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The Family Ailment
Back to: Distractions Next: Road to Success
Chapter 46: The Family Ailment


Franz didn't like the hospital; it was too cold, the fluorescent lights were too bright, and there was that sickly smell of processed food with a hint of death. Did death really have a smell? If so, the hospital was the closest thing to it. He didn't want to keep his mother there a minute longer than she had to be. Luckily, he was notified that she made it through surgery all right and was resting. He limped slightly through the hallways, making his way to the third floor. He knew which room she was in, but still retained the patience to check in at the nurse station before barging in.

Yvette was bundled up in her hospital bed, her curling grey hair was pulled back and clear of her face making it easy to see that the wound she received from falling had healed over. Franz felt the vice around his heart let up momentarily at viewing that improvement. He crouched down and felt himself smile in relief of sorts as he nudged his mom gently, "Hey mom, how you feeling?"


She stirred and made a small groan indicative of pain and that caused him to retract his feeling of relief. It made sense she would still feel worse for wear, but he hated that fact and stood, towering above her as he waited for her to wake fully.

To his surprise, Fauna must have visited already since there was a vase of flowers on the counter next to his mother's bed. On the side of the room where he stood, there was a breakfast tray and a bundle of newspapers—probably meant for his mother when she woke up.

"Why aren't you in class?" were the first words out of his mother's mouth upon seeing him. He had morning classes at the community college and she knew it. He didn't want to tell her quite yet the details of why he was skipping class to see her and felt a bit frustrated that was the first thing she had asked him. It sounded as if she didn't want him to visit. He wanted to know if she was going to be all right. She grimaced and managed to pull herself into a sitting position while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"And why do you have a black eye? Have you been fighting again?" she seemed more disappointed than angry with that question. Franz touched his eye, it was still tender and the bruise had begun to fade—but he didn't want to talk about how that had come to be.

"Never mind that. How do you feel?"

"Sore."


She was not the most talkative person and could be quite direct. She didn't like to talk about herself that much either. It was a trait Franz thought he had picked up from her. Since she didn't seem keen on talking about her recovery, he found a different subject to speak on.

"When did Fauna come to see you?"

His mother looked at him with slight puzzlement, "She hasn't."

His brow lowered in confusion, "Who gave you the flowers?"

She turned her head to see as if she had just now noticed they were there. A look of mild surprise danced across her features, "They must have been delivered when I was sleeping, but I don't recall having any visitors."

He maneuvered around the hospital bed and checked to see if the flowers came with a card. There was a small one stuffed between the violet petals and he dug it out to read it curiously.


Ms. Schoulsburg,

I hope with all hope that you recover fully and feel well soon. You are in my thoughts!

Sincerely,
Alanna Thackery

"Who sent them, dear?"

Franz felt heartened that Alanna would go and send flowers, she really was the best person he knew. He handed his mother the card to read for herself, trying to contain the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at Alanna's thoughtful gesture.

"Oh, what a sweetheart," his mother said with the same tone of endearment he felt at the moment. She handed the card back to him and mused, "I always did like her. Alanna is my favorite of all your friends."


"She's my only friend," Franz reminded his mother as he settled the paper note back into the blooms.

She nodded, "I know—I meant she's my favorite of all the friends between you and your sister. Fauna doesn't usually have the knack for picking keepers."

Franz made an incoherent sound of agreement, thinking back to her jerk of a boy toy.

"So where is your sister?"

Franz shrugged, "I texted her that I was coming to visit you but she didn't respond. I think she's angry that you didn't tell her that you were sick in the first place."

"You didn't tell her?"

Franz knotted his brows, "You told me not to. I thought you had told her."

She sighed and shook her head, "I was going to eventually, but I ran out of time. I told you because I know you can shoulder a burden, you always have—you're emotionally strong. Fauna is a bit delicate, if I put too much on her shoulders I fear she will break."

Her statement made him think of the time they were told one of their grandmother's cats had died. Fauna wept endlessly it seemed. The cat happened to be her favorite. She also threw tantrums when they were younger and Yvette couldn't afford to buy Fauna the designer clothes that all the other girls at school were touting. Fauna tried very hard to fit in and didn't like being teased for coming from a poor family—for wearing thrift shop clothes, for bringing a brown bag lunch every day, for being a bastard—and he could see how his mother thought her delicate. However, Yvette didn't see that even though Fauna was teased, she never let that break her smile at school. She was always smiling, and always trying to fit in despite the obstacles, and didn't let the negative remarks influence her demeanor—at least not in public. For that, Franz thought his sister was a strong person.

"I think you underestimate Fauna, Mom," Franz mumbled quietly but didn't elaborate. Instead, he nodded toward the food that seemed to be waiting to be eaten. It included coffee—which was probably cold by now, "You want that?"

Yvette saw what he was referring to and shrugged, "I suppose I should eat. Has the doctor come in yet?"

Franz shrugged and set the newspapers and breakfast onto the mobile table that could be scooted to lay over the hospital bed. He pushed the table forward and his mother made a grab for one of the baked rolls. They probably were not as good as the ones found in their bakery. However, she paused when she saw the newspaper—opting instead to take a look at what she had missed while she had been in the hospital.


The door to the room opened and a woman in scrubs gave them a smile in greeting, "Hello, I'm so glad to see you are awake Mrs. Schoulsburg."

