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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

We brought Mom home at dawn on Monday. Today's Wednesday and she still hasn't woken up. She has one more day before the two month sentence the doctors passed on her is up.

With each gasping breath she takes, each hour she doesn't wake, I have less hope that her end is not very near now. I sleep with my bedroom door open and the lights on.

A raspy gasp followed by horrific coughs rips through me and I'm at her bedside, wide awake. The fluorescent green numbers on the alarm clock read 5:46 AM, but it's as though I hadn't slept at all, even though I went to bed before eight last night.

I hold my mom's hand as her chest heaves upwards in her struggle to breathe. Tears are hot and thick on my cheeks, blinding me, but I make no sound, not even a whimper; let alone a sob. I don't know who's shaking harder, her or me.

Dad comes in and lifts me off the bed so Edna can adjust Mom's IV. The coughs stop, but Mom is still gasping, still struggling to get air into her diseased lungs.

Dad's eyes are rimmed scarlet and the dark blue bags under them reach down to the middle of his cheeks. I wonder if I look any better.

"Gail, honey, why don't you take a sleeping pill and get some rest?" Dad asks and I have my answer.

"No." I shake my head wildly. "What if I miss…"

Tears seal my throat and I bury my face in Dad's chest, wailing. He smells of whiskey, it's coming from his pores.

"Come, let's get some breakfast," he says and strokes my hair.

I let him lead me from the room and lean against him all the way down to the kitchen.

I gag on the first spoonful of my cereal, already regretting that I came down at all. I can't eat, I can't sleep, all I can do is wait and not think.

"Edna tells me you haven't left the house all week," Dad says. "Why don't you go visit Kate today, get away from it all for while?"

He's stirring his coffee but looking at me with worry etched into every line of his face, spraying the table top with brown specks.

No, Scott might be there, a voice in the back of my head screams, and nausea bursts from my stomach into my throat. I can't see him, I won't. I have to stay away, or his eyes will suck me right back in, make me fall and hurt myself even worse.

"Kate's away this week," I mumble because Dad's looking at me like he expects an answer.

Dad pats my hand and stands up. "I'll be home early today. Then maybe we can go for a walk on the beach and have some lunch."

"We have to stay here."

"We'll see," he says, wiping his eyes with his back to me and leaves the kitchen.

I stay seated, stirring my cereal, watching it congeal as it soaks up the milk.

The grandfather clock in the living room booms to life, making me shake and leap part way out of my chair. Seven dongs. I feel like I've just sat down a minute ago. I keep losing time like this for the last few days, time I'll never get back.

I leave the food where it is and stumble up the stairs, to my mom's room. It's stuffy in there, the air stale and musty. No wonder she can't get a good breath.

I draw the thick, purple velvet drapes apart and crack open the window. The wind smells of the sea, laced with a sweet honey fragrance. I close my eyes and lean my face into the wind, but it's not blowing hard enough today, not doing anything to take away my cares.

Scott is standing by Kate's pool, looking right at me. The sharp pain of longing twists my stomach. He doesn't wave or call out, and I stay perfectly still too. His look is a glare, filled with darkness and shadow. I could go down to him and apologize, but what would be the point? Under Scott's gaze, longing desire snakes through me, kindling my will to live. But it's as though another Gail is feeling those things. This one knows it for what it is now: a pointless, cruel distraction. Feeling good now, will only make the pain worse after.

I leave the window open but draw the thick drapes back over it, then climb into bed beside my mom. My heart thunders to life with each irregular breath she takes, fear turning my vision black. But at least I'm right beside her now, and I will be able to say goodbye when the time comes.

"Gail," my mom says. In my dream we're sitting on the broken pier at the beach, watching the sun sink into the sea, the sky lilac, yellow and purple. Her thick, long brown hair, the same shade as mine, is stirring in the breeze and she is laughing, holding my hand.

"Gail," she says again, then coughing rips through my dream and I jerk awake.

She's leaning up on one elbow, coughing and gasping. I massage her back, wanting to ease her pain.

"You're awake, Mom. I'm so glad," I mutter. It's like the last few days never happened, like she's just been sleeping and now she's awake and on the mend. My head is telling me it's not so, that it can't be, but in my heart I believe it completely.

She stops coughing and manages to sit upright. I pile the pillows behind her so she can lean back. Her gaze catches on the IV needle in her arm and travels up to the bottle suspended from a metal stand. "How long have I slept?"

"Three days, but you're up now. I thought I'd—" I swallow the rest of the sentence. I have to be strong for her, have to stare this down.

She turns to me, tears brimming in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Gail. I love you so much."

I hug her tightly to hide my own tears. "I love you too, Mom," I sob into her shoulder.

She leans into me and we stay like that for awhile, not talking, not thinking. Then she gasps and the coughs are back.

I release her, but hold onto her hand.

