Quintessa let go of Tyrone''s hand and turned to leave the room. Manny nced at him, quickly


    grabbed her stuff, and followed her out.


    Tyrone felt as if there was a lump in his chest, making it impossible for him to voice his feelings. He


    wanted to call out to Quintessa, to say something - anything - but the words just wouldn''te. He


    could only watch as she walked away.


    He didn''t immediately chase after her. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the hospital bed, trying to


    sort through the jumble of emotions clouding his mind. He felt utterly miserable.


    His phone began to ring, but Tyrone was in no mood to check or answer it. However, the relentless


    ringing eventually wore him down, and he checked the caller ID to see it was his mom.


    With a heavy sigh, he answered, "Hey, Mom."


    "Ty, where have you been hiding these past few days?"


    He lied effortlessly, "Busy, workingte."


    Mrs. York snapped back, "Workingte, my foot! I went to your office, and Jason told me you haven''t


    been in for two days."


    Caught in his lie, Tyrone remained unfazed, "Oh, I was on a business trip."


    "A business trip? Since when do you go on business trips alone? Don''t treat me like a fool, Ty."


    "I''m dealing with some stuff, Mom. Just leave it."


    He was about to hang up but then thought better of it, "Mom, what does it mean if you see someone


    doesn''t care about her own well-being, never relies on anyone else, and would rather bleed out than


    ask for help, but it makes you feel bad inside?"


    Mrs. York replied, "Well, like there''s a weight on your chest, suffocating and aching in a dull, persistent


    way?"


    Surprised, Tyrone eximed, "Exactly! How did you know? Mom, when did you get so insightful?"


    Mrs. York scoffed, "Tyrone, who are you worrying over?"


    Tyrone rolled his eyes, "Worry? It''s just she seemed pitiful."


    "My dear boy, when have you ever pitied anyone? If you feel sorry for her, that means you genuinely


    care. Who is she? Tell me." Tyrone felt his heart somehow race at those words, as if something serious


    was about to happen; he replied, "It''s no one."


    Mrs. York pressed, "Is it possibly?"


    He quickly interrupted, "Stop guessing, Mom. I''ll tell you when I figure it out, okay? Gotta go."


    "Wait, son, are you in Zion City right now?" Mrs. York''s voice trailed off as Tyrone ended the call. "That


    little rascal." Mrs. York cussed, tossing her phone aside, calling out, "Wilma! Wilma!" Wilma hurried


    over, "Yes, ma''am?"


    Property of N?)(velDr(a)ma.Org.


    Brightening up, Mrs. York dered,


    ant


    "Find us a tour group to Zion Citet maybe a three-day el


    package. We''re going on


    Wilma was stunned, "A trip?"


    Mrs. York rarely traveled, especially not on a whim, and when she did, it was usually to some renowned


    international destination.


    With a wave of her hand, Mrs. York urged, "Hurry up. I need to pack. Traveling in this heat is going to


    be dreadful."


    Wilma, puzzled, asked, "But why join a tour group? We could just go by ourselves."


    "You don''t understand. Going by


    ourselves makes it look intentional. Joining a tour is different; it''s all


    arranged by them, so it doesn''t seem like I''m meddling." S


    Wilma couldn''t help but think that the was a bit wed, but then


    mother and son offer!!??


    shared the same peculiar reasoning.