The Tracks by Sally Royer-Derr (ebook reader for pc and android .TXT) 📗

some strange reason, I thought Joe would be able to do the same. But what if my instinct was wrong?

“I don’t know. I hope so. But I can’t believe he’s coming here. To see me.”

“He’s always wanted to see you. At least, that’s what it sounds like.”

“I never thought he wanted anything to do with me. Every birthday would come around, and I’d hope to hear from him. Every Christmas, I’d check for a present from him under the tree. Nothing, ever. But I guess he tried. Mom kept everything from me.” Anger colored his voice. Then it broke. “Why would she do that?”

I stared at him. Tears welled in his eyes.

I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry she did that. But he’s coming here. You’ll finally see him.”

“But will he see me? And what difference does it make anyway? I’m dead.”

I rolled over and hugged him. “It makes a big difference. You’ll see.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

I woke up to a loud banging at my bedroom door. And my brother’s voice yelling my name. I leapt out of bed and flung open the door.

“What are you screaming about?”

His face was tight and drained of color. “It’s Mom. Something’s wrong.”

We hurried down the hall to the living room. Mom lay sprawled out on the carpeted floor in her old blue bathrobe. Passed out. Her body was contorted in an awkward manner. Fear ripped through me.

I bent down next to her and softly patted her face. “Mom, wake up. Wake up.”

Sam shook his head. “She won’t wake up. I called nine-one-one. They should be here any minute.” He sat on the other side of her and held her hand. “Mom, come on. You’ve got to wake up.” He looked at me. “Maybe I should lay her on the sofa.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” Tears formed in my eyes. I willed her to wake up. We couldn’t lose her, too. We needed her too much. What was wrong with her?

He went to pick her up. But she moaned, obviously in pain. Sam gently lay her back down.

He touched her forehead. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Her face twisted in pain. “Call an ambulance. So much pain in my stomach. Got to get to the hospital.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, stroking her hand. “Sam called nine-one-one. They’ll be here any minute. Just hang on.”

A few minutes later, sirens blasted outside our trailer, and Mom was whisked away in the red flashing ambulance. Sam and I rode along. Medical personnel monitored her stats, but she just kept moaning in pain.

“Can’t you do something for her!” I yelled. “She’s in pain. Can’t you stop it?”

The paramedic, a round woman with curly reddish-blonde hair, looked at me sympathetically. “Honey, seems like your mom has appendicitis. She’ll need surgery to take away the pain.”

Appendicitis. Surgery. I didn’t want to hear about any of this. I wanted Mom to feel normal and take us home. What if she died, too? I couldn’t let myself even entertain that thought. I held her hand gently in my own. The ambulance’s sirens barely dulled the panic screaming in my mind as we raced to the hospital.

***

I paced in the waiting room, counting the white tiles on the floor while I walked. Eight white tiles to the left. Eight white tiles to the right. Back and forth until I felt dizzy. I sank into one of the red-cushioned chairs and picked up a dog-eared magazine from the table next to it. I paged through it quickly. I didn’t care about chicken recipes, how to make my hair straight and smooth, or the proper way to do a French manicure. I just wanted Mom to be okay.

Sam sat slumped in the chair across from me. He had his Philadelphia Phillies baseball cap pulled down low, hiding his eyes. He hadn’t said a word since we’d got here.

“What do you think they’re doing to her?” I asked, flinging the magazine back on the table.

“I don’t know. I wish someone would come out and tell us.”

I sighed and stared out the large picture window behind his chair. It overlooked a flower garden with a small, white stone fountain in the center. A bright-orange trumpet vine snaked around its edge. I knew it was there to provide tranquility and calmness to those of us who sat in the waiting room with unanswered questions. And too much worry on our minds. But it didn’t help.

I looked at Sam. “I can’t go through this again, Sam. She has to be okay.”

He moved his baseball hat down farther, still keeping his eyes covered from view. “Yeah, I know.”

I knew he was upset, too. But he didn’t want to talk about it. Me neither. I went back to my pacing. Aunt Holly interrupted my concentration when she rushed into the deserted area.

“How is she?” She brushed back her dark hair, which always hung in her face. She put her arm around me. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. Sam found her passed out on the floor this morning. A lot of stomach pain. The lady in the ambulance said it was appendicitis.”

“Okay, okay.” She sat next to Sam and put her hand on his arm. “She’ll be fine. You’ll see. I was out of my mind when you called, wondering what happened. We can handle this.”

We waited. Aunt Holly picked up my discarded magazine and learned about French manicures and straight hair. Sam moved his hat back but kept his eyes closed. And I picked at an unruly hangnail that caught my attention.

Finally, a tall thin man in square glasses and blue scrubs came out. He identified himself as Dr. Hamm.

“Your mom is going to be fine,” he assured us. “She had appendicitis. But we were able to get her into surgery in time. She’ll be able to go home in