Stone lifts his head, moving his hands to my shoulders and gripping tight.
“Give it to me straight,” he says hoarsely.
And they do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Noa
Mrs. Stalinski’s hip surgery would take three hours. Dr. Patel was particularly convincing, as he had a father with cancer who had to undergo the same surgery to maintain a comfortable quality of life.
It wasn’t about fixing Mrs. Stalinski, but about keeping her as pain-free with as little suffering as possible during her final days.
Stone’s permission was perfunctory. Mrs. Stalinski had given her consent and was fully aware of the situation before they gave her a heavy dose of morphine.
And, in typical Mrs. Stalinski fashion, she told them to do the darned thing and make the screaming pain go away already.
What Stone and I did not expect was to see Dr. Patel during what should’ve been an hour into the surgery.
Stone goes rigid beside me. I put a hand on his forearm. “It could just be an update. In the condition she’s in, they know to keep loved ones in the loop, so we don’t worry too much.”
Although, they’d usually send a nurse.I don’t voice my thoughts as Dr. Patel strides toward our seats.
Stone’s arm relaxes under my hand.
We stand when Dr. Patel reaches us.
He pinches his full lips, and I notice the pale cast to his light brown complexion.
The rest of my heart, what remained of it when my mother left, shrivels and falls to the floor.
Stone doesn’t require the doctor to elaborate either. He emits a low sound, a groan of denial before his expression twists and it takes every shred of his being to remain still.
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Patel says. “She didn’t make it. We did everything we could.”
My hearing tunnels. I lose all my senses, my vision bleeding in and out, focused solely on the movement of Dr. Patel’s lips.
I vaguely register Stone’s arm encircling my waist and holding me against him.
The tears don’t come yet as I cling to Mrs. Stalinski as I knew her yesterday. Tired, weakened, but alive and hugging me to her, assuring me I’d get through this blip the same way I’ve fought through every other tragedy in my life.
She believed in me.
I believed in her.
And now she’s gone.
I twist my face into Stone, his sweater turning my tears into dew that coats my cheeks and dampens my hair.
His fingers dig into my shoulder. I feel his chin fall onto the top of my head.
“You can go back and see her. Spend as much time with her as you like. Say your goodbyes,” Dr. Patel says softly.
His footsteps fade. Neither of us moves.
Stone’s other arm comes around my shoulders, and we rock back and forth for as long as it takes.
And it’ll take forever.
