Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I mean, I just found out he did more for me when I was a teen than my mom did her whole life. She needed a keeper herself.
"I thought you had an emergency?"
Why does my voice sound so sharp, so angry? Why do I always feel sharp and angry? I don't like feeling this way anymore. It makes me feel brittle.
"I do," he says quietly. "But Mariah would've wanted me to come."
So he didn't come here to help me, but out of some obligation to my dead sister. Somehow, that doesn't make me feel any better.
And then my phone rings, and I see it's the nurse again. "I'm here," I snap into the receiver.
"Second floor. Make it quick."
Jesus. I shove the phone into my pocket, and Vadka's eyebrows rise. "Nora?"
“Wait, you know her by name?"
"Yeah. She tried her bullshit with Mariah once."
"Once?"
He chuckles, and we are near enough now that I catch a whiff of his leather jacket. Why does he have to smell so fucking good?
"Yeah, I came with her the second time," he says.
I feel my jaw tighten. "Well, that's not fair. She treats my sister like shit, and a man comes on the scene, and all of a sudden she behaves herself?"
"Yeah, who said life was fair, Ruthie?"
Liars, that's who.
"And to be fair, I don't know if it had anything to do with me being a man," he adds pragmatically. "You’d be surprised what people do out of fear of the Bratva."
I roll my eyes, thankful that I'm wearing sunglasses so he doesn't see. He gets that strange look in his eyes, and his jaw clenches when I roll my eyes.
When we enter, they wave us past without having to show ID. We are regulars here. Josie, the head nurse on my mother's floor, sees us first.
"So glad you're here," she says with a sympathetic look. She was always kind. "How are you doing though?" she asks gently, and a lump forms in my throat. I don't like being so fragile that the smallest show of kindness makes me melt. I should be stronger.
"I'm good. How are you?" I manage to reply.
"Oh, good, good," she says quietly. "My dog had puppies, so I've been up all night taking care of the little rascals. Other than that, can't complain. They're adorable."
She smiles warmly, then turns her attention to Vadka.
"And you, Vadka?”
Vadka just nods, saying nothing else. Josie, undeterred, continues with a gentle smile.
"Bet your little boy's getting bigger," she says.
In my mother's room, there's a faded picture of Luka as a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby. It's the only thing she keeps—a tiny relic of the life she once had.
"He is," Vadka says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Going to preschool in the fall."
We're all silent for a long moment, and I wonder if it's for the same reason. For me, it's because my mind can't help the mental gymnastics of imagining my sister's child getting older without her being here.
Will it always be like this? Will everything I do always be shadowed by the thought that Mariah isn't with us anymore?
An older man with sagging skin and wide, wild eyes screams obscenities from one corner of the hallway. Another woman wheels by us in her wheelchair, happily singing to herself—something about going to the zoo with her mother.
Someone pushes a tray with a squeaky wheel past us to the right, carrying bowls of soup and slices of bread. The smell makes me a little nauseous. I've never liked the food here.
Vadka clenches his jaw and stands up taller, bracing himself.
"She met with her physical therapist today?" he asks, voice steady.
Since when did my mother start meeting with a physical therapist? Why does he know that, and I don't?
And why does that unsettle me so much?
"Unfortunately, no," Josie says quietly. "She's too combative to meet with anybody today."
Vadka's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it, his eyebrows knitting together before he taps something out quickly and shoves his phone back in his pocket.
"Did you move her?" I ask Josie. Mom's room used to be the first one on the right after the nurses' station, but we're walking even further down the hall now.
Josie looks at me almost apologetically. "Yeah, we had to bring her to a more secure location," she says gently.
Shit. This is worse than I feared. I'm glad we're here.
I'm glad he's here too.
I hear her screaming before we even reach the door. The closer we get, the louder and more desperate her voice becomes, hoarse with anger and confusion.
Inside, the room is smaller, more contained, and stripped of anything that could be used to hurt herself or others. I half expect padded walls and a straightjacket… and I’m not too far off. The curtains are heavy, and the windows are double-locked. A single bed, bolted to the floor, sits against the far wall. There's a chair in the corner and little else.