French Roast (The French Twist Series Book 4) Read online

  We reached the third floor a few minutes later. The ominous ding of the elevator gave us both pause. Knowing what we had to do, Kate and I hooked arms and walked tentatively forward.

  A nurse looked up at us as we approached the desk. Her gasp was pronounced. Just as we had heard so many times before, she marveled, “You look just like her.”

  “Thank you,” Kate responded.

  The memories of back-to-school nights gone by, visits with my parent’s friends and pretty much every new person we met in my mother’s presence came flooding back. You look just like her. Wherever we went, there was never any doubt who we belonged to.

  “Shall we go, Syd?”

  Unaware we had been given a direction to proceed in, I asked, “Do we know where to go?”

  Kate nodded and took my hand. We started down the hall only to cross paths with Charlie. The expression on his face knocked the wind out of me. I had never seen my brother in such pain. He was always the omniscient, humor-filled tower of strength I leaned on when things got hard. But at that moment, I feared his collapse was imminent.

  Kate touched his arm, startling him out of his thoughts. Without words, the three of us moved into a group embrace, searching for the strength to complete the impossible task in front of us.

  Eventually, Charlie extracted himself and carefully wiped our tears before holding a hand out to each of us. “Shall we go?”

  “I need a minute.”

  Charlie and Kate exchanged a look. It was time to go into big brother/big sister mode.

  Kate smiled at me. “Do you remember the times we had dinner here?”

  Charlie grimaced. “The food was disgusting.”

  “Very true,” I acknowledged, “but we got to have dinner with Mom when she had those late nights.”

  “You never did learn to avoid the hot dogs, Syd,” Charlie chuckled.

  “What can I say?” I smirked. “I wasn’t that bright.”

  “You’re going with past tense, huh?” Kate joked.

  Their old-time sibling banter almost took me out of the misery of the moment. Almost.

  Unexpectedly, the notes of “Enter Sandman” filled the air, causing me to wince. I dug through my purse, searching for my phone, kicking myself for not remembering to put it on vibrate.

  I glanced up at my siblings. “It’s my husband.”

  Charlie put his hand on my shoulder. “Room three ten when you’re ready.”

  “Thanks,” I whispered, quickly turning and following the signs to the visitor’s lounge.

  “Hello?”

  “Mon coeur.”

  “Bluey.” Hearing his voice allowed me a brief flash of relief.

  “How are you?”

  “I’m here,” was all I could say.

  “I’m so sorry, Syd. I know how exhausted you are. You haven’t slept in two days.”

  “I can’t help it. Every time I close my eyes…I imagine the accident. I imagine how scared she must have been, how much pain she must have been in…” My voice abandoned me.

  “I wish I could be there with you.”

  “You’ll be here tomorrow,” I murmured, but we both knew it wasn’t soon enough.

  “Have you seen her yet?”

  My heart rate accelerated at the thought. “Not yet.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “Louis, what if I can’t do this?”

  His silence let me know he was thinking very carefully about how to respond to his fragile wife.

  “You can do this, Syd. I wish with every fiber of my being that you didn’t have to, but you do. Just remember you’re a lot stronger than you think. Take a deep breath and do this for your mom. She needs this and so do you.”

  I nodded, tears spilling down my face. “You’re right.”

  “I love you, mon coeur.”

  “I love you too.” I hastily wiped my tears, not wishing to show everyone in the waiting room just how deep my grief went. “Give Luc a kiss for me.”

  “I will. He really misses you.” He stopped, getting control of the emotion in his voice. “Stay strong.”

  “I’ll try. ‘Bye.”

  I hung up and began repeating his mantra over and over. Stay strong. I walked numbly down the hallway, never letting go of these sacred words.

  When I reached her room, I put my hand on the doorknob, preparing myself for the worst experience I could possibly imagine.

  Chapter Eight

  The experience turned out to be far worse than even my twisted imagination could come up with. The first thing I noticed was Kate’s face frozen in a mask of horror. With great trepidation, I forced my gaze to my mother. My first thought was how true the saying was—hospital beds did make people look smaller than they did in real life. In life…

  But even worse was the intricate network of tubes working their way from my mother’s limp body to a series of scary-looking machines surrounding her bed. Every size, length and color seemed to be there, providing the impetus for the chorus of beeps which sent shivers down my spine. Knowing the continuous operation of these machines was the only thing keeping her body functioning filled me with an overwhelming feeling of fear.

  Redirecting my gaze once more, I allowed my eyes to take in my mother’s face and immediately felt nauseated. The right half of her face was covered in cuts and bruises from the impact of her head with the passenger-side window. I tried to focus on the left side of her face instead, but it was wasn’t much better. Not only was her complexion sallow, her face was distended, most likely the result of the all the fluids they were pumping through her system. As hard as I searched, I could only find the barest hint of the woman I remembered. It was a wonder the nurse was able to see any resemblance whatsoever.

