Bounded By The Brother

MOTHER

Lily's POV

Shawna’s husband, Mike, was at home when we got to their apartment. He didn't ask any questions. He just stood up from the sofa and said he would make tea.

Shawna took me to their guest room where I put away my things. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

I didn't step outside the room for the rest of the day, not even when Shawna came in to call me for dinner.

By 8 p.m, I switched off the lights and settled in for the night. I turned. Twisted. Sat up. Lay back. Yet, sleep didn't come.

My mother's face appeared in my mind. Pale and still in the hospital bed with an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. It had been a week since I last visited her at the hospital.

I reached for my phone on the nightstand to check the time. But a message was already waiting for me.

Dr. Ashley.

Miss Bowman. There have been some updates on your mother's condition. We need to discuss next steps as soon as possible. Please come in first thing tomorrow morning.

I read it again and again.

Dr. Ashley had never used the “update” since my mother had been admitted. I didn't know whether this was good news or bad news.

I put the phone down beside me on the mattress and forced myself to sleep.

By eight in the morning I was already up. I flagged down a taxi and before long I was at the entrance of the hospital.

I pushed through the corridor where every corner was occupied, as if a disaster had befallen the city. Visiting hours began at nine, so I decided to meet with Dr. Ashley first in his office.

He stood up the moment he saw me and gestured toward the chair. I sat down.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

“What is going on?” I asked. “What is the update?”

He went silent for a while.

Then he spoke.

“Lily. I want to be straightforward with you,” he said.

“The hospital has been consulting with a team of specialists regarding your mother's condition and other patients with similar conditions.”

“And,” I said.

“They believed that there is a treatment procedure that can significantly improve your mother's condition,” he said.

“Although the treatment procedure is new, it has shown good results in patients with similar brain injuries,” he continued.

“Are you telling me you could wake her up?” I asked.

“I'm telling you there is a genuine chance she could wake up.”

I exhaled and the veins on my face relaxed as I leaned back in the chair.

I let the silence stretch for a while.

Two years of that pale face and cold body with a monitor beep being the only way to know that she was still in there.

“What is the cost?” I asked.

He slid a folder across to me from the desk.

I opened it. My eyes saw the number immediately.

“This is not possible,” I said.

“I understand those are very long digits,” he said.

“Dr. Ashley, I just lost my job. I can barely cover the weekly payment right now. There is no way I can get that money in time.”

“I know it's difficult. That's why I wanted to talk to you in person. You can apply for a grant, but to be honest, a big part of the money will have to come from you,” he said.

I stood up. My legs shook but I kept them stable.

“How long do I have?” I asked. “Before the offer expires.”

“The specialists can hold the slot for eight weeks. I can't promise more than that.”

I picked up my bag and left immediately.

Her room was three doors up. I pushed the door open and sat on the chair beside her bed.

I held her hands. It was cold as usual. An oxygen mask covered her nose and mouth.

She was still trapped there. For the first time in two years, there was something I could do about it.

“I found a way,” I whispered, telling myself she could hear. “I'll get the money I promise.”

I kissed her forehead before adjusting the cover on her body and headed out into the cold morning.

Eight weeks was all I had. I needed a high-paying job now. Not soon. Not eventually.

I couldn't go back to the jewelry store because my former boss was still angry with how I left without notice. I thought about applying to where Shawna worked, but I realized I couldn't because I lacked the qualifications.

I thought about calling my Uncle Leon for help, but I gave up on that idea.

My twin sister, Amelia, crossed my mind as well, but she was equally as broke as me, and she lived in another city.

Thoughts crossed my mind.

The weekly payments alone were already impossible now that I was fired. And now the procedure cost on top of that was something I could barely think about.

But if I don't figure out a way, the alternative was to walk back into that room, telling my mother how I had let a real chance slip away.

I didn't wait for the next day to come. I began thinking about all the jobs I could go for. Waiting tables. Care work. These are not jobs that could cover the medical bill in eight weeks.

In my mind, I knew there was only one option for me.