Free Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon by V. C. Andrews Page A

into balls of lead. It wanted to roll back up my throat and out of my mouth. My legs were so heavy I could barely lift my feet to go up the short stairway to the front doors. I hesitated, took a deep breath, and then entered.
    An elderly woman was being escorted through the lobby toward the hallway that led to the elevator. The nurse with her gazed at me and smiled. When the elderly woman saw me, she seized the nurse's hand and stopped walking.
    "It's Ida," she cried. She looked like she was an instant away from bursting into happy tears.
"No, no. Rachael. That's not Ida."
"Sure it is. Ida, where have you been? I've been worried sick over you, dear," she told me.
The nurse smiled at me and shook her head.
It was as if there was a button in my head that when pushed would open up the world of pretend. Maybe that was what all actors had in their heads.
"I was away." I said. "I came as soon as I could."
"Oh, dear. dear. I was worried about you, a young woman, all alone in Europe. Did my sister take good care of you?"
"Yes," I said. "And all she did was talk about you."
"Did she? That's nice. You have to tell me all about it," she said. She will," the nurse said. "after your nap."
"I will," I promised. "After you rest."
"Good. Don't forget now." She reached for me and I took her withered hand. The fingers were so slim, her paper thin skin seemed to have nothing between it and the bones. Her happiness gave her the strength to squeeze tightly. "I'm so glad you came home. dear. It's just the two of us now, just the two of us."
I smiled at her.
"We'll be fine," I said.
"Yes. We'll be fine." She nodded and then she continued along.
The nurse looked back at me with a smile of gratitude and then led her on toward the elevator.
I had a chill, a shudder running through me for a moment. when I envisioned that old, confused lady could be my mother years from now.
There was a new girl at the reception desk. I didn't pretend to be my mother's sister this time. I told the truth and she called up and then told me to wait because the head nurse was coming down. It put a panic in my chest and for a moment. I couldn't breathe.
"Why? What's wrong?" I demanded.
"Mrs. Fogelman will be here momentarily," the receptionist said. She nodded toward the pair of settees behind me. "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?"
I didn't want to sit, but my legs felt like they might simply melt beneath me, so I moved to the small imitation leather sofa and sat, staring at the elevators. Finally, one opened and a short, stocky woman with dark brown hair looking like it had been trimmed around a bowl, came out and hurriedly walked toward me. I rose.
"You're Mrs. Carlson's daughter?"
"Yes," I said. "What's wrong? Isn't she getting well?"
"I'm Mrs. Fogelman. The doctor was here earlier today and left instructions that I should personally greet any immediate family. There's been a little setback." she said.
"Setback? What does that mean?"
"Isn't your father with you?" she asked instead of answering.
I felt myself tighten like a wire being stretched to its limit. She actually looked past me toward the door.
"Unless he's invisible. I'd have to say no," I told her sharply. "What's wrong with my mother?"
"She's drifted into a comatose state," Mrs. Fogelman revealed after a moment of indecision. "However, the doctor feels it is only a temporary condition. We've moved her to our intensive care area and we're monitoring her carefully. I thought the doctor had reached your father and that's why you were here," she added.
"No, I think my father is unreachable at the moment." I muttered. "Can I see her, please?"
She nodded.
"Yes, that might be very good. She should hear your voice," Mrs. Fogelman decided. She smiled and we walked to the elevator.
"Are you in high school or college?" she asked me when the doors closed.
I hadn't been in many elevators in my life, but I always hated the deep silence, the way everyone avoided looking directly at anyone else, and waited uncomfortably