  Before I could stop it, a line Joan Cusak had delivered (flawlessly, of course) in Grosse Pointe Blank floated through my mind. When talking about attending her high school reunion, she declared, “It was as though everyone had swelled.”

  Her words hit the nail right on the head! It was as though she had swelled. I bit down on my tongue to avoid the inappropriate laughter—my most unfortunate trademark. My siblings would never forgive me for such an atrocity. I would never forgive myself for such an atrocity.

  I walked to Kate’s side and took her hand. “Do you want some time alone with her?”

  She shook her head slightly. “I’m going to go check on Dad. I’ll be back.”

  I nodded absently, wondering if he should have been my first thought since he was actually conscious. Was that thought totally inappropriate? I was too tired and scared to be able to perform my usual insanity assessment. As long as I didn’t say these things out loud, I should be fine. Well, not fine, I didn’t think I would ever be fine again, but I wouldn’t embarrass myself, and that had to count for something.

  Kate left the room and I debated my options. Should I talk to my mother? Could she hear me? I didn’t think to ask anyone. I should have looked it up online. Maybe I should call the nurse? Surely I could figure this out on my own. I wracked my brain for TV and movie references to people in these kinds of conditions, but came up with nothing. It wasn’t as though I could trust the accuracy of these pop culture vehicles anyway; Hollywood would take inaccuracy for a tear jerker any day of the week.

  I settled on sitting next to my mother and holding her hand. I slowly slid my hand under hers, being careful to leave her tube network perfectly in place.

  “It’s me, Mom. Syd,” I clarified, gently squeezing her hand. “Can you hear me?”

  The machines continued their unnerving symphony as I felt my heart move into my throat. I opened my mouth to speak when I realized I no idea what to say. What do people say in these situations?

  All I could think of was how desperately I missed her, how it would be impossible for the world to function without her and how I would never be the same. These seemed like selfish things to say at a moment such as this, so I tried a different tack.

  “Did you ever know—”


  Dear God. I was just about to quote “Wind Beneath My Wings.” No matter how true the sentiment might be, Mom deserved better.

  I dug deeper. “I can’t imagine everything you’ve been through. I wish I could have saved you from the pain.” I hiccupped as the sobs started to escape. “You’ve already been through so much pain. You sacrificed everything for us, everything, and this is what happens?”

  My anger threatened to overtake me. Focus, Sydney. Tell her how you feel. This might be your last chance.

  I lowered my head to her bed. “I hope you know how lucky I feel to have you as a mother. I’m so sorry for not telling you more often. I think I took you for granted. I never expected…”

  My grief settled firmly in my chest, extinguishing my voice.

  “She knows.”

  Startled, I gazed up into my brother’s ravaged face. Without a word, I extracted myself from my mother and threw my arms around him. We held each other as tightly as we could, taking turns wiping our tears with the sleeves of our shirts. Mom would have been horrified at our lack of propriety (there was a box of tissues within reach), but we were both outside our rational minds and, therefore, our drilled-in manners. When life shit on you to this degree, the little things simply didn’t matter.

  Once I located my ability to form words, I asked, “Is there any news?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Nothing has changed. It’s a good thing you got here when you did. We only have a few more hours until her organs will no longer be viable.”

  “Only a few hours?”

  He swallowed. “Yes.” It was barely above a whisper.

  I nodded, unsure of what else to do. “How’s Dad?”

  It seemed like such a stupid question. His wife was about to die. He had survived, but he would never truly recover. This experience would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  Charlie hesitated. “He’s…he’s hanging on.”

  “Which room is he in?”

  “Room three sixteen. Three doors down.”

  Vaguely remembering this as the name of a band from my college years, when I heard him hum the tune of “Here Without You,” I lost my breath. Aside from my mother, Charlie was the only member of the family with any musical aptitude. Not only did he play a variety of instruments, he was a virtual encyclopedia of bands, song lyrics and all manner of music trivia. He and Mom would spend hours talking about music, swapping playlists, and occasionally, playing songs together. I suddenly felt bereft at the depth of his loss.

  “Want me to come with you?”

  “You look like you could use some coffee.”

  The bags beneath his eyes were the worst I had ever seen. I doubted he had slept since first receiving news of the accident.

  He shook his head. “I’ve reached my limit for the day, but I do need to call Zoe.” He squeezed my hand. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me too.”

  After checking on Mom again, I parted ways with Charlie. I approached my father’s room slowly, wondering once more what I would be facing.

  I took a deep breath before poking my head in. “Dad?”

  The room was empty, an ominous silence permeating the atmosphere. My whole body began to shake as the possibilities ran through my mind. Did something happen to him? Where was Kate? Did he have to be rushed back into surgery?

  The sound of a toilet flushing distracted me from the latest battle to remain rational. (One which I had clearly been losing.) I held my breath as the door creaked open and my father limped out with the assistance of a walker.

  “Daddy.” I felt a massive sense of relief.

