for her motherâs brain.
âHow long?â she asked, hating the fear that she heard in her own voice. âHow long until you bring her out?â
He rubbed tired-looking eyes. âTwo or three days on the short side, I guess, but possibly a week.â
Had he just said âa weekâ?
Toniâs chest compressed as she considered all the things on her schedule for the next few days and beyond: the consultations, menu tastings, meetings, fittings, and facing Greg after the proposal that never was. If she added another plate to the ones she juggled already, sheâd surely drop something. But Toni knew that it couldnât be this.
âWhy now?â she whispered, though she hadnât meant to say it aloud. It was a selfish thought, and she regretted it the instant she said it.
âWho knows?â The doctor shrugged slim shoulders, further rumpling his coat. âItâs just one of those things nobody plans for,â he remarked, as if her question was real, not rhetorical.
When Toni didnât respond, he filled the silence with medical chitchat, explaining in laymanâs terms that Evie had experienced a cerebral hemorrhage, blood on her brain, and though the surgery seemed to have gone well, there was too much swelling still to know if it worked. When she came out of the comaâif she came outâshe wouldnât be able to speak coherently, not at first, and he warned that she may never fully recover, even with rehabilitation.
Toni had the perverse need to laugh and tell him that wasnât possible. Evie Ashton had nerves of steel, a spine made of rebar, all those superhuman traits that few besides comic book heroes possessed. She couldnât imagine anything incapacitating her mother for long.
Except maybe a stroke and a drug-induced coma, she thought. âIf I talk to her, will she hear me?â
Dr. Neville raised his eyebrows. âIt certainly canât hurt.â
âOkay then, I should do that.â Toni stood, gripping her purse like a life vest. âI want to see her now, if I may.â
âItâs awfully late . . .â
âCâmon, doctorââshe hadnât driven down to Blue Hills like a bat out of hell on a winterâs night for nothingââgive me two minutes, please.â
He sighed and held up his fingers in what looked like a peace sign. âYouâve got exactly two and then weâre kicking you out.â
âDeal.â
Toniâs legs wobbled as she walked warily into ICU and glimpsed the thin, sheet-draped body in the bed, tubes and leads attaching her mother to machines that blipped and beeped all around her. With Evieâs eyes closed, she appeared to be asleep and dreaming. Toni wished like hell she could pretend thatâs all it was.
Despite her determination to be tough, all grown-up and adult, she choked up. She was simply a child with a sick mom, and there was nothing that couldâve made her feel more helpless.
In an instant, she sank into the bedside chair and reached for Evieâs hand, a pathetic-sounding, âOh, Mama,â slipping out between trembling lips. âItâs me, Antonia,â she said. âIâm here with you, okay? Iâm back, and Iâm not going to leave you, I promise.â
She would stay for as long as it took.
Chapter 5
Evie
M y granddad Joseph used to say that the women in our family either blew hot or cold. If they were serious and well-behaved, he swore that the blood of the German Morgans ran more fiercely through their veins. Granddadâs father, Hermanâa scary-looking fellow I knew only by his steely eyes and grizzled beard in old black-and-white photographsâhad been a Morganthaler from Mosel and a vintner by trade. When heâd settled in Ste. Genevieve County, Missouri, heâd gobbled up a hundred acres of farmland for planting grapes and had put down permanent stakes.
âHe could make