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—StellaNova
I roll my eyes when I receive another call from Seven Virtues Hospital as I’m boxing up my mother’s belongings I want to keep. The Angel House charity is coming tomorrow for her estate sale and they told me I need to remove anything I don’t want to be sold.
I had to call Austyn earlier because I wanted to ask how one should go about disposing of sex toys. She screeched, “How in the hell should I know?”
“Well, ask your mother! She’s a doctor and would know if I need a biohazard bag or some crap!”
Fortunately Paige came on the line and reassured both of us that a regular trash bag was acceptable. She also let me know additional letters from my mother are in her possession, which is an enormous relief. “I honestly was worried about that. That I would somehow miss where they were hidden.”
“Well, don’t be, sweetheart. I have the rest of them in safekeeping.”
Still, the voicemail from the hospital is worrisome. I’m tempted to ignore it, but it’s not from the regular scheduling number. I press the play button and hear, “Ms. Brookes, this is Horace Edith from philanthropy and planned giving at Seven Virtues Hospital. We wanted to again offer our condolences on your loss…”
I roll my eyes and I wait for him to request a donation. My thumb hovers over the button to delete the message.
“…the plaque to honor your mother is ready. We’d like to unveil it to you before anyone else. If you could call me back, we’ll arrange a time.” He rattles off a phone number.
The second he does, I hit pause on the message and dial his number, my fingers shaking. What plaque? Is this something Seven Virtues does for every lost patient?
“It can’t be. The walls, the ceilings, hell, the floor, would be lined in metal.” I finish reasoning that out just as he picks up.
“Horace Edith.”
“Mr. Edith, this is Fallon Brookes.”
“Ms. Brookes. Again, please accept our condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you.” I want to scream from the deepest part of my soul whenever someone says that, because it doesn’t quite feel real. Taking a deep breath, I ask, “Can you tell me how my mother came to receive a plaque?”
“There was an anonymous donation. And the sentiment is simply exquisite.”
Suspecting this is something Austyn or her parents likely did, I resign myself to accepting it gracefully. “You’ve seen it?”
“It’s been mounted. We would like for you to come see it before we reveal it to anyone else.”
Taking a deep breath that this is another trauma I’ll endure alone, I make plans to be at the hospital bright and early the next morning.
The first person I see when I get off the elevator is Clarabel. I swoop in and give her a swift hug before she can escape. “I never had the chance to thank you for everything you did.”
She hooks her arm through mine. “I wish there was more I could say and do, Fallon.”
“Isn’t your time here almost up?” I remind her that her program was only for one year.
“Just about.”
“Where are you going after this?”
Just as she’s about to answer, a man scurries forward. “Ms. Brookes?”
I catch Clarabel rolling her eyes next to me and that makes me the tiniest more relaxed. I hold out my hand. “Yes. I’m Fallon Brookes.”
“Horace Edith. Please, join me.” He pulls me forward to the wall of clouds that catches the stream of sun every day illuminating the patient waiting room. There’s a rolling safety ladder in place with cones all around it. Patients and caregivers alike are eyeing me speculatively as I approach the base of the steps. Horace points to the one cloud exposed. “Once you read the cloud, we’ll free the others again.”
Clarabel gives my arm a quick squeeze. Releasing her, I climb the six steps and stand on the platform. That’s when I see my mother’s name and her birth and death dates. Followed by a quote from Mitch Albom’s The Five People You Meet in Heaven. Tears pool in my eyes and blurs the script.
Life has to end. Love doesn't.
A sob rips from me as if a part of me is intended to float to the clouds with the agony of seeing that plaque. I turn to sit down on the top of the platform before navigating the stairs and I catch sight of him lingering in the far end of the hall.