  “Duck.”

  My face crumpled when I saw the anguish in his eyes.

  “Can I help you get back into bed?”

  He nodded, tears sliding down his face.

  After settling him in—pillow fluffing and all—I collapsed into a chair and broke down. Typical Sydney. The man had been through hell and instead of comforting him, you melted into a puddle of sorrow.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “It should have been me.”

  I stood up, bringing my eyes level with his. “Listen to me very carefully, old man.” I tried to smile and failed miserably. “I know you. You are the bravest man I have ever met—don’t tell my husband I said that. If there had been a way to save her, you would have. You can’t control everything.”

  I could see he wanted to argue with me, but he couldn’t. Even he knew when he was beaten.

  I cleared my throat. “What’s your prognosis?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Looks like you got pretty banged up,” I observed, hoping a little nudging would result in a better answer.

  He shrugged. “A concussion, a couple of broken ribs, extensive cuts and bruises; nothing to worry about. Nothing compared to…”

  We both knew what he was going to say. There was no need to complete the sentence.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “It just isn’t fair.”

  I made a split-second decision. “You know, a wise old man once told me life isn’t fair.” I held my breath, waiting to see if he would take the bait.

  His eyes snapped open, a smile playing at his lips. “That’s the second time you’ve called me old in the last two minutes. What happened to respecting your elders?”

  Bingo.

  He reached for me and I laid my head on his chest. The rumbling of his laughter brought me a modicum of comfort. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For distracting me—even if it was only for a few seconds.”

  I grinned. “You taught me well, Dad. Button pushing always works.”

  “Don’t get cocky now!”

  I feigned innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “You know exactly—”

  His grand retort was cut short by an apologetic-looking nurse. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but the doctor needs your signature for the consent forms.”

  A harsh silence fell on the room. For the first time in my life (and most likely in his), words had failed my father.

  Instinctively, I asked, “Does he have to do this right now?”

  “I’m afraid he does,” she wrung her hands, “if the decision is still to donate your mother’s organs.”

  “Fine,” my father muttered.

  She advanced further into the room. “There are a few questions to be answered first, with, um, regards to your wife’s health.”

  He nodded.

  She glanced at me and back to my father. “You may want your daughter to wait outside for this part.”

  Now just wait one cotton-pickin’ minute!

  “I’m not leaving him alone for this.”

  “But the questions cover some very personal topics…”

  Just what kind of questionnaire was this?

  My father set his mouth in a hard line. “It’s fine. I would like my daughter to stay.”

  Thirty minutes later, I realized the nurse was trying to do me a solid. There were far too many questions about the intimate details of my mother’s life that I simply didn’t need to know the answers to. Enough said.

  Kate and Charlie returned to the room as our well-informed nurse was exiting. The uncomfortable looks on their faces made it clear they had tried—unsuccessfully—to spare our father the experience of completing the questionnaire.

  Dad cleared his throat. “We don’t have much time.”

  Charlie approached me. “Kate and I have said our, um, goodbyes. We thought you might like some more time with her.”

  “I would.” I exhaled slowly. “What about you, Dad? Have you…”

  His eyes glistened. “I’ve said everything I need to say, but I want to see her face one more time.”

  Charlie touched Dad’s shoulder. “I’ll get a wheel chair.”

  Kate helped me up. “She’s wearing the earrings you gave her for Christmas all those years ago.”

  My throat constricted. “The
gold knots? With the pearls in the middle?”

  She nodded. “You want them, don’t you?”

  “I do.” I would no longer be able to make new memories with my mother. I had to do everything I could to keep the ones I had close.

  Kate touched my arm. “Make sure you take them, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Once my father was settled into the wheel chair, I pushed him down the hall. Stopping just outside the door, I steeled myself for the last visit with my mother.

  “Are you ready, Dad?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll never be ready.”

  I crouched down next to him and held his hands. “I don’t want to do this either, but we have no choice.”

  “I don’t know how to do this without her,” he wept.

  “None of us do.” I paused, fighting for control of my voice. I owed it to him to be the strong one. “We’ll help you. I promise.”

  He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Let’s go, Duck.”

  I slowly maneuvered his chair into the room, positioning it a safe distance from the network of machines. I stood on the other side of her bed and the two of us regarded her in silence, each lost in thought.

  My father’s voice filled the room. “She loved those earrings.”

  I have him a watery smile. “I saved up for months to buy them.”

  “She was so touched, Duck. She knew how hard you worked—not just to buy them, but to find them. They matched the necklace her mother gave her exactly.”

  “She’d always made me feel so special,” I murmured. “I wanted her to know how special she was...is.”

  Damn my faulty verb tenses! We weren’t there quite yet. Every moment counted.

  “She knows.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I’m always right.” Even in misery he remained steadfast.

  I leaned down and whispered in my mother’s ear. “I love you more than you could ever imagine and I will never forget you.”