Chapter 5

I sink into the chair next to the blood pressure machine. Grace disappears into the back room and returns with a bottle of orange juice and a granola bar.

"Drink this. All of it."

The orange juice is cold and sweet. It helps a little.

"Better?" she asks.

I nod.

"You look terrible," she says, and there's something in her voice I haven't heard in ten years. Worry. "How long has this been going on?"

"I told you, I just forgot breakfast—"

"Don't lie to me." Her voice is sharp now. "I know what this medication is for. I know what it means when someone your age needs it."

We stare at each other. The pretending game is over.

"It's not that bad," I finally say.

"How not bad?"

I can't answer that. Can't tell her I have weeks, not months.

Grace sits down in the chair across from me. "When I was your age, I got pneumonia. Really bad pneumonia. Your father was... he wasn't helpful. But my mother came and took care of me."

I remember being six years old, running a fever. Grace sitting next to my bed with cool washcloths and soup. Reading me stories until I fell asleep.

"I kept you home from school for a week," she continues. "Do you remember?"

"You made me chicken soup every day. And you let me watch cartoons in your bed."

"You were so little. So sick. And all I wanted was to make you better." Her voice gets softer. "I still want that."

The silence stretches between us.

"I can take care of myself," I say.

"I know you can. You've been doing it since you were twelve." She pauses. "But you don't have to."

"Grace—"

"Mom," she corrects gently. "You used to call me Mom."

My throat closes up. "That was a long time ago."

"Not that long." She reaches across and touches my hand. "If you need anything. Medicine, money, someone to drive you to appointments. Whatever you need."

"Why now?" The question comes out harsher than I meant.

"Because you're sick. Because you're my daughter. Because I should have been there all along."

I pull my hand away. "I can't. Finn doesn't know about... any of this. He doesn't know you're my mother. He doesn't know how sick I am."

"Maybe it's time he did."

Before I can answer, the bell over the door chimes. A customer walks in, and Grace immediately switches back to professional mode.

"Your prescription will be ready in five minutes," she says loudly. Then, quieter: "Think about what I said."

The walk home is a blur. My mind keeps replaying the conversation. The way Grace said "Mom." The way she looked at me like I was still her little girl.

I make it to my front porch just as Finn's truck pulls into the driveway.

He takes one look at me and jumps out of the truck.

"What happened? You look awful."

"Thanks. That's exactly what every girl wants to hear."

"I'm serious, Ember. You're white as a sheet." He puts his hand on my forehead. "You don't have a fever, but something's wrong."

"I'm just tired."

"Bullshit." It's the first time I've heard him swear. "You've been 'just tired' for weeks. You think I don't notice, but I do. You can barely walk up the stairs without getting winded."

"Finn—"

"What aren't you telling me?"

I want to tell him everything. About the heart condition and the medication and the time limit. But I look at his worried face and I can't do it.

"Dr. Rodriguez thinks I might have anemia. That's all."

"Then why do you look like you're dying?"

The words hang in the air between us.

"I'm not dying," I lie.

Finn stares at me for a long moment. Then he turns and walks into the house without another word.

I follow him inside, but he's already halfway up the stairs.

"Finn, wait—"

His bedroom door slams shut.

I stand in the hallway, listening to him move around upstairs. Opening drawers, closing them harder than necessary.

Twenty minutes later, I hear his footsteps on the stairs. But instead of coming to talk to me, he goes straight to the kitchen.

I follow the sound and find him standing at the counter, holding something in his hand.

A small white bottle.

My heart medication.

"Want to try explaining this?" he asks, his voice deadly quiet.