The Flowers Already Started to Wilt

I barely stepped into the hospital room before I spotted her.

Alia.

Standing by the small visitor couch… towering over Marcus who was asleep and snoring.

His freckled face was tilted slightly to the side, completely unaware of the chaos being drawn on him.

And by chaos, I meant Alia's small, mischievous tiny hands holding a black marker.

She was halfway done sketching a swirly mustache, complete with evil villain twirls, some very questionable eyebrows and a big black mole.

"Alia," I yelled.

She froze. Like a criminal caught red-handed.

Her eyes widened as she turned around slowly.

"Ash!" she gasped, dropping the marker. Then she sprinted at me and flung herself into my arms.

I caught her easily, stumbling back a little as she wrapped her arms tightly around my waist. Her head tucked into my stomach like she'd been holding it in all day.

"You promised to pick me up," she said, pulling back to glare at me. "Again. You left me. I almost started a revolution."

I knelt so we were eye-level. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. But I had to make a very important stop."

Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of stop?"

I reached behind me and pulled the bag from my back.

A soft gasp escaped her lips.

It was a new backpack….purple with stars that glittered when it caught the light.

She took it with both hands. She unzipped it quickly and pulled out a full set of fresh crayons, still wrapped in their paper, and two packs of Oreos.

Her jaw dropped.

"I figured your crayons were running out," I said, brushing her cheek. "And I thought you deserved something sweet."

She squealed and jumped into me again, nearly knocking me off balance.

"Thank you," she whispered into my ear. "You're the best."

I held her close.

Sometimes I forgot how small she still was.

I laughed softly, brushing a hand over her messy ponytail. "Gotta keep my favorite Empress of Snacks and Justice happy."

She gave me a squinty, suspicious look. "This is a peace offering, isn't it?

I blinked. "Maybe."

"Ash, Mrs. Jennings let me share her husband's pudding, and Marcus is a great babysitter…when he's not snoring like a broken tractor."

I laughed quietly. "He's been through a lot today. Maybe don't draw on his face next time?"

"But it's art," she said pouting her face.

I shook my head, smiling, and carried her back toward the bed where Mom still slept peacefully. The monitor beeped beside her.

The card someone had left was tucked beside her pillow, and the flowers were starting to wilt in their vase.

The petals were curling in on themselves, like they were giving up. Just like part of me wanted to sometimes.

Alia tucked her backpack beside her and climbed into the chair right beside Mom's hand. She gently placed her sketchbook back on Mom's blanket as she opened the new crayons.

I looked back at Marcus, who mumbled something in his sleep and shifted, completely unaware of the masterpiece on his face.

My eyes widened. "Alia."

She turned, all innocent. "What?"

She shrugged with a proud grin. "He said I was annoying. So I made him French."

I slapped a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing too loud. "French?"

She held up the crayon like a sword. "Oui oui. Justice was served."

I gently touched mom's hand. "Hey, Mom. I'm here."

Alia joined me, resting her cheek against Mom's arm.

She whispered softly, "She's still dreaming, huh?"

I nodded. "But we're here. We'll keep talking to her. Keep telling her stuff. That way she knows we're waiting."

"Then I'm gonna draw her another dream. This one'll have pancakes and puppies and Ash without a broken heart."

That made me freeze.

I looked at her. "What?"

She blinked up at me. "You look sad sometimes. Like your heart's been crying. So I wanna draw it happy again."

I swallowed and bent down to kiss her forehead. "Thanks, bug. You're the best medicine I've got."