"I feel better," she croaks. "I'm sorry I scared you."

"I know." Tears slither down my face, and I wipe them away. "As long as you're better, that's all that matters."

It can't last and it won't, but right now my mom feeling better is all that is and all that I care about.

Her eyes are already fluttering closed and I ease her back to the bed. "Rest now. I'll get Edna to remove the IV, and we can have a proper lunch today."

I don't know if she heard me, but I imagine she did. I'm careful not to upset the needle in her arm as I draw the covers over her, before slipping out of bed to go in search of Edna.

My phone rings just as I'm closing the door. It's Phillipa, my roommate at Yale and best friend, and I don't want to answer. But she should know I'm not coming back to school just yet, and this is the third time she's called this week.

"How are you, Gail?" There's no trace of accusation in her posh London accent, but I feel guilty anyway.

"I'm, you know, not that well at all." My voice cracks and hot tears sting my throat.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Gail," she says, "Your mother, she's still the same?"

"Worse," I manage to choke out. "I'm staying with her for now. Not coming back yet."

"I understand. If there is anything I can do you just have to ask, you know that."

It goes without saying, but I'm glad she said it.

I close the door of my bedroom and crumple down on my bed. "I'm barely holding it together, Phillipa. Most days I don't even want to get out of bed, but I can't sleep and I can't eat. I'm acting so weird I don't even recognize myself anymore. I miss my mom so much and she's not even dead yet."

Sobs overtake me and I'm gasping for air, a cramp intensifying in my chest.

She sighs. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Gail. What you feel is normal, it' is what you are supposed to feel and there is nothing wrong with you." She's majoring in psychology so she must know what she's talking about. But all I know is how this actually feels, not how it's supposed to.

"Try to find something that makes you happy, makes you glad you're alive and hold on to it," Phillipa continues. "You will survive this and you must believe that."

Scott's face, with his deep, mysterious eyes, flash through my mind at her words, bringing with it physical memories of warmth and pleasure. I shut it out. He's not the answer. Never was and never will be.

"Do you want me to come visit you?" Phillipa asks.

I shake my head as though she can see me. "No, that's OK. Class starts tomorrow and…"

"It would be no problem," she urges, but just knowing she's there, holding a place for me in my life that is miles, oceans, worlds away from this one, is enough for me.

"I'll call you later," I say, and stand when I hear Edna greeting Mom. "My mom is awake now. Thank you, though, for offering."

"Go to your mother then," Phillipa says, and waits for me to hang up first.

I spend the next half an hour with my mom, sipping my own bowl of watery soup as she does the same. After Dad comes home I slip out of the room and let them have their time together. The bags under his eyes are only marginally lighter than they were this morning, but his eyes are clear, and the boyish glee in them once he sees Mom awake rips through me like an electric saw.

Scott's truck is still parked in Kate's service driveway, but I dial her number, thinking maybe she's home already and up for coming over.

"I'm still in the Hamptons, sweetie," she informs me. "But me and Mark are coming back later tonight. I can call you then."

"No, that's alright. I'll call you tomorrow."

Outside the winds are picking up, sending the trees flailing. I step outside on the patio, and keep walking until I'm in the middle of the lawn, where nothing protects me from the wind. The gusts have a sharp, cold center, but the edges are soft as they caress my bare skin. I turn my face to the sky, letting the wind cool my skin. It's only the beginning of September, but somehow autumn is already here. Nothing makes sense anymore, not even the weather.

"Gail," Scott calls. I open my eyes; sure I'd just imagined it. But he's in the oak tree on Kate's side of the fence, untangling a paper lantern left behind from one of the parties. "How are you doing?"

I can't believe he's even talking to me and I can't believe how much I want to talk to him. But the image of my dad holding my dying mom's hand flashes before my eyes, so real it's as though I'm looking at it right now.

"Leave me alone, Scott," I yell, and run back to the patio, hugging myself tightly.

When I look back he's still in the tree, staring at me, his gaze pulling me back, sucking me in. It takes real strength to look away, and I don't know where I pull it from.

"Come in. You'll catch a cold," Dad calls from inside the house.

His shoulders are slumped and he's already holding a glass of whiskey. There's no trace of glee anywhere on him now.

"I'll come in soon," I say, then turn back to the wind, letting it fill my body and mind, and consume me. But I keep my eyes closed so I won't see Scott anymore.

Dad's already working at the dining room table when I come in. The clock is chiming again, five o'clock this time. I'm not sure who wound it, but the noise annoys me so I walk toward it to remove the weight.

"No, leave it, Gail," Dad says.

"Why?"

"The noise keeps me from falling asleep too deeply during the night," Dad explains, and a heavy stone settles in my stomach.

"I think I'll go lie down for a bit," I tell my dad, willing the tears to stay away. "Come get me, if Mom wakes up again."

BOOK: Not Looking For Love: Episode 2

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