Bending over, Mom whispers in my ear. “Can it wait until we get home?”
She doesn’t need to ask me twice. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
Mom stands up straight, her voice steady and strong. “You were very fortunate, Myla. The doctors said you could have died.” She pauses, holding up one hand, waiting for any reaction from our hidden audience.
The silence around us turns deafening. Hells Bells. I’m still the marquee act in today’s performance of ‘what does the Prince want with that girl?’
Mom lets out a frustrated puff of air. “Show’s over folks. Get back to work or I call the Queen.”
Instantly, bodies begin to move again outside my window. Low chatter resumes in the hallway. I shoot Mom a hearty thumbs-up. She’s acting more and more like her old self every day. It’s awesome.
I flip off the cove
