Page 32 of For Fox Sake

“Come here, baby.” She uses one hand to scoot in her bed, making a space, and then opens her arms.

She’s so frail, I don’t want to hurt her, but I can’t pass up the opportunity to be held by my mom. Any time could be the last. I carefully slide in next to her, leaning lightly against her shoulder.

Her hand covers mine. “I know you miss Mia. I miss her too.”

“I know.” I shut my eyes.

For a minute, we just sit there. I commit the sensations to memory. The scent of her strawberry shampoo, her fragile arm brushing against mine, the sound of her breath moving in and out.

“Can you smell it?”

I open my eyes and tilt my head toward her. “Smell what?”

“Your father’s cigar. He used to smoke one every time we brought home Mia from the hospital. Do you remember?”

“Yes.” Sort of. I was five when he passed away.

She breathes in slowly, then out, and chuckles. “He tried to hide it from me. I used to get so angry with him.” She’s not mad now, humor wreathing her face. “I’ll never forget that smell, tobacco, leather, and spices.” Her nose wrinkles.

I smell nothing.

She sucks in a gasp, squeezing my hand. “Oh, she’s here. I was hoping she would show up when you came to visit.” She waves toward the corner of the room. “She never speaks. She just waves.”

“Who does?” I follow her gaze. There’s nothing there, only a framed picture of a sailboat and an unused outlet on the wall.

Goose bumps prickle over my skin, the glow in her smile and focus in her gaze trapping me in the moment.

“It’s Mia, of course.”

My throat tightens. She really sees her.

Maybe she is hallucinating, but the air is charged, electric, the moment itself both spine-tingling and somehow sacred.

“She is always so beautiful. She looks exactly like she did when she was pregnant with Ari, all glowing.” Her head tilts. “Who’s your friend?” she calls out. Her lips purse and she points and then looks at me. “You see them? The other girl with her?”

I shake my head.

Her smile dims. “They’re gone now. Don’t worry, Mia will be back. She’s been here every day. We’ll see her again tomorrow.” She’s already settled back, her eyes closing.

Some of the nurses have told me stories about end-of-life visions, but I’ve never experienced it for myself. It’s sort of eerie, and sort of awe-inspiring. I’m not sure what to think about any of it.

I’m emotionally drained by the time I step off the elevator into the lobby an hour later. I head for the front doors, then freeze. Shane and Samantha are walking in.

Panic floods through me. I can’t deal with them right now.

I glance around.

I have nowhere to go.

Unless I go to the bathroom.

Keeping my head down, I cut to the left, walking fast, but not too quickly. Don’t want to draw attention to myself.

I hold my breath until I’ve reached the recess in the wall where the restrooms are. Once I’m out of sight, I stop and peer back around the corner.

Shane and Samantha are standing in front of the elevator, holding hands, making quiet conversation.

Probably here to see the baby doctor.

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