Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 522(@200wpm)___ 418(@250wpm)___ 348(@300wpm)
Since Lottie invited me to Paris, I’ve jotted down every possible thing I feel is a necessity for the trip. Once I realized I couldn’t stuff all of my so-called ‘essentials’ into my suitcase, I started trimming the list.
I believe I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and that’s good since I’m flying out of New York City tonight.
I have exactly one hour to prepare before Lottie arrives to take me to the airport.
She explained that she’s arranged for a driver in a SUV to make the trek there since she doesn’t own a car. I don’t either. I do know how to drive, though. I learned that sweet skill when I was sixteen. My mom insisted on it, and although I live in Manhattan and get everywhere I need to by foot or public transportation, driving may come in handy one day.
Just as I’m scanning my list one final time, my phone rings.
“Mom,” I whisper as I glance at the screen.
I was hoping that I wouldn’t hear from her before the trip because I’m not sure how to explain to my mom that I’m jetting off to Europe with a virtual stranger.
If I try and appease her concerns by sharing that Lottie is an heir to the Emmel fortune, that will send her down to her local Emmel’s to brag about the fact that her daughter is Mr. Emmel’s granddaughter’s maid of honor.
I decide to use the diversion trick that has always served me well. I’ll keep the conversation focused on her.
“Hey, Mom,” I chirp as I answer. “How are you?”
“I’m as good as I can be,” she says in a rush. “How’s my girl?”
“I’m great.”
I’m not. I’ve only been on an airplane twice, so nervous butterflies have taken hold of not only my stomach but every inch of my body.
I’m literally shaking in my shoes right now.
“Are you sure?” she asks, her mom sense obviously has kicked into high gear. “You sound different.”
I take a long, deep breath. “I’m sure.”
“All right, dear.”
Thankful that we’ve moved on from that, I quiz her about her day because that always leads to a handful of stories, and by my calculations, that will eat up enough time that I can end the call after she’s finished telling me the last of them. “How was your day, Mom?”
“Fine.”
What?
I’ve been talking to my mom on the phone at least a few times a week for the past five years, and she’s never answered that question in one word.
“Just fine?” I use her old trick of pushing for more.
“Yes.”
Since her day obviously wasn’t fine, I take a seat on the edge of my bed. “What’s wrong?”
“Who said anything was wrong?” she pushes back.
“You.” I manage a weak laugh. “I know you, and something isn’t adding up.”
She lets out a soft noise. I can’t place it at first, but then it hits me. “Mom? Are you crying?”
A tiny sob escapes her, along with a whispered, “I had a tough shift. Something happened at the hospital today.”
I put those pieces together and ask a question that I sense I already know the answer to, “Did you lose a patient?”
It’s never happened before, but I knew that it would hit her hard the first time it did happen. My mom cares deeply for everyone she meets. That’s one of the many traits that make her such a good nurse.
“I did,” she whispers. “She was very sick, so she’s at peace now, but it’s still hard.”
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” I say with every ounce of compassion I can stuff into my tone. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you.” She sobs quietly.
“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, knowing full well that she might want me to go home to see her.
If that happens, I’ll let Lottie down easy. I have a feeling she’ll understand. I hope she will.
“No, but thank you, sweetheart.” She exhales. “Your dad is taking me out for dinner tonight to a restaurant that we love. It’s a quiet little place. Tomorrow, I’ll take a hike with some of my co-workers, and on Sunday, we’ll all volunteer at an animal shelter in memory of the patient. She loved animals. She told me so many stories about her pets.”
The fact that my mom has such a strong support system around her brings tears to my eyes. “That sounds lovely.”
“It will be,” she assures me, and herself, I think. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
“I’m glad I got to hear your voice, too.”
“I better get going,” she says with the added sound of leather creaking around her.
I can pinpoint exactly where she is. She’s dragging herself out of her favorite old chair that sits near the big picture window in her bedroom.
“I’m sorry again, Mom,” I tell her. “I love you.”
“You too, my beautiful girl.”
The call ends without any confessions on my part. I can go to Paris with Lottie and embrace the adventure, knowing my mom will be fine.