Page 126 of Can't Get Enough

“We didn’t want to worry you, and she’s usually really good about taking her pills. I always…” She closes her eyes and sinks back into the pillows. “I always check behind her.”

But not for the last few days she hasn’t. Not since her surgery. And I didn’t know to check.

I run from the room and down the hall back to Mama. Oh, God, I need to call 911. I need to get her to the hospital. I need to calm down, but my heart is Vesuvius, every thought and sensation spilling over at once like lava, but I can’t explode. Mama needs me calm.

When I reach her room, trepidation and panic laugh in my face. There is no calm and no containing this volcano of emotion when my mother—my responsibility, the one who has always taken care of me—lies unconscious on the floor.

CHAPTER 40

HENDRIX

Ifucked up.

With my rational mind, I know this isn’t my fault, but I can’t stop replaying a dozen things I could have done differently so Mama didn’t end up in the hospital. A litany of recriminations loop through my mind. How did I not know she has hypertension? Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why would Mama and Aunt Geneva keep it from me?

On the ride in the ambulance, Mama regained consciousness, but her blood pressure was alarmingly high. They couldn’t get it down. Now they’re running tests and working on stabilizing her vitals. Meanwhile, I’m pacing the waiting room, simmering on the back burner in this sterile limbo; a purgatory that smells of cheap coffee and antiseptic.

My phone vibrating in my pocket jars me from my jumbled thoughts. I glance at the screen and answer right away.

“Aunt G, hey.”

“You were supposed to call me,” she says, impatience and fatigue weighing her voice.

“Sorry.” I rub my temple and slump into the pleather sofa. “We got here and they took her back. I’ve been waiting for an update ever since.”

There’s a sniff on the other line.

“Aunt G, you sure you’re okay?”

“I am.” But her voice wobbles. “The one time I’m down and can’t do for my sister, and this happens. I feel guilty that—”

“Aunt Geneva, no. You are on bedrest yourself.I’mthe one feelingguilty that I’m not here more. How could I not know my own mother…?” I swallow tears and steady my voice before going on. “Guilt isn’t serving either of us in this situation. Let’s get through this and talk about what needs to change once Mama is better. Please focus on healing, onyougetting better.”

“Okay, Hen. Okay.”

As soon as we disconnect, I pull up the email with the meal train schedule Aunt Geneva had her church friends send me. Their contacts are all there, but I saved Mrs. Redmond, who dropped off the casserole earlier, as “Church Lady.”

Me:Mrs. Redmond, hi. It’s Hendrix. Sorry to bother you. I know you mentioned you had choir practice tonight. We have a situation with my mother and I’m at the hospital. I’m concerned about Aunt G being there alone. Could you or someone from the church just swing by to check on her? Make sure she doesn’t try to get up, doesn’t need anything, isn’t hungry?

She doesn’t respond right away and I’m about to move to the next person on the list when my phone rings andCHURCH LADYflashes on the screen.

“Hello,” I answer, forcing myself to stop pacing and sit down.

“Hendrix, hey. I hate texting so thought I’d call.”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you.”

“What’s going on with your mother?” she asks, her concern clear.

I take the next few minutes to relay what happened, trying to maintain some composure, when all I really want to do is beg someone to come sit with me, even a stranger I’ve only met once via casserole.

“We’ll be praying for your mama,” Mrs. Redmond says. “And I’m leaving choir practice now. I’ll swing by the house to check on Geneva.”

“Thank you so much.” I flop my head back on the seat and breatheout my relief. “Use the spare key under the potted plant on the back porch so she doesn’t try to get out of bed to answer the door.”

“Sure will.”

“And I left the casserole on the stove when the ambulance came, but I’m not sure I turned off the oven. Can you just check?”

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