Good Intentions (part 5)

“Look here.” Mr. Reynolds pulled back a sleeve of the hospital gown. A beautifully detailed, faded Pegasus tattoo covered his shoulder, wings unfurling for flight. “Got this in 1985 to honor her.”


“Debbie,” he sounded wistful. “Your mom.”

It was like he’d punched her in the diaphragm. “Um, I need to, uh,” Julia gasped, “I need to leave. I forgot something.”

Mr. Reynolds reached for her hand.

“No.” She shook off his fingers.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no,” she stammered. “You didn’t. I’m not. It’s okay. Really. I’m just not, oh, excuse me.” She ran from his room, found the nearest bathroom, and threw up.

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