On the Line [Run Cold Book Two]

12: Mom

I hated flights. Never liked them. Short ones, long ones. Especially anything over two hours.

But after these past two plane rides, I couldn't find the energy to pace the aisles in my usual paranoia-induced fear. Underneath dimmed blue lights, I slumped against one of the jets' windows, fielding calls left and right. The last time my voicemail filled so quickly was after Nik announced my new status to the world. Friends I never knew I had crawled out of the woodwork to reconnect.

Being polite and friendly with those people exhausted me.

Tonight, I'd have given anything to deal with them. I could barely muster the strength to accept the calls. All the energy and emotion I had left drained from my voice, left my eyes dry, changed my tone to steely apathy.

"Two in her chest. They wouldn't tell me the extent of damage over the phone. Stable, yes. Transferred to Oslo. Dad's there, too. He's alright, but I haven't been able to speak with him more than a few minutes. He doesn't know how she is, either. I'm sorry, Gemma, I don't know anything else. I'll keep you posted."

Robotic. Pre-planned. The same questions and answers again and again.

Einar finally snatched my phone, but not until I'd spoken to Nik and Marc. I could barely get the words out, asking them to swing by the hospital if they could, for my Dad's sake. He shouldn't be alone any longer than he had to. 

"You think Becky's alright?" I asked, staring at the endless, dark ocean. Einar eased himself into the seat beside mine. His tie was off, his sleeves rolled to his elbows; a redness clung to his nose and eyes. Earlier in the flight he'd asked permission to call his wife and kids and he'd been a bit of a mess since. Not that I dared point it out. "She and a family she's never met are planning a funeral. I should've stayed with her. Mom's alive."

His dark eyes were unreadable.

"Have some hope." If I had the energy to glare, I would have. "She's sedated and intubated, but she's healing. She will heal, Einar."

"Did you tell Miss Awles the truth?"

"No."

Becky and I had stood side-by-side in the quietest wing of the hospital, staring down at Darcy's ashen, expressionless face.  Staff wouldn't allow Emma into the room, and I was waiting for a phone call from the London hospital about Mom's condition. "He's not supposed to be here." Becky twined her fingers in between his cold ones. "He's supposed to walk her into her first day of school. Bring her to her first dance.  Teach her how to drive. How to play soccer. Give her away at her own wedding. He can't leave us this soon."

Nothing I could have said would make her feel any better. I wasn't about to make her feel worse. "That's something you sit down for," I told Einar, "not whisper in her ear on your way past her dead fiancé."

He nodded and, ever the conversationalist, reclined in his chair and shut his eyes. Taking the hint that I should do the same, I turned towards the window and tried to sleep. But I didn't. How could I? A tiny light in the water, some cargo ship surrounded by darkness, disappeared beneath a layer of clouds, and that sight was more peaceful than anything going through my mind.

*

Mom lay unmoving on white sheets. Her pale hair, a honey-gold like mine now transitioning to silver, had been reduced to a flat, messy braid. Having put a career before family, she'd never been a young mother, but now she looked a hundred years old, gaunt and pale, a shadow of the pioneering titan she used to be. She was just asleep, I told myself, remembering Darcy's uncanny stillness. Just asleep. But the ventilator breathed for her in a mechanical way that never seemed easy. I caught myself staring hard at her fingers, expecting to see those manicured nails clench the mattress with every clockwork breath.