Page 80 of Smoke and Fire
The haunted expression returned to his face. He nodded. “Yes, I always love to see Inessa, but I'm nervous. Nessa's nurse texted me just before I returned. She said that Inessa’s getting worse. They’ve started hospice.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but she doesn’t have much longer left. With Inessa, it’s hard to tell.”
I reached over and squeezed his hand.
“All the more reason to see her now.”
BASTIAN LEDme past a reception counter, signed a clipboard, said hello to a few people, and then guided me through a maze of hallways.
We didn't touch, but I wanted to take his hand. Tension crackled off him like a force field, so I stayed back. Revealing so much about himself had been hard. The signs were there.
Eventually he slowed, then knocked on a door marked with Inessa’s name. After a call that I barely heard, he twisted the handle and stepped inside.
A woman lay on top of a bed, an oxygen tube strapped to her face. Her eyes fluttered open as we stepped inside, then brightened. A wide smile spread across her face. Dark, black hair laced with gray lay in a braid on her left shoulder, silky strands sliding out of it. Her slanted eyes crinkled from the width of her smile. Bastian illuminated like a candle bouncing to life.
“Hey!” he said softly. “There’s my favorite sister.”
She beamed.
“Hi Bastian.” She lifted a hand and waved him over. The wordBashtyunslurred a little, but came out happy and bright.
He leaned down, wrapped his arms around her, and held her in a long, long hug. When he pulled away, she grinned and adjusted a pair of glasses on her face. I hovered back, content to watch.
A cough racked her body, wet and difficult. Bastian grabbed her a tissue and handed it over. She lay back after she coughed into it.
“I missed you,” she murmured. “You’re safe from the . . . from the fire?”
“I’m safe.” He nodded and sat down at the side of her bed. “I have two days off and wanted to see you. I’m sorry I only made it for a short time on my last break. They said you’re feeling a little weak.”
She nodded, the first signs of trouble clouding her brilliant expression. She licked her lips, biting her bottom lip. She patted her chest. “I’m sick like Daddy.” Her hand reached up to her head. “But not sick up here like Daddy.”
He nodded. “Yeah, your lungs and heart are sick.”
She laughed a little. “They’re sick a lot.”
He nodded.
“Dad’s head is sick. Yeah. Does he remember me?”
“Not yet. Maybe soon?”
She worried her lip with her teeth. Her gaze darted to me, then back to him. She cracked another smile and motioned to me with a hand. “You brought a friend?”
“Yes! Nessa, this is Dahlia.”
Inessa waved.
“Good to meet you, Inessa.” I waved back.
“Your name is a flower. I like dahlias.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
I leaned against the wall while they turned their discussions to the rows of paintings that cluttered the far wall, clearly created by Inessa herself. The angst Bastian carried into this room had completely dissolved away now, and he chattered with Inessa like a fat, happy squirrel.
The canvases at the end of her bed were expertly filled with lakes and mountains and trees. The use of bright colors amidst the earth tones wasn’t accidental. They enhanced the majesty of the peaks with high tones that weren’t natural to nature, but somehowlookednatural in that setting.
