “No. If you have something to say, please tell all of us. We are her family.”

“Very well,” Dr. Franco says, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “Flor’s mental health has deteriorated significantly. She’s not only a danger to herself, but to others. I’m recommending she be admitted to a psychiatric hospital.”

The knot twisting my stomach tightens further.

“For how long?” Papi asks, frowning as if he doesn’t understand him.

Dr. Franco meets my father square in the eye. “It may be permanent,” he says. “I’m sorry, Mr. Marieles, but your wife may never be well enough to return home . . .”