SEIZURES.

Alton had delivered the news as if he were giving me Montague’s stock report, assuring me that I could visit again in the morning. Thankfully, I’d convinced Bryce to stay with me as I heard the news. I honestly had no idea what Alton had been about to tell me, only that I was trying to give Chelsea space to get her own things without his help.

She got Suzanna and I took Bryce.

Now, an hour or more later after more of a battle than I’d waged in five days, I was racing through the hallways of Magnolia Woods. When we arrived, I didn’t stop to sign a registry or even speak to the woman at the front desk. This was after visiting hours and the woman was too busy painting her nails or reading some smut to notice as we passed by.

The only one we’d spoken to was the outside guard, who’d begrudgingly allowed us to enter.

“Alexandria, slow down.”

I didn’t listen to Bryce as my shoes slid over the tiles and I made the final turn.

“Ma’am?” A large man in scrubs said, scrambling to his feet from a chair near the window as I burst through the door.

“I’m Miss Collins, and you are?”

“Mack, Mack Warren, Mrs. Fitzgerald’s night nurse.”

The room was dim, illuminated by only the display of multiple monitors. Hurriedly, I stepped toward her bed and turned on the nearby lamp.

I gasped.

The lamp did little to help my vision. If anything, the scene before me blurred, as if a mist had settled over us, softening the reality. I reached for my heart as it painfully clenched and my stomach dropped to my feet. The woman on the bed was a shell of the mother I knew, even less than the one I’d left this afternoon. The vital lady in my memory was always dressed impeccably and the perfect belle. That lady was nowhere to be found.

The patient lying before me wearing a hospital gown that clung to her perspiration-drenched skin revealing her too-thin frame was a stranger. This person’s brown hair was dull, matted, and damp against her scalp and her complexion a pale shade of gray.

I choked out my words as I reached for her hand. “Momma, I’m here. It’s Alexandria.” The coolness of her touch sent a chill through me as if I were holding an ice cube instead of her extremity. “It’s going to be all right. You’re going to get better.”

Bryce came up behind me, his radiating warmth a contrast to my mother; though he wasn’t touching me, his breath skirted my neck. “I-I’m sorry…”

I turned on him, lashing out on the only one I could. “Sorry? You’re sorry? Look at her. I should have been here, not having some stupid family dinner. You knew about her seizures and didn’t say a word. I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, but his eyes held both fight and a warning. His yielding was a show for Mack, but I’d take advantage of my temporary upper hand.

“Alex, I’m not the enemy here. When did I have the opportunity to tell you? You left the manor. I couldn’t reach you. I tried.”

Standing tall, I held back the tears as I turned again to my mother. Her skin beneath mine was clammy and moist. The longer I stood, the more my nose prickled and the rank air settled around us. I turned to Mack. “You’re her nurse. Why haven’t you cleaned her?”

“I-I didn’t know if she would have another seizure.”

My head swiveled from side to side. “What difference does that make? She needs a bath. If she has another seizure, then do it again.”

Though his shoulders straightened, he didn’t speak.

“You heard her,” Bryce said.

I grimaced at his support, hating it almost as much as his opposition. “Forget it,” I said. “Get me a basin with warm, soapy water and another with fresh warm water. I’ll also need washcloths and towels.” I turned to Bryce. “You’ll need to step out.”

“I can’t leave you alone.”

“Of course you can. I’ve been here for five days, most of it alone. Besides, Mack will be here. Go, give my mother some privacy.” Dismissing him, I continued my orders to Mack. “I’ll wash her. You change her bed and get me one of her nightgowns. Mrs. Montague Fitzgerald shouldn’t be wearing a hospital gown. I can guarantee we’re paying for better care than she’s received.”

His jaw clenched. “Miss, our clients may have money, but they’re all the same: addicts. Her name isn’t—”

Bryce began to speak, but I lifted my hand. “Mr. Warren, stop now or get a new job tomorrow.” It may have been years since I’d been a pretentious snob, but old inbred habits were hard to forget.

“Did you misunderstand the lady?” Bryce asked when the nurse remained still.

Mack’s gaze narrowed, but just as quickly, he began gathering supplies, moving to and from the private bath with the basins.

“Bryce, go into the hallway. I’ll call you back as soon as we’re done.”

“Alexandria, you don’t have to do this. That’s what these people are here for.”

“You’re wrong. I do and I am.” I turned back to Mack. “I want to wash her hair too. How do we do that in the bed?”

I pulled down her sheets.

“Oh my God! What the hell happened to her arms? They’re a mass of scratches, and why are there bruises around her wrists?”

“It was her,” he explained. “She’d been doing good and the restraints were off, and then all at once she started screaming. She was hallucinating, yelling about vines and insects, saying it itched. I cleaned some of the blood away after I got her restrained again.”

I gently caressed blue and red marks on her dainty wrist. “She’s what, one hundred and ten pounds? What the hell are you restraining her with?”

“That isn’t it. She fought it, pulling and thrashing, before the seizures started. Once they did, her whole body fought. That’s why they’re bruised.”

Each explanation tore at my heart. I lifted each wrist. It wasn’t anything like the faint lines from Nox’s bindings. My mother’s wrists were irritated and inflamed. “Help me move her.”

My mother was but a feather in Mack’s arms as he rolled and lifted her, aiding me in cleaning her as well as changing the bed’s clothes.

