Chapter 9
Martha’s hospital room smelled of antiseptic soap, starched linen, and the faint, metallic tang of an oxygen concentrator. The older woman sat propped up in bed, her silver hair brushed neatly, wearing a light blue hospital gown that matched the washed-out tone of her skin. She looked up as Helen pushed the door open, a warm, tired smile touching the corners of her eyes. "Helen, darling. What are you doing here so late? Is Julian still buried in those construction reports?" Martha’s voice was frail, carrying the unmistakable rasp of chronic lung and heart fatigue. Helen walked over to the side of the bed, pulling up a molded plastic chair and sitting down.
She took Martha’s thin, cool hand in her own, tracing the blue veins across the back of her knuckles. How could she tell the woman lying before her that the trust fund paying for these walls, these nurses, and this oxygen had been financed by fraudulent toxic waste land in Nevada? The words felt trapped in her throat, heavy and poison-tipped. "Julian is busy with auditors tonight, Martha," Helen said carefully, keeping her voice even and calm. "I came because I wanted to check on your lab results from this afternoon. The cardiologist said your potassium levels were stabilizing." Martha nodded, squeezing Helen’s hand back with surprising strength.
"Don't worry about me, Helen. Worry about yourselves. Julian works too hard. I see the strain on his face every time he visits," Martha murmured, her eyelids drooping slightly from her evening medication. "He’s a good man, Helen. Flawed, maybe, but he loves this family." Helen swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat that she couldn't dislodge. A good man. The phrase echoed mockingly against the sterile walls of the hospital room. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Martha’s forehead. "Try to sleep, Martha. I’m going to make sure everything is taken care of. I promise you that."
