Kitty lends me her car in the morning, since Alice is taking the van into the farmers’ market today. I drop her at work before I head to the hospital. She looks exhausted, definitely not fit for a full day’s work, but I know she can’t stay at home and rest.
“Text me when you know what’s happening with your mom,” Kitty says before she gets out of the car. “We can figure out what to do next after that. I can take a taxi home tonight if you need the car longer, so don’t worry about it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. And if your mom’s stuck here overnight again, come back to my place.”
“I will.” She slides out of the car and shuts the door. I take a moment to breathe, and then I carefully signal and move the car into traffic.
I get to the hospital in record time, since my trip is against the flow of rush hour traffic, heading away from the downtown core. It’s a blessing, and I don’t have to white-knuckle it through gridlock after all. When I get to the hospital, I find that Mama has just gone in to be prepped for surgery. The nurse leads me to a waiting room.
“It’ll be a few hours,” she says. “You can stay here, or there are coffee shops and such downstairs. But make sure you’re back here by ten, and I’ll come find you when your mother is in recovery.”
“Thanks.” I wander over to the window, looking out over the stretch of prairie as far as the eye can see, except for the new low-rise condominiums going in a couple of streets over. This used to be bald prairie only a few years ago, yet now it’s not even the outermost edge of the city. I feel a pang of sadness for all that wildlife displaced. Then I turn, look around the bare, quiet room, and decide to go downstairs for a coffee. I check my watch. I’ll have time to call Betty, let her know we can’t be there for the Saturday market, and then to call Beatrice. They’ll both be disappointed, but hopefully they’ll understand. I have no doubt that the entire area knows of Mama’s fall by now, and word will get around about Ming Kitty. It’s a blessing and a curse of living in a rural area.
I get my coffee and a muffin, find a seat, and make my calls. Then I text Kitty. Afterward, I put down my phone and focus on my muffin, letting my gaze wander out the window once more, though this time my view isn’t as pleasant. It’s cars and a parking lot.
After a couple of hours, I am completely and utterly bored. Even the dog-eared magazines and a copy of the local paper haven’t been enough to keep me interested. It’s a bit early yet, but I head back up to the waiting room, hoping the nurse will have some news for me.
I’m not waiting long before the nurse pops in. “Your mother is out of surgery and doing well,” she says. “The doctor will want to keep her overnight just to make sure, and then you can take her home. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to her room.”
I follow the nurse out and down the corridor, passing a dozen or more doors. She takes me into a ward of four beds, and I see Mama tucked in a bed at the far end near the window. Her eyes are closed and her chest rises and falls regularly. Her expression is relaxed.
“She’s still pretty dozy from the anesthetic,” the nurse says, “but she should come round fairly soon. If you need anything, use the buzzer here.” She places her hand on the bed rail, where there is a set of glowing buttons.
“Thank you.” I take the chair next to Mama’s bed and settle in to wait.
* * *
I take a taxi home from work, and a little after that, Lucy arrives from the hospital. Between the two of us, I’m not sure who is more tired. I meet her at the door, and she yawns, which triggers my yawn. We both chuckle. The anxiety from my day begins to finally ebb. I’m not sure if Lucy feels the same, but she seems to relax a bit. For the first time all day, I feel content, right.
“It’s been a long day. You too?” she asks.
“Has it ever. How’s your mom doing?”
“All right. She should be able to go home tomorrow.”
Lucy toes off her shoes and I kick off my low heels and move into the kitchen. I pull a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Want a glass?” I ask.
“That would be amazing,” Lucy says, taking her seat at the bar. “At least tonight I can rest and not have to worry. It’ll just be getting Mama home tomorrow that’ll be the trouble. Alice will have to drive in from the farm to pick us up.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday, at least,” I remark. “Finally. I could drive you two home.”
“You don’t have work?”
I do, but the urge to be at the farm and away from here is intense.
“I can skip it until Sunday,” I say.
“Only if you’re sure,” Lucy says. “I know you’ve been so busy, and if you need to work, we’ll manage.”
I bring two glasses of wine and slide into my seat next to Lucy, placing a glass in front of her. “I’ll work on Sunday. And Saturday night if I have to.”
“You’re the best,” Lucy says. She lifts her glass and we clink the rims. It’s a light pinot grigio, and it goes down way too easily.
“I still care about you,” I say, “and your mom. So of course I would do it.”
