Page 51 of Chosen Path
“Mmm-hmm.” Hope had heard this same miraculous story innumerable times.
“Hope?”
She’d been scanning the menu to see if the Moose & Goose had any daily special interesting enough to unseat the asparagus and pepper soup, but the sudden change in her mother’s voice—a quavery note—made her snap to attention. She dropped the menu to the table and gave her mother her full attention.
“Mom, is something wrong? You aren’t sick, are you?”
Mom smiled. “No, honey. Doc Larson said I’m in fine shape for a woman of my age.”
“You’re only sixty,” she protested.
Mom went on as if Hope hadn’t spoken. “You’re my overwinterer, Hope.”
“What are you talking about? You want me to move to Mexico?”
“I was born here, and I’ll die here. I think Kara will, too. Joel’s family is here, and all their friends. But you, my darling, you can spread your wings and fly off.”
As if she’d been talking to it, not Hope, the monarch did just that. Her mom paused to watch its graceful departure, then she turned back to Hope, who was staring at her in confusion.
“I’m not going anywhere, Mom. I like it here. I have a job I love. Friends. A life.”
“Do you, Hope?”
“What?”
“Do you have a life here? I mean the life you really want?”
It was the closest she and her mom had ever come to talking about her love life or lack thereof, and Hope wasn’t prepared to go any further. “Yes, Mom,” she said in a firm voice. “What’s this all about?”
“Well, Iamsixty. So I printed out this advance care directive I found online and filled it in. I took it to the post office and had Frank and the postmaster witness it. It’s all official. I gave a copy to Doc Larson, and I want you to have a copy, too. You need one. I’ve appointed you my health care agent.”
Her mom reached into her big shoulder bag and pulled out the papers. They were folded in thirds and she reached across the table with them. Hope stared at the white pages for a long moment. She could hear her heart beating. She shivered despite the sun’s warmth. She was frozen, unable to move. Finally, her mom’s hand began shake.
“Take it,” she begged.
Hope took it and slipped it into her messenger bag without so much as glancing at it.
“Honey, you don’t have to read it right now, but it’s a big responsibility. So please read it at some point so you’ll know what I want if I’m not in a position to decide myself. Okay?”
She nodded and gulped her iced tea. After a moment, she had to ask. “Why me, and not Kara?”
Mom’s face crumpled, but she recovered quickly, smoothing her sad expression into a smile. “Because I know you’ll follow my wishes and your sister will do what she thinks is best. That’s not a knock against her, it’s just in her nature.”
“I promise, Mom. I’ll make sure that everything goes the way you want—if, you know …”
And then her mother said, “It’s not a decision you’ll have to make for a very long time, and maybe not ever. But I’ll rest easier knowing you’re standing ready. Now, enough of this talk. Sheila’s been trying to talk me into getting a pink streak in my hair. What do you think?”
The words on the page blurred, and Hope snapped the folder shut before tears began to fall and obliterate the ink. She was shaking with anger. Hot, burning anger. Because sure enough, when Mom died, Kara steamrolled over everything and everyone. At least, Hope thought now, Mom had died quickly, naturally. She hadn’t had to fight Kara about lifesaving measures or organ donation or anything because Mom had died, just like Corrine Wolf, sitting alone in her house, late at night.
But the knowledge that Molly had asked Ed Pratt to see if they could arrange for an autopsy and he’d called Kara instead of her—and, worse, Kara had made the decision without consulting her—was making Hope’s blood boil. She’d always thought that was just an expression, and while she knew her blood wasn’t literally boiling, her skin was hot to the touch.
Don’t do it. There’s nothing to gain by doing it.
There wasn’t. Kara was always right, no matter what. Calling Kara was pointless and would only intensify her roiling emotions. Besides, it was seven-thirty in the morning. Kara would be busy trying to get the kids out the door for school. She’d already be short-tempered and spoiling for a fight. It was the worst time to call her.
But in a daze, almost as if she’d lost free will, she picked up her phone and called Kara’s number.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
