Sucking in a sigh, Alanna entered the hospital room.
Both women turned and offered identical smiles.
“Alanna!” her mother said, surprised. “What are you doing here?” A stiff black brace wrapped around Dede Sandoval’s wrist.
“I called her,” Layla admitted, then spoke to Alanna. “I didn’t realize you’d come down.”
“Of course I would,” Alanna said. “What happened?”
“I took a little fall. It was no big deal.” Her mother said.
Alanna gave her mother a careful review. Despite the lines etched on her round face, Dede Sandoval was still a handsome woman. She possessed wide blue eyes she’d given to both her daughters and her straight, silver-gold hair was held in a loose ponytail at the base of her neck. She looked a little thinner, a little older than Alanna remembered, but were these new changes, or had she simply not been paying attention to her mother?
Alanna tried to remember the last time she’d seen her mom in person. Christmas? No, it couldn’t have been that long. It was the beginning of March now.
“It was the banister on the staircase,” Layla explained. “It’s loose. She sprained her wrist and bruised her rib. She also bumped her head, so the doctor took an MRI, just out of an ‘abundance of caution’.”
“The banister is loose?” Alanna took a step further into the room. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would have called someone in to fix it.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” her mom said and smoothed out the hospital gown she wore. She seemed so small, almost frail within the large, shapeless garment. “A lot of things are loose in the house.”
Alanna massaged her temples, trying to relieve the annoyance bubbling inside her. “I don’t mind paying for repairs. You know that.”
Her mother didn’t meet her eyes. Dede’s finances were always tight but despite her elder daughter’s career success, she stubbornly refused to ask Alanna for help. The fight to buy her mother a house had nearly gone nuclear between the two of them. Alanna had deployed her entire armory of arguments against the woman. A final assist from a gently pleading Layla had worn their mother down into accepting the gift.
“This is why I wanted to buy you that condo in the new development on the north side of town,” Alanna said now. “Single floor. No stairs. And everything would’ve been brand new.”
Her mother wrinkled her nose. “The frou-frou new people live on the north side of town. All the houses and developments look the same.” She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve always lived in west Yucca Hills. I love it here.”
“Even if it kills you,” Alanna groaned. She’d agreed to buy the 90-year-old house full of “character” according to the real estate agent only because her stubborn mother refused to live anywhere else.
“Hello!” An older man knocked on the open door as he entered. Behind his spectacles, his eyes were warm and tired. He stuck out his hand to Alanna. “I’m Dr. Deshpande. You’re another daughter, I’m guessing?”
She gave his hand a firm shake. “I am. What’s the situation, doctor?”
Dr. Deshpande smiled at her. “All business, this one. Good handshake, too.”
“She’s always been the serious one,” her mother confided.
“We’ll, I’ve got some good news and some bad news,” the doctor told the women. “Which do you want to hear first?”
“Bad news,”—Alanna.
“Good news,”—Layla.
Dr. Deshpande looked between the two blonde women. “Mom, you want to break the tie?”
“Good news,” their mother answered immediately.
Dr. Deshpande nodded and closed the door to the room. Layla scooted closer to their mother on the bed and enfolded Dede’s good hand between her own. A part of Alanna wanted to go to her mother, but Layla was already at the older woman’s side. Instead, Alanna took a step back toward the wall.
“The good news is that the MRI didn’t show any signs of swelling or cranial bleeding, so we’re clear on that front,” the doctor began.
“And the bad news?” Alanna asked immediately.
Dr. Deshpande blew out a breath. “The bad news, Dede, is the X-rays we did on your hands and wrists show significant evidence of osteoarthritis.”
“Arthritis?” Their mother glanced down at the hands in question. “I suppose my hands are a little sore from time to time, especially in the morning, but they’ve been like that for years. Is it serious?”
