Stolen Grace by Arianne Richmonde Page B

stomach.”
    “Jesus. Is he conscious?” She staggered to the bathroom, ran the faucet and gulped down some water.
    “Barely. He’s in OR still. I’m so sorry, Sylvia. He seemed fine today.”
    She coughed, the water going down the wrong way. “Yes, he did. We spoke yesterday. He seemed just fine.”
    He’d told her he loved her. Was that his way of saying goodbye? He’d told her he missed her, he loved her; she should have understood. A cliché, it was true, but the writing really had been on the wall. She wanted to cry but no tears came because there was no time for tears. She had to get to him straight away. Something deep inside her had feared this moment, although she never imagined for a second he’d be capable of actually going through with it. Or had she? Had she known all along? Her dad had been lost without her mother. He’d been co-dependent, and since her mom’s death he had hinted that his life was no longer worth living. Sylvia plunked herself down on the toilet seat and bowed her head, the receiver close to her ear.
    “Mom feels responsible,” Melinda told her gravely.
    That made two of them. Sylvia knew, somehow, her aunt would feel that way but said, “Why?”
    “She feels so guilty, she should have monitored him more closely, she should have taken them away from him, rationed them.”
    “The sleeping pills he’d been prescribed by Doctor Locke?”
    “Yes.”
    Sylvia bit her lip so hard she could feel it smart. “She’s not to blame. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s not her fault. He could have done it at any time.”
    “He’d been stashing them. Saving them up. We couldn’t know.”
    “Of course you couldn’t.” Sylvia should have been more on the ball herself, should have seen this coming. Was it a cry for attention? The fact he did it while her aunt and cousin were staying with him, made her wonder. He needed her, obviously. She’d get up, get dressed and go.
    “So when can you get here?” Melinda asked in a quiet voice.
    “As soon as I can. I’ll go online now and book our tickets.”
    “You change planes in Chicago, right?’
    “Or Minneapolis. And we have to change in Denver first. Two changes.”
    “What a bummer. Let me know your flight number and I’ll pick you up in Saginaw.”
    “But you told me you had to get back to work tomorrow.” She looked at her watch on the bathroom cabinet. “I mean, today.”
    Melinda cleared her throat. “I do. But Sylvia, this is an emergency. I’m not going anywhere right now. I want to at least wait until you get here.”
    “I’ll call the second I have our flights booked. Tell Dad I love him and we’re on our way.”
    “I will. I promise. Safe flight.”
    THERE WAS ONLY one seat available on the Denver to Chicago leg that morning. Nothing from Minneapolis. As if the entire world had decided to fly that day. If Sylvia could wait twenty-four hours there would be another seat for Grace on a later flight. But twenty-four hours was forever when her father was battling for his life. She remembered her mom, the guilt still wrapped about Sylvia like a blanket, thick with mildew—Sylvia hadn’t been there for her at the end. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
    She called Tommy—he wasn’t picking up.
    As if by osmosis, Ruth appeared as Sylvia was coming out of the bathroom. It was still dark—even the birds hadn’t yet awoken.
    “Honey—Sylvia, what’s wrong? I heard something smash and it woke me. Oh my . . . your eyes are red, have you been crying?”
    Sylvia related the dilemma. Her heart felt like a fragile piece of paper, fluttering in two separate directions, about to rip. Maybe she should just leave it—trying to get to Saginaw in record time was ridiculous. Grace took priority—she couldn’t leave her behind. Grace had never been alone without either her or Tommy.
    Ruth hugged her friend. Sylvia could smell sweet-scented cream on Ruth’s face and her hard breasts—filmed in her thin, floaty negligee—pushed