“Go to work.”
“You’re right, I don’t like that.” I shake my head. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Westley.” She lifts a hand, shaky and weak. I move to the side of the bed, hold it. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Mom knows what to do. We’ve been through this before.”
“So have we,” I argue.
“Not like this,” she says, her voice hoarse. “This is…different.”
“I’m not leaving you like this.”
She closes her eyes. “I know you’re gonna think this is stupid, but…I worry about you. When I’m like this.”
“You’re right, that is stupid.”
She snorts, a gentle laugh. “But it’s true. I do. So. I want you to go meet with your agent and your attorney—no, not attorney…Jen. The manager. Do stuff. Somewhere not here. Come back later. I’ll still be here.”
“How can I, when you’re…”
Her eyes fly open. Pin me. “Go. Please. It’ll help me feel better sooner.” A smile. “Then we can go on that date you’ve been promising me.”
“Jo, come on.”
She looks at her mom. “Help.”
Sherri Park stands up, puts her hand to the center of my back and pushes me out of the room. It’s gentle, but it has the firm, unyielding authority only a mother can exert.
Her eyes are sad. “Westley, listen. She’s trying to spare you, okay?”
“I don’t need to be spared. I’m here for her. I’m with her. No matter what. I promised her that, and I meant it.”
“I know it, and she knows.” She pats my shoulder. “Give her this.”
“It doesn’t feel like giving. It feels like abandoning her.”
“She can be very stubborn—not sure if you’ve gathered that yet or not. She really does worry about others. She worries about being a drain on us. So, if you’re not here, she can focus on feeling better.”
“I get that.” I swallow hard. “But—but what if—”
She cuts over me. “I know—believe me, I know. And at this stage, that is a possibility. But if it seems like you need to be here, I’ll call you. I promise. For now, do what she asks. If you…” a sigh, hesitant and unsure. “If you care about her, you’ll do what she asks. I know it’s hard. I know it seems backward. I know you just want to be there for her. And I know it’s hard to understand, because you want your presence to be a comfort. And I’m sure it is. But right now, you’re more of a distraction. Does that make any sense?”
I sigh. “Yeah, it does.” I close my eyes and wipe my face with both hands. “And, I guess, sometimes, you just want your mom.”
She smiles. “Yeah, there’s probably some of that, too.”
“Mom?” Jo calls out. “Bucket.”
With an apologetic backward glance at me, she rushes into my bathroom, and a moment later I hear Jolene retching.
When she’s done, I go in. She’s lying back in a nest of pillows, sweating yet shaking as if chilled. Her mom has helped her put on the T-shirt I wore yesterday. I take a stack of clean clothes and pause by the bed.
“I’ll go,” I whisper. “But only because you asked.”
She smiles. “Thank you.” A slow blink, a wince, a rough sigh. “Can I ask you for something else?”
