I'm feeling unstable.
Like my world could upend any second from now—more than it already has.
My thoughts are spiraling, drifting far from where my body is. Straying from the present.
"Evie, dear, the plumber will be here in an hour or two. I noticed a leak in the kitchen pipes, and we have until the end of today to get it fixed before Harley's party tomorrow."
The thudding of flats against the floorboards echoes in the living room, alerting me of her arrival and jerking me out of my spiral.
I stand still, my gloved hand holding onto the broom's handle, patiently awaiting her instructions.
She goes on. "I've turned off the other connecting taps, so please refrain from turning them back on," she warns, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket on the dining table.
That's the least of my concerns. My eyes are glued to her feet and the dirty trail of footprints her sandals leave in her wake.
I feel the threat of a grumble unfurl in my chest, but I tame it.
I have no right to protest.
Mrs. Davidson notices where my gaze lingers. Her eyes follow, and then she flashes me one of her kind smiles—though this one comes out sheepish.
She realizes what she has done.
My throat works in a swallow, forcing down my frustration with it, and I smile back at her.
"It's fine. I'll just wipe it again," I tell her.
"Alright." She leans over for her purse sitting on one of the chairs.
"Please, dear. Tomorrow is a very important day for Harley, and you know this. Don't mess it up."
The softness in her gaze disappears, replaced by a serious glint.
My cheeks heat. "Yes, ma'am." I bury my head in shame.
"That's great." Her smile returns, layered with an extra warmth that almost makes me doubt the tension from seconds ago.
Mrs. Davidson heads for the door and disappears in a series of long strides.
I exhale, a whiff of air escaping my mouth. My legs carry me over to the previously neat spot she has ruined, broom in tow.
Upon closer inspection, I realize it isn't something I can dust off—and it irks me.
I make to return to the bathroom where I've dropped the mop bucket, only to remember I've already drained the water.
At this point, I want to scream.
But I have no energy left to do so.
I grab the bucket when the shrill ringing of my phone pierces the silence. Dipping my hand into my back pocket, I fish it out.
My eyebrows narrow, a chilling sense of dread clinging to my lungs. "Aunt Maya?"
My finger hovers over the flashing screen. I hurry to pick up because Aunt Maya never calls just to chat—not when she could tell me about the shift in today's evening Mass in person.
"Hel—"
"Evie!" Her cries cut me off, infiltrating my ears. My heart plummets, sinking to the pit of my stomach.
"What's wrong?" My voice vibrates with the fear simmering in my blood.
Her sobs only grow louder, keeping me on edge.
"Say something!" I urge, struggling to maintain a semblance of calm.
"Your father… he—he—"
The mention of my father is enough to elicit a tremble from me.
The harsh sound of plastic hitting rough tiles echoes in the bathroom , but I don't care. My left hand is already tugging at the knot of the apron tied around my waist.
I press the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I yank off my cleaning gloves.
"Auntie, please, calm down. Just calm down and tell me what happened," I beg, almost on the brink of tears myself.
"He collapsed. And the doctor said he's running out of time," she manages to let out.
"Oh no." I gasp, eyes widening. "I'll be right there, Auntie."
I dash out, making sure to lock the Davidsons' house before disappearing from their foyer.
I make it to the hospital in ten minutes—what should take twenty. I've never driven so fast, not until today. Not even with the weather.
Without hesitation, I follow the familiar path to my father's ward. Just outside the door, I hear my aunt's cries.
Through the narrow glass panel, I see him lying still. Fear lodges in my throat.
Only the steady beeping of the machines around him gives me hope.
Aunt Maya sits by his side, the holy rosary slipping through her fingers as she weeps, muttering hushed prayers.
I barge in, not minding the peace of the other patients. I ignore their stares as I trudge to my father's bed.
"Evie, Evie!" Aunt Maya's tear-stained face lights up the moment her eyes meet mine.
"Is he alright?" My voice cracks, my eyes glistening with worry.
Her head shakes back and forth. Enough to diminish the little hope fluttering in my chest.
My gaze shifts to his frail figure, drained of color against the white sheet. My shoulders slump.
My hands go limp at my side as I drag my feet forward. My vision blurs, but I refuse to let it stop me.
I grab his bony fingers. His eyes remain shut.
How I want to break down, but I can't.
Who will be strong for us if I do?
"This is all your fault, Evelyn."
I freeze. My eyes round.
Turning to Aunt Maya, I ask, "What?"
"You know this." She is standing now, rosary still dangling from her fingers.
"If you had just gone ahead and married Mr. Miller, we wouldn't be at this point."
My mind goes blank.
Her features soften, but her voice stays firm. "There's nothing to think about, Evie. Make a choice already. He—your father's dying."
She steps toward me. I stagger two steps back, gently releasing my father's hand.
Reality penetrates my skull.
She is in on this.
She always has been.
My insides churn with an emotion I can't place.
"You want me tied up with a man three times my age… just for money?" Hurt edges my voice.
"It's not for money, dear." Her gaze shifts to the bed. "It's for your father."
I look at her like I don't know her.
People in the ward have begun to stare.
Clamping my tongue between my teeth, I storm away.
The hall seems endless as I wander aimlessly. My mind isn't my own. It's swamped with pain and terror.
Pain from my father's condition.
Terror from the impending doom threatening to shatter my world.
I don't realize I've wandered past the premises until I find myself before a small lake at the back of the hospital.
A sudden thought intrudes my mind.
I step away from the shelter. Rivulets of raindrops splash against me, soaking me through, but I don't care.
Without hesitation, I advance toward the lake, wondering how it would feel to plunge into it.
How many minutes before I run out of breath?
How many more before my heart ceases?
Tears slide down my cheeks, mingling with the rain.
My chest tightens until I think I'll die from the pain before I ever reach the water.
I don't want to question things.
If I do, I'll bend. I'll break—I'll fall weak
The battering of raindrops shifts, muffled. It takes me a second to realize the rain isn't touching me anymore.
I look up. An umbrella shields me from the downpour, its pongee fabric trembling under the rain. Its handle is gripped by a delicate, masculine hand.
I turn, craning to see the man who holds it above me.
Grey eyes, framed by spectacles, meet mine.
And with them comes a faint, lingering scent—incense laced with whiskey and a trace of tobacco smoke—a strange mixture of holiness and sin.
My vision is too blurred with tears to notice anything more before he takes my hand, transfers the umbrella into it…
…and walks away.