Not My Mother by Miranda Smith (lightweight ebook reader .txt) 📕

thought of something. What if I simply drove to Amelia’s house? Maybe she would be there when I arrived, and I could see you.

It would be unexpected, but Amelia would understand. Like she said, she would never be able to repay me. And yet she could. By letting me hold you one last time.

35 MarionNow

Mom is awake, but she’s not exactly lucid. By the time I arrived at the hospital, she was already out again. Carmen is waiting in the lobby. Des stayed back at the condo with Ava.

“How long was she awake?” I ask the nurse. A name tag attached to his green scrubs reads, Roy.

“Only a few minutes.”

“How was she? Did she say anything? Ask for me?”

“She was pretty out of it because of the drugs. That’s to be expected. It might take another day or two until she’s ready for any conversation.”

Great. As though I haven’t waited long enough. All I’ve wanted to do is talk to her. When I received the phone call saying she was awake, I thought this was finally my chance. I need her now, more than ever, to make sense of everything.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re free to visit. There’s always a chance she could wake up again, but I wouldn’t count on her being coherent. Sorry the call got your hopes up.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll stay a while.”

“It might be good for you. Her too, in some way.”

Now I’m sitting here. Waiting. For what? I don’t know. It’s not like she is going to start a conversation. I was foolish to think otherwise. And yet, this visit feels necessary. It is my first time seeing her after learning the truth. She’s my mother.

Mom doesn’t look like the person I remember from a week ago. Her skin is dull, fixed, not unlike a corpse. Every time she inhales the machine to her left makes a loud wheezing noise, reminding me she is still alive, even if her mind is elsewhere. There are a series of tubes attached to her body, at her elbow and mouth. Beneath her gown, I can see the top of what looks like a long line of staples, souvenirs from surgery. How I wish I didn’t have to see this person. I want the woman I remember, the woman I love. I want my mom back.

There’s a knock at the door and Nurse Roy pokes his head inside.

“Your name is Marion Sams, right?”

“Yes.”

“You have a phone call at the receptionist’s desk.”

I look in my lap at my cell phone. There is full service and no missed calls or messages. Carmen is still in the waiting room. Des, still at the condo, wouldn’t have called the hospital line unless there was some sort of problem with Ava.

“Do you know who it is?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just passing along the message.”

I stand, taking another look at Mom. She’s not moved since I’ve been here, and yet there’s that worry that she’ll wake up the moment I’m out of the room. I follow Roy into the hallway. Beside the door, sits the police officer I’ve seen during each visit. He’s reading a newspaper, only raising his head once to scan my face.

Roy leads me in the opposite direction from the lobby to a small nurse’s station. There’s a woman behind the counter shuffling paperwork. When she sees me, she hands over a portable receiver and gets back to her work.

“This is Marion Sams.”

A few seconds of silence, and then, “It’s good to hear your voice.”

The voice is female, but I don’t recognize it. It’s definitely not Amelia or anyone else I know.

“Who is this?”

“Do you have a pen and paper?”

On the counter, there is a cup full of pens and a writing pad. I take one, surprised that the voice on the other end ignored my question.

“Yes, but who is—”

“Write down this address: 127 Greenfield Drive. There’s a storage facility there. You need to go to Unit 308 and press in this code.” She gives me a six-digit combination. I write down everything she says, even though it feels like I’m doing something wrong. “That’s all you need to get inside. You’ll find a green folder. There’s something you need to read.”

Something about this, the secrecy of the phone call, feels wrong. I think of the press, of Carmen’s rage if she were to discover I was continuing to correspond with people without her permission. “Tell me who this is.”

“Just do what I say. It’s to help Sarah.”

The line goes dead. I pull back, staring at the useless receiver in my hands. Who was it that just called me? How would they know I’m at the hospital, and why would they wait until this moment to give me such muddled instructions? No one—other than the police and Amelia—has referred to my mother as Sarah. Could this be someone from her old life? Someone who knows something? Of course, if that’s the case, I wonder why they wouldn’t have already come forward. If this woman is doing this to help Mom, why wait until now?

“Excuse me,” I say to the woman at the desk. Her back is turned. “Excuse me?”

She faces me. The dark circles beneath her eyes and heavy sigh suggest she will be less helpful than Nurse Roy.

“Do you have any idea who called this number?”

“No clue.”

“Is it possible to trace the call?”

She makes a dramatic turn and exhales again. “This is a hospital, not a directory center.”

I leave the phone on the counter and stuff the written instructions into my pocket.

When I return to Mom’s room, it doesn’t look like she has moved. She’s still sleeping, her body fighting to regain consciousness. I sit with her a little longer, hoping against reason she will open her eyes.

36 EileenThen

Bruce opened the door.

I’d only met him twice. Once before the adoption paperwork was finalized, and again at the hospital when they came to take you home. Amelia showed me dozens of family photos during our outings to