Lucy is quiet for a long moment. “That means a lot to me,” she says finally. “That you do.” She takes a sip of her wine, looking thoughtful. “And since I’m feeling a bit emotional”—she lifts the wineglass—“I will say that even though we’re not together, I’ve always appreciated that you’ve always liked me as I am. It means a lot.”
I hadn’t even thought of that. Lucy is perfect exactly as she is, and I tell her as much.
“You’ve never asked me to move, or to stop doing what I’m doing,” she explains. “Others have. It’s a relief.”
“And you’ve never asked that of me, either,” I realize.
“You’re you,” Lucy says. “All I want is for you to be happy.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but my sense of contentment grows. My stomach growls, breaking the moment. Lucy chuckles.
“I think we need takeout,” she says.
“Delivery,” I agree. “I don’t want to go anywhere. Pajamas, wine, and takeout.”
“Pizza?” Lucy suggests.
“Sushi?” I add.
“Both?”
Conveniently there are both sushi restaurants and pizza joints nearby, and all of them deliver. We decide on a medium pepperoni with mushrooms, and a variety of rolls and nigiri sushi. I know we’re going to have food for days, but it doesn’t matter. It’s me and Lucy, and I’ve missed being with her.
* * *
We pick up Mama from the hospital midmorning, after a fuss and confusion over discharge papers. She’s wobbly on her rented crutches, so they give us a wheelchair to get her out to the car. Kitty helps me lift Mama, and we get her comfortably situated in the back seat, her leg propped up along the length of the bench seat.
“You all right?” Kitty asks as she slips into the driver’s seat.
I carefully close the passenger side back door, making sure not to jostle Mama’s ankle in its boot.
“Just fine,” Mama says. “They gave me something for the pain. I might just sleep all the way home.” She chuckles as I settle into the passenger seat. “Thank you for driving us.”
“It’s the least I can do for my two favorite women,” Kitty says, smiling. She glances at me before she turns her focus to the road. “It’s going to be a bit of a drive.”
Mama wasn’t joking. It only takes a few minutes before she’s dozing in the back seat. Kitty turns the radio down low, quieting the voices on CBC’s Day 6 program. Once we’re on the highway, we drive in a comfortable silence until we get to the turnoff to the range road that leads to the farm. Kitty’s phone rings, the display on her car flashing the number. It’s Cindy.
Kitty declines the call.
“You should answer that,” I say. “It might be important.”
Kitty shakes her head. “I don’t want to wake your mom. I’ll call her back once we’re stopped and we have your mom in the house and settled.”
We take the short drive up the range road. Kitty seems tense, her brow furrowed, but I don’t mention it. I don’t want to add to her concern over work. She doesn’t need more stress. Once we get home, it’s awkward to help Mama up the stairs with her crutches, but we manage, getting her settled on the couch in the living room. I go to put on some tea, and Kitty checks her messages, walking back down the hallway to the front door. In a few minutes, she’s back, just as I pour the hot water over the tea bags in the pot.
“I can’t stay,” she says. Her shoulders are slumped, her voice flat. “There’s an emergency of some sort at the office, and I’m expected to be there to assist.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Mama says. She gestures to Kitty to come over to her. Kitty does, perching on the couch next to her. Mama puts a hand on her shoulder. “You drove us, and you took care of my girl. Now go take care of you. We’ll be here when you are done working.” Kitty smiles and squeezes Mama’s hand as she rises. I’m glad that they have become close.
“Thank you,” she says, then sighs. “It didn’t sound good.” I walk her back outside to her car.
“Will you always have to work weekends?” I ask. I’ve worked weekends too, but this seems more intense than farm life. At least I get breaks, and the stress isn’t anywhere near what Kitty seems to be facing on a daily basis.
“I don’t know,” she says. “After my fuckup with that client, and this lawsuit I have to win, I feel like Jack has it in for me, or at the very least he’s going to make sure I learn from my mistakes.”
“You made a mistake—you didn’t kill someone.” It’s hard not to bristle, even though I’ve never met her boss. “And you’re working to fix it.”
“I am, but if I can’t, our insurance company will pay out the client,” she says. “And Jack hates that.”
“Text me when you get home?”
“I will,” she promises. “It might be late, though.”
“Whatever time it is, call me,” I say. “I just want to know you’re safe at home.”
Kitty smiles, but it seems wobbly. “I wish I could stay.”
“Me too.”
There’s an ache in my chest watching her walk to her car, open the door, and then drive away.