Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Now it’s morning, and Jase is taking Skyla to go see Amaya while I go visit my mom. She’s already been discharged from the hospital and is back home. While I haven’t spoken to her, knowing she would just downplay it or lie to me, I spoke to the doctor at the hospital to make sure she was okay. I also put a call in to Duncan, my PI, hoping he might have some answers for me, but I haven’t heard back yet.
“Coming,” Skyla yells back. A few seconds later, she steps out of the bathroom looking adorable and fashionable. She’s wearing pigtail french braids I did in her hair earlier, and is dressed in a cute jean skirt and a flowery flowy top. To complete her outfit, she’s sporting silver glitter Kate Spade high-tops. Every time I see her dressed, the desire to create a children and teen’s fashion line increases. Skyla and I have been working on several designs together, and I’m getting excited. I spoke with my partners and they’re completely onboard.
“I’m going to head out too,” I tell Jase.
“You’re not going with us?” Skyla frowns.
“You knew Celeste was going to see her mom,” Jase tells her.
“I know, but I thought you could go with us first and then go see your mom,” she says with the saddest look on her face. “Please.”
Powerless to say no to her, I nod. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”
“No, you can’t,” Jase argues. “Sky, we’ll see Celeste later. She needs to go see her mom.” He wraps his arms around my waist and kisses my cheek. “It’s okay to tell her no,” he whispers.
“I know,” I tell him, “but I don’t like to see her sad, and it really is okay. I can go…unless… you don’t want me to.” I didn’t even consider he might not want me there.
“Of course I do,” he states seriously. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“Well, I don’t mind.” I give him a quick kiss. “I can go see my mom afterward.”
“We can go with you…if you want,” Jase offers, but I shake my head.
“I appreciate that, but I have no idea the condition she’ll be in, and I don’t want to chance exposing Skyla to whatever state she may be in.”
“When’s the last time you saw your mom?”
I swallow thickly. “Eleven years,” I whisper. My eyes dart to the picture on the wall, not wanting to look Jase in the eyes.
“Celeste, look at me,” he says. “You never returned? Not once?” His tone is one hundred percent full of concern and curiosity, not an ounce of judgment in his words, but that doesn’t stop me from feeling shame. What daughter doesn’t visit her mom once in eleven years?
“No,” I admit softly, “and she wouldn’t visit me. I-I pay all her bills, but I haven’t seen her since I left when I was eighteen.”
Jase nods once. “Monica and Phil asked if they can take Sky to dinner. I’ll tell them they can take her, and then I’ll go with you. You’re not doing this on your own.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I can see it in your eyes, Dimples. You’re scared. I’m here. You don’t have to do this alone.”
* * *
We arrive at the long-term care facility and, after signing in, head up to the third floor where Amaya is. When we get to the room number the receptionist said she’s in, Jase stops and folds slightly at the waist so he’s at Skyla’s level. “Remember what I told you. Because your mom is still in a coma, there’s a good chance she’s not going to look like the same person you’ve seen in the pictures Grandma and Grandpa have shown you.”
“I know,” she says with a nod. “I remember from last time.” Jase sighs like he wants to say something more, or maybe take her away from here, but instead he simply nods back.
Not wanting to interfere in this moment, I attempt to stay back while Jase opens the door and walks inside with Skyla, but she notices, and taking my hand in hers, says, “Can you please come with me? I want you to meet her.”
“Sure,” I say, then walk inside with her. The room is a harsh white and smells like a mixture of bleach and antiseptic. There’s a single bed in the middle of the room and only the sound of the monitors fill the silence. It takes everything in me to stifle my gasp when my eyes land on Amaya laying still in the bed. She looks nothing like the woman I met all those years ago. Her face is pale and gaunt. There’s no meat on her, which you would think would be the opposite since she’s unable to exercise. Her hair is down and straight, as if it was recently brushed, but it’s greasy looking, like it rarely gets washed.