“Don’t come any closer,” she growled.
Lana started crawling as fast as she could in the other direction, right into the shins of a burly firefighter. Her eyes made it from the tips of his steel-toed boots up to the base of his suspenders before she collapsed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and fell into unconsciousness.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jack was in the school library, trying to craft the perfect response to an online ad for a used twenty-two-foot single-hull Catalina for sale in San Luis Obispo, when her mom called to tell her Lana was in the hospital for injuries related to a fire. Jack had about eighty-five different questions, but Beth cut her off.
“I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes,” Beth said. “Meet me in the parking lot.”
As they sped north, toward a black tornado of smoke hovering over the freeway, Beth told Jack what she knew.
“Holy shit,” Jack whispered. “Is Prima going to be okay?”
Beth clutched the steering wheel tighter. Nothing made sense right now. Ever since Lana’s brain surgery back in the fall, a part of Beth had been holding her breath, waiting for the call that confirmed the worst—that the tumors had spread, or treatment had failed. Now Beth saw those fears as pedestrian lightweights compared to the monstrous nightmare of the truth. An hour ago she’d received the call, an angry swarm of phrases like structure fire and embedded glass and bleeding unconscious that still buzzed in her head, making it difficult to drive. She prayed for the nightmare to end, to right itself, for her mother to rise like a phoenix as she always had. Someone who burned as bright as Lana couldn’t just turn to ash.
At least, that’s what Beth was hoping. “I don’t know, honey. The hospital, they didn’t tell me much. But your Prima’s a fighter. We’ll see.”
Beth had never worked at London Nelson Memorial Hospital. She signed in like a civilian, scanning the reception area in hopes she might see a former colleague, a friendly face. There was no one. Once they were finally admitted, Beth hurried through the maze of hallways, Jack jogging to keep up. They found Lana in a single room near the OR, lying still and shrunken on a bed in a pink-striped hospital gown.
Beth flagged down the attending physician, a wiry, bald man with glasses and pursed lips.
“I’m looking for information on a patient,” she said. “Lana Rubicon.”
The doctor looked Beth up and down. “Just coming on shift?”
“No. I’m her daughter.” Beth stood a little taller in her scrubs, attempting to project competence. “How is she?”
“Your mother is breathing on her own. Her heart rate is normal.”
Beth could hear what he hadn’t said. “But she hasn’t woken up?”
The doctor shook his head. “Not yet.”
“My mother has lung cancer. Do you think there’s a possibility of lung collapse or breathing impairment? If she inhaled too much smoke from the fire . . .”
“Her airway is clear, and so far, we haven’t identified any breathing issues.”
Beth was relieved. Then she remembered something. “What about bleeding? She’s on blood thinners because of a blockage in her carotid artery, and . . .”
“It’s taken care of.” He patted her arm. “Your mother will be fine. I need you to do the most difficult thing.”
Beth knew what was coming next.
“I need you to wait.”
By seven that evening, Beth had talked to Detective Ramirez, a fireman, and every nurse on the ward about her mother. But that didn’t bring Lana back to consciousness. After a soggy grilled cheese sandwich in the cafeteria, Beth turned to Jack. “We should head home for the night.”
“What if Prima wakes up?”
“She probably won’t. Not tonight.”
“But what if she does?” Jack twisted a greasy napkin between her fingers.
“You have school in the morning.”
“You have work.” They stared at each other in the fluorescent light.
“Fine. We’ll stay. C’mon.”
Beth and Jack set up makeshift bedrolls out of towels and pillows, one on each side of Lana’s narrow hospital bed. They stayed up late, Beth reading studies about the impact of fire exposure on patients with lung tumors, Jack pretending to do homework. They took turns sneaking glances at Lana whenever the other one wasn’t looking.
By midnight, Jack had finally fallen asleep. Beth rose to close the curtain over the tiny window and check on her mother one more time. No change. In her pocket, she turned over a heart-shaped rock she’d found that morning in the spindly grass. It was pumice, rough and speckled, its surface pockmarked like a tiny moon. Evidence of the life she’d chosen, the home she’d built, as far from her mother’s sleek, hard-edged world as possible. For the first time, Beth considered everything Lana had lost when she came to Elkhorn: the power she wielded, the energy that fueled her battles, the freedom to make her own path. Beth put the stone on the nightstand next to her mother and prayed Lana would keep fighting.