By the time we were done, she was clean, fully clothed in a pink nightgown with her clean yet damp hair combed over her shoulders. If it weren’t for the catheter, I would have insisted on undergarments as well.

Compromises.

I found myself making them at each turn.

The bags of fluid hanging near the head of her bed had multiplied since I’d left earlier in the day. “What medicines have been added?”

“Anticonvulsants. They had to up the dose from what they first put her on, but the seizures finally stopped.”

“I want to speak to Dr. Miller.”

“It’s, like, midnight. He’s off call.”

“How much do we pay for my mother’s care?” I didn’t let him answer. “I’m confident it includes a constant connection to her team.”

“I-I don’t know…”

“Call him. Get him in here or at least on the phone.” I stared up at this man. “Now.”

“I’m not supposed to leave her.”

“Then use your cell phone, or leave her in my care, which is obviously better than what she’s had, and go call him.” I walked to the closed door. “Bryce?”

He nodded from where he’d been, leaning against the far wall, and walked toward me.

“Mack was just about to get ahold of Dr. Miller for me. Can you assure him we won’t leave Momma’s side?”

Bryce looked down at his watch. “Alexandria, it’s nearly midnight. What can the doctor possibly do now that he can’t do in the morning? Besides, we have pictures—”

Maybe it was my expression, I don’t know. All I know is after our eyes met, Bryce turned toward Mack.

“Do it now.”

“Yes, sir,” Mack said, heading for the door.

“I fucking hate this patriarchal society,” I mumbled as Mack left. “Savannah needs a lesson in equality.”

Bryce shrugged. “I don’t know. You seemed to be holding your own.” He walked closer to Momma. “Look at her. She looks better already.”

I pulled a chair closer to the bed and lifted her hand. Pushing back the soft silk sleeves of her nightgown, I showed Bryce one of her wrists. “Look at this.”

His brow furrowed. “What the hell?”

“This isn’t right. Please help me help her. Please. How would you feel if it were your mother in this bed?”

“I’d hate it. I’d do anything I could to help her.”

“Then please don’t make this harder for me, for her.”

His chest expanded and contracted with deep breaths. “What? What do you think I can do?”

“You said it earlier. I’m not in charge; you are.”

“I don’t think you’re talking sex?”

“No, I’m not. I’m saying Alton listens to you. I need a phone. I need this place to be able to reach me. I need you, him, and your mom to reach me. Jane…”

As I said her name, Mack reentered the room. “Dr. Miller said you can call him.” He handed me a slip of paper with his number. “You just said something.”

Taking the paper, I asked, “What?”

“Jane. That was a name your mother was calling out.”

“She was talking?”

“Yeah, like I said. She was saying stupid stuff about vines and bugs, but she also kept calling for Jane. Is that your sister?”

“No, but if my mother wants Jane, she’ll have Jane.”

Mack shrugged. “I can’t leave this room until my replacement comes in the morning. You can stay, but she’s pretty drugged. I don’t think she’ll be fighting any more vines or bugs.”

I lifted my hand toward Bryce, palm up. When his eyes opened in question, I replied, “Give me your phone. I’m calling Dr. Miller.”

He began to hesitate, but it was short-lived. “Here,” he said, handing me the phone from his pocket. “I’m listening to the conversation.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll put him on speaker and we can all listen.”

The conversation was less new information and more confirmation.

Earlier in the day they’d lessened her medication, trying to lure her out of her drug-induced sleep. Dr. Miller said it isn’t good to keep her that way. They’d hoped that she’d been unconscious long enough to have missed the severe delirium tremens—the DTs. But as she began to come out of the medicine, she became delirious, hallucinating and shaking. Before they could restrain her again, she attacked herself, scratching at her own skin. It took multiple orderlies, but they stopped her before she tore her face, once again restraining her hands.

That was when the seizures began. According to the tests, she had two severe ones. They used to be categorized as grand mal but now they’re called tonic-clonic. It’s the type of seizure that’s characterized by loss of consciousness and violent muscle contractions. Dr. Miller explained that usually those types of seizures are caused by abnormal electrical activity throughout the brain, but in Momma’s case they’re believed to be a byproduct of the alcohol and opioid withdrawal.

By the time we left the hospital, I was too exhausted and upset to object to Bryce’s hand on the small of my back or the way he helped me into the car. Though he’d driven, we had our customary security team of two individuals following close behind.

Once we were moving, Bryce reached over and touched my knee. It registered as wrong, yet I couldn’t protest. Not because I was unable, but because my mind was with my mother, not on another violation of my space. My problem seemed rather trivial in comparison.

“Don’t yell at me,” Bryce said, “but I am sorry about your mom. I’ve always liked her. She’s been like my second mother my entire life.”

I nodded as I watched the darkened scenes pass by the windows. “Thank you. Thank you for letting me call Dr. Miller.”

“Friends and fiancés,” Bryce said, his smile visible by the dashboard light. “I’ll talk to Alton. I’m sure if he concedes, your phone will be closely monitored. So don’t screw it up, but I’ll do my best to get you a phone.”

I reached down to where his hand still rested on the hem of my dress and put mine on top of his. The huge diamond glittered from the artificial lights. Red and green numbers made the dashboard look like some kind of control pit. His car was equipped with everything, yet I saw nothing. I was even too tired to consider the obvious overcompensation. “Thank you.”