“She can’t be allowed to walk free.” A tear slips down my face, and I quickly brush it away. God, I hope he’s telling the truth.
“She?”
“Mia Germain,” I whisper. How easily I’m folding. I can only pray he has good intentions. That he cares about his son enough to put her away forever. His face remains blank, not recognizing the name. How funny, when she’s been such a big presence in my life. I add, “The artistic director of Crown Point Ballet. She’s been following me. She took me against my will and then she drugged me.”
He rises. “Thank you, Violet. I’ll take care of it.”
When he’s gone, I sag back against the pillows. And the tears flow for real.
58
VIOLET
“Do you want to deal?” Willow shuffles the cards, leaning back against the footboard of my bed.
I hold out my hand for the stack and shuffle again. I’m being discharged today, after the doctor checks out my most recent blood panel and gives the okay. Then I’ll have to wait for paperwork, but everyone who works here tells me it shouldn’t be later than three o’clock. Ish.
Sometimes things run slowly.
Willow’s been a comfort. She arrived early, right after the morning rounds, armed with iced lattes and breakfast sandwiches. And games. Something else, too, that I only briefly looked at before tucking it away again.
I relayed what happened with the senator. She’s less surprised than Grey was, but I think she has a better handle on how things work. Tricky relationships between parents and children, money and agendas.
“Knock, knock.” Grey leans into the room. “You have a visitor.”
“You knew Willow was going to be here, didn’t you?”
Willow rolls her eyes.
“Not her. Or me.” He comes farther into the room, and worry creases the corners of his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll have security toss her out.”
I swallow.
A second later, my mother inches into the room. Her gaze darts around, from the bag of saline over my head to the window, to the monitors, to the needle taped to my arm. Everywhere except me, right in front of her.
Willow slides off the bed, taking the cards from my hand. “I’ll be outside.”
Grey takes up a position against the wall. Maybe out of her sight, or out of her focus, but certainly not out of mine.
“I was so worried,” Mom finally says.
I don’t answer.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
She clears her throat. Shuffles. “Violet, please.”
“Are you here hoping I’ll be prescribed more opiates?”
My mother flinches.
I sit up. “I’m going to tell you something. And I need you to hear it, okay?”
She nods and approaches, stopping at the foot of the bed. She grips the plastic.
“You traded in being my mother for drugs.” I keep my eyes glued on hers, and she doesn’t look away. “You brought me to his father’s suite, at one of Grey’s biggest games, because you wantedmoneyfrom him.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.