Chapter 98
I stared at the cereal box on the counter, my cup of coffee going cold in my hand.
Last night, Ryan's message had been brief: We're coming tomorrow. Tickets are booked.
Amy was at the kitchen table, swinging her legs and eating Cheerios.
I set down my mug and sat across from her. "Hey, sweetie. How would you feel about staying at Great-grandma's house for a couple days?"
Her spoon paused midair. "Are you going on a trip?"
"Not exactly." I pushed my coffee mug in circles. "Your... your grandmother is sick. She's coming here to see a doctor, and I'm going to be really busy helping her. I won't have time to take care of you properly."
Amy's little eyebrows drew together. "But Grandma doesn't even like you. Why do you have to help her? Let Uncle Ryan do it. She only likes him anyway."
I reached over and smoothed the furrow between her brows. "Grown-up stuff is... complicated, baby. You'll understand when you're older."
---
Mrs. Sterling practically squealed when I called to confirm.
"Oh, wonderful! Wonderful! Robert, did you hear that? Our little Amy is coming to stay!" Her voice became muffled as she turned away from the phone. "Yes, now. Go tell Maria to prepare the guest room. The one with the window seat overlooking the garden. And tell her to make sure there are extra blankets—children get cold at night. Oh, and—"
"Mrs. Sterling?" I cut in gently.
"Yes, dear?"
"It's just for two days."
"Two days, two weeks, two months—it doesn't matter! She's family." A pause. "And Maya? How are you holding up?"
The unexpected kindness made my throat tight. "I'm... managing."
"If you need anything—"
"I know. Thank you."
---
The hospital search started at 9 a.m.
Massachusetts General was my first stop. The receptionist barely looked up from her computer.
"No beds available in oncology. Earliest we could admit someone is... seven days out."
"Seven days?"
"It's flu season, ma'am. We're at capacity."
I tried Brigham and Women's next. Same story. Then Tufts Medical Center.
"Three days," the admissions coordinator said, not unkindly. "That's the best I can do."
I was sitting in my car in the Tufts parking lot, forehead pressed against the steering wheel, when my phone rang.
"Ms. Bennett? This is James Cooper, Mr. Sterling's assistant."
I straightened up. "James. Hi."
"I apologize for the intrusion, but Mr. Sterling asked me to reach out. There's a bed available at St. Mary's Hospital this evening. Private room, oncology wing. Your mother can be admitted tonight if you'd like."
My eyes burned. "I... thank you."
"You're welcome. Though I should clarify—you'll want to thank Mr. Sterling directly. This was entirely his doing."
"Right. Of course." I cleared my throat. "Please tell him I appreciate it."
"I will." A pause. "He also wanted me to remind you that he's happy to help with anything else you might need."
After we hung up, I sat there for a long moment, staring at Adam's contact in my phone.
Finally, I typed: Thank you.
His response was instant: I want a real kiss.
Despite everything—despite the exhaustion and the dread and the knot in my stomach—I felt my ears go hot.
I didn't respond.
---
Ryan's text came through at 1:30 p.m.: Train arrives at 4:15. Can you pick us up?
I got there ten minutes early, parked in the overpriced garage, and waited by the arrivals gate.
When they appeared in the crowd, my mother looked smaller than I remembered. Thinner. Her face was drawn, and there were new lines around her mouth.
She saw me. Her gaze slid away immediately, chin lifting in that familiar gesture of dismissal.
Right. Some things never change.
Ryan caught my eye and mouthed, Thank you.
"Maya." He shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder. "Can you help Mom? I've got the luggage."
Patricia Bennett's voice was flat. "I don't need her help."
I kept my face blank. "I'll take the bags."
They'd brought two massive suitcases. I grabbed one in each hand and followed them to the car, wheels squeaking against the concrete.
Ryan helped Mom into the backseat like she was made of glass. I loaded the luggage into the trunk, slammed it shut, and got behind the wheel without a word.
"Did you get a hospital sorted out?" Ryan asked as I pulled into traffic.
I kept my eyes on the road. "Yeah. She can be admitted tonight."
"That's great! The doctor in Cleveland said the sooner she gets surgery, the lower the risk."
I didn't answer. Just focused on merging onto I-90.
---
When I pulled up in front of St. Mary's Hospital, Ryan frowned.
"Maya. Why didn't you pick somewhere our insurance covers?"
I put the car in park. "St. Mary's is one of the top private hospitals in Boston. Their oncology department is as good as Mass General's. I checked all the in-network hospitals first—none of them had beds available."
"A private hospital." Mom's voice cut from the backseat. "Do you know how much that costs? We're not rich, Maya. Our insurance won't cover a place like this. You're putting more pressure on Ryan."
Ryan said nothing.
I gripped the steering wheel. "I'll split the costs with you. Fifty-fifty."
"Seventy-thirty," Ryan said immediately. "I'll take seventy."
"Fifty-fifty," Mom snapped.
I pulled my lips into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Fine."
---
The room they'd prepared was on the eighth floor. Private. Spacious. A leather recliner by the window, flowers on the side table, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.
Does Adam have any idea what normal people can afford?
But Mom looked around and nodded, satisfied. "This'll do."
I excused myself, walked quickly to the hallway, and called Adam.
He picked up on the first ring. "Baby. Miss me already?"
"Adam—"
"Relax. The hospital bill is covered. All of it."
I pressed my fingers to my temple. "This isn't your responsibility. I'm not letting you pay for this."
"Maya—"
"Can you please just... switch her to a regular room? Shared, two beds, whatever. That's all we need."
"Sweetheart, you don't need to be stubborn about this. What's mine is yours. I'm yours."
I coughed to cover the sudden heat in my face. "If you don't change it, we're leaving. I mean it."
A long pause. Then, quieter: "Okay. Okay. I'll handle it. Don't be mad."
"I'm not mad."
"You sound mad."
"Adam—"
"Fine. Switching her to a semi-private room now. Happy?"
"...Thank you."
I heard him exhale. In the background, someone cleared their throat. Then James's voice, barely audible: "Sir, the board is waiting."
"Tell them I'm busy," Adam said.
"Sir—"
"Tell them."
I hung up before I could say something stupid.
---
When I went back inside, a nurse was already there, apologizing profusely and explaining they needed to move Sharon to a different room.
"There was a mix-up with the room assignments," she said smoothly. "We'll get you settled in a semi-private on the sixth floor. It's very comfortable—you'll be sharing with one other patient, a lovely woman."
Mom's face went stiff. "I don't like sharing rooms. I won't be able to sleep."