"Ms. Schoulsburg," his mother corrected—not with sternness but a definite firmness. She opened up the newspaper and began reading, not paying mind to the doctor's presence. The woman's eyes widened a bit at the lack of attention her patient was giving her and so turned to address Franz. It was clear Yvette wasn't interested in talking to a doctor at the moment. He wished his mother would stop avoiding things she'd rather not face by ignoring them.

"You must be her son—I'm Dr. Kapitha. I'm your mother's post-op doctor," she stuck out her hand and Franz gave it a quick, cordial shake. She had a clipboard of paper in her opposite arms and she flipped through it, "Since your mother seems to be preoccupied, can I have a word with you?"


He gave a nod and she gestured toward the door—she wanted a word outside of the room. It made him a bit nervous that she wanted to discuss something outside of his mother's hearing when she was the patient and probably should be listening to what the doctor had to say.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"Your mother, obviously," Dr. Kapitha raised a sharp brow. Her tone sounded a bit exasperated.

"Sorry, she can be a bit...antisocial," he said and knew the feeling all too well.

"She's a hard egg to crack, can barely get a word out of her since she came back from surgery yesterday."

Franz nodded in understanding, which was on par with his mother, "Can I take her home?"

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about—since she had major surgery, it's an inpatient procedure and we'd like to keep her for a few more nights for observation. If we send her home now, we could only prescribe pain meds and she wouldn't be able to walk so unless you have handicapable access to your home, it might be more of a hassle to have her at home until she can walk again. Here she can receive care and stronger meds to manage pain as needed, under supervision."

Franz's hope all but crashed and burned at hearing this news; he didn't want her to stay in the hospital and in addition, the cost of keeping her here would be so very expensive. He couldn't even fight anymore to get money—which was why he had decided to drop out of community college to run the bakery full time.

Dr. Kapitha expertly didn't make eye contact as she continued to look through papers on the clipboard before stopping on a specific one, "In addition, we contained the VBT spread in her pelvis but the sickness will never truly be gone. My recommendation is to keep her on the same treatments she had been taking before her collapse."

That was even more of an expense they couldn't afford. Not unless maybe the bakery was sold to the Cosgrove Collective. However, where would that leave them? With even less means to earn money than before. He clenched his jaw and eyed the doctor, finding himself nodding though every instinct in him wanted to just go back into the room and take his mother out of there.


"I will explain this all to Ms. Schoulsburg when she is more receptive, I'll leave you two alone for now—she could use the company," Dr. Kapitha continued to say with a tone of sympathy and then departed down the hallway back toward the open room of the floor.

He pushed open the door to see his mother still reading the newspaper with great interest. He didn't realize she liked the news so much. She looked up at him sharply, "You had a bake sale last week?"

That accusation, even though true, caused Franz to pause with confusion.

Yvette set down the paper and tapped on it. Franz approached the bed and saw she still hadn't eaten the food that was provided. Sure enough, there was a picture of him in front of the Mocha Chip Coffee Shop, looking kind of grumpy whilst standing amongst scones.

He ran his hand through his hair with a bout of nervousness forming in his chest; he had thought that red-headed girl said she was writing for a school newspaper—why would a Regional paper be running that article? Then he remembered that the Kashmire Quirk liked to compile articles from lesser papers around the region to fill spots on slow news weeks.

His mother's annoyance was palpable.


"It was Alanna's idea. She wanted to raise money for your..." Franz began but already knew it would just be worse explaining the situation because it meant that his mother would know he had discussed their financial troubles with his friend. That was supposed to be family business and now everyone knew because he was sure the article quoted Alanna's explanation for the bake sale.

"Sometimes getting help from others isn't a bad thing," Franz mumbled, thinking back to Alanna's visit to his dorm room the other night. She was acting a bit strange and he supposed it was because she had seen him hurt for the first time since they had been friends. He was thankful she didn't press for details about his wounds but what she had said about being there for him no matter what made him have a sense of hope.

"We don't need charity," Yvette frowned and said in reply, pushing away the mobile surface containing her uneaten breakfast and newspapers, "I've taken care of it. All I need is for you to take a paper from the house to get it notarized. It's important, so don't lose it."

"What paper?" Franz's gut twisted already knowing what paper it was and how it didn't exist anymore—except for maybe a landfill miles and miles away by now.

"The contract for the sale of my bakery."

But it wasn't just hers. It was their family's. It was his grandmother's legacy and it was his childhood escape; it was a place that was always warm, the lights were dim and cozy, and the delicious smell of bread was constant.

"What if there was another way?"

She seemed taken aback at his question, "What other way?"

"What if I dropped out of school, worked the bakery, got sales up—"

"Franz, dear, you can't—"

"I did."

She looked at him, struck with disbelief at first but knew his hard stare was serious and determined. Her son could be as stubborn as she was.

"I'm donating my semester bonuses and refund entirely toward your medical expenses. I have more that can cover this hospital stay and my plan is to turn the bakery around, even this article helps with publicity, and with hard work, I can cover it."

"Franz—" she said softly. He knew that tone; it was to let him down gently.

"It will work, Mom, it will," he insisted and felt like maybe some of Alanna's optimism had rubbed off in him but there was a dark shadow cast across his conscience that told him that even if was the most determined, hard-working, baker in the world, he couldn't sustain the costs of VBT treatments for her.

She reached out and held his hand, still with that soft tone, "I don't want you working yourself to death on account of me."

And I don't want you to die because I didn't try hard enough.

He withdrew his hand and turned his back on her, his face breaking into emotion—a vulnerability that he didn't want her to see since she thought he was so strong, "It's my decision to fight for what I love."


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