Alma’s fallen down the stairs. I’m not sure what happened. I keep wondering if I pushed her. Maybe I dreamt it. I can clearly see her terrified face as she falls backwards. The image is vivid in my mind.
We heard the commotion. Seb was in the bathroom, me lying on the bed. We heard the sickening thump-thump-thump, followed by a guttural shrieking. We found her crumpled at the foot of the stairs, Seb rushing to her side.
Time passed slowly after that. The interminable ride in the back of the ambulance, the series of faces blurred into one, endless streams of gibberish, hospital rooms with their antiseptic smells.
The doctor said she broke her hip, but looking at her lying in the bed, it’s likely she broke every bone in her body. Her face is yellow, the rest of her body pale and brittle, like the slightest touch could turn it to dust. She needed a hip replacement, they said. She’d need all the support we could give.
I sip the stewed coffee, the hospital cafeteria empty. Touching my nose, I feel the greasiness that comes with twelve hours of no washing or sleeping. I hear footsteps behind me and sit up straight.
Seb sits down, takes his coffee and gives me a lopsided smile.
“How is she?” I say.
The circles under his eyes are dark. He looks five years older and shabbier. “Sleeping now. She’ll need her energy for tomorrow.”
“What time is the surgery?”
Seb presses his palms to his eyes. “Five in the afternoon.”
That’s over twenty hours from now.
“After the surgery, they need to monitor her for a few days. Then we can take her home.”
His words sound soft, like he’s talking about a sick puppy. I remind myself that this woman is his mother. His first source of love. He sips his coffee, then puts the paper cup down. “Listen,” he says, his eyes not meeting mine. “My sister’s coming to town tomorrow. From Barcelona.”
Since I’ve known Seb, we’ve spoken briefly about his mother, his father, their legacy. But never his sister. Never more than a mention. Whenever I probed, he brushed it off.
“That’s great,” I say, brightly. “I mean, I wish it were under better circumstances, but still.”
He nods, but under the table, his legs are jittery. Like those kids at school that just couldn’t sit still. When he meets my gaze, his eyes look tired and faraway.
And a hint of something else, something that makes me speak up.
“Is that a problem?”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just… well, you don’t seem too happy about her coming.”
He sits back in his chair, sips his coffee, his nose wrinkling at the taste. When he speaks, he shakes his head. “It’s fine. Ana and I aren’t really close. I guess she’s just worried about my mother.”
“Which is understandable,” I say, placing my hand over his. “Everything is going to be okay. That’s what the doctor said, right?”
“Yes.”
He looks so tired, and it makes my insides hurt. I’m out of my element here. Hordes of Spanish doctors and nurses, and signs I can’t read. “Can I get you anything?”
Eleanor pops unbidden into my head. A good wife takes care of her husband.
He’s quiet, contemplating. “I’d like to change my clothes.” He pulls on his sweater. “I feel dirty.”
“Me too,” I say with a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood. “I can stop by the house. Grab some clothes for you?”
“That would be great,” he says. “I just don’t want to leave her right now.”
“Leave it with me,” I say with newfound conviction. “Who can I call?”
“I’ll call our driver to pick you up. You can take my car when you come back.”
Out of his pocket, he pulls his keys, places them on the tabletop. “Do you know the way?”
“Google Maps,” I say, motioning to my phone. I take his keys and drop them into my handbag.
Because I’ve got a mission to accomplish. To help my fiancé.
The driver dropped me off as the sun slipped beneath the horizon.
The light was dancing on the still waters. I could almost reach out and touch the last orange rays.
I walked to the dock at the end of our street, half hidden behind some trees where the road ended. As I faced the walkway, I hesitated. Everything was quiet. I ran my hands over the worn wooden railing, coat pressed to my body to stop the cold seeping through. It was something to behold, this changing of the world from day to night. And as the warm glow of the afternoon disappeared, I walked back feeling lighter.
I showered, packed a bag for myself and Seb, and got into his car. When I turned on the ignition, my hands trembled.
Don’t worry, I told myself. You can do this.
And I did.
The roads were empty, my phone directing me efficiently back to the hospital. I scanned the open parking spots, calculating which one was the easiest. But as I parked his angry-looking BMW and locked it, I felt newfound confidence.
Seb was sitting next to a sleeping Alma when I arrived. He put his arms around me and I breathed in his familiar scent. While he went to change, I sat next to Alma, watching her breathe.
Seb looked better after a change of clothes. “I’m going to stay here tonight,” he said, “You should go home and get some rest.”
I looked at him defiantly, as if leaving him was unthinkable. But he insisted. And I didn’t really want to be there. Something about being back in the sterile environment of a hospital unnerved me. The sound of sensible shoes shuffling on linoleum floors, and the smell of cafeteria food mixed with sickness brought back terrible memories. Memories that ought to be locked away forever.
“Please,” Seb said, holding my face. “I’ll be fine.”
And so I’m back at the house. Walking the empty hallways, wine glass in hand, feeling restless.
I move from room to room, lighting a lamp in every room. It brings some comfort to the eerie silence. I open the cabinet in the study. It’s filled with papers, birthday cards and crocheted items.
I did this as a child. I’d walk around other people’s houses, looking at their belongings. I tell myself it gives me a sense of control. Of knowing that everything is where it should be. Sometimes I wonder if this need for control was the beginning of the end for you and me. Not like it matters now.
I find an old picture of Seb, those same eyes glowing in a younger face. He can’t have been older than ten. Next to him stands a girl in pigtails, a head taller. His older sister.
And I get to meet her tomorrow.
I put the photograph back in its pile, arranging everything as I found it. Sipping my wine, I sit by the bay window, my expression reflected back at me. What a contrast. The hopeful day and the gloomy night. I think of Seb’s face, his palms pressed against his eyes in the cafeteria. Ana and I aren’t really close.
There was something behind his eyes. Like worry or fear. Maybe he’s just tired. Emotionally exhausted. But maybe there’s more to it.
And it’s got something to do with Ana.