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One week later and my mind is still firing a mile a minute.
Correction: my mind is firing fifteen thousand miles a minute, one for each dollar of the sign-on bonus Reese dangled in front of me. I feel like one of those Saturday morning cartoon characters: Scrooge McDuck with dollar signs for eyeballs.
I can’t help but do a little jig in my kitchen. For the billionth time in the week since my interview, I find myself on cloud nine. I’ve got a half-empty bottle of self-congratulatory champagne in my fridge and a box of a dozen macarons that I splurged on just because I could. Strawberry and pistachio—my favorites.
But it’s not all sunshine and roses. Because this rose comes with a thorn.
Reese Dalton obviously has an asshole streak, and he’s a rich pro athlete willing to shell out a lot of money for someone to watch his niece. He’s also incredibly guarded about the situation that led him to taking care of her, too.
This could spell a whole lot of not-so-good.
But I need this. I desperately need this, and if I have to overlook a few red flags in the meantime, so be it. That being said, if he turns out to be someone like Eric Harrison, I’ll be smart enough this time to leave a paper trail of his bullshit behind so I’m not out on my ass again.
I take a breath in, breathe it out.
Everything is going to be okay.
Alright. Now that I’m sure that this is real and actually happening, it’s time to tell Mom.
She’s really the reason that I’m over the moon about this job. With what Reese plans on paying me, I can pay off her debt and keep funding her medical care. I can look after her the way she deserves. She’s the most important person in my life, and I’m not going to let anyone or anything get in the way of me doing that for her.
I load up my car with the vanilla macarons I bought for Mom and beeline to her place. She’s been out of the hospital for a few days now after recovering from her fall, and I’m eager to see her again.
Still, it doesn’t stop the fear.
Anxiety spikes when I get to her home. The image of her spread out on her floor haunts me. It wasn’t the first time and it won’t be the last time that I find her in such a state. Unconscious. Body contorted in ways that no person should ever be. No amount of experience prepares you well enough to see your mother like that.
I steel myself and bury all that fear way down deep. I don’t like showing her my stress and my worry. I’m not the one with MS, after all.
I can remember so many times as a child that she tried to hide her symptoms just so she wouldn’t worry me. The least I can do is not make her feel like she has to keep doing that now that I’m an adult.
The atmosphere around the house is much lighter when I pull up. The front windows are open, the breeze setting the checkered curtains to dancing. Music filters outside, something bubbly and upbeat.
A tinkling, sing-song voice joins in. A smile spreads wide across my face as I let myself through the front door.
“Ma! I’m here!”
“In the kitchen, darling!”
Lisa Carter is all of fifty-three, though you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She’s a former hippie child of the 60s who never quite gave up her flower crown. That smile, the glow in her eyes—it’s as infectious as it’s ever been. When she grins at me like that, it’s easy to forget about how she looked sprawled on the floor.
I shove that thought aside, set her box of macarons onto her counter, and wrap her in a big, tight hug. My arms can go all the way around her tiny frame. There’s nothing solid about my mother; she feels like she could be blown over with the slightest of winds. Still, her own frail arms squeeze tight around me as tight as they can. Mama Carter never skimps on the hugs.
“I see you’re feeling better.” I pull back, looking her over now that I’m closer. I keep the worry off my face—at least, I hope I do—and smile at her. She’s got some bags under her eyes and a bit of bruising where her face hit the floor. All things considered, though, she looks good. It could have been so much worse.
“Of course I am, dear. What did you think, I was going to go down and stay down?” She waves her hand like it’s nothing. Pish-posh, it says. Mom has never let me make her episodes into big deals. They roll off her, water off a duck’s back. When I’m with her, it’s easy to adopt that same confidence.
It’s when I’m alone that the fear tends to creep in.
“I brought you a treat. Vanilla macarons.” I scoot the box across the kitchen counter toward her. “A whole dozen, all for you.”
“A whole dozen? You spoil me.” She wiggles in delight as she plucks one out of the box and pops the whole thing in her mouth.
I’m wiggling, too, a smile to match hers warming up on my face. “I have good news, Mom. I got a new client. The pay is insane. Like, really insane. I’m excited. It means things will be a little easier around here.”
“Oh?” Her head tilts, curious. “What about the Harrisons? Are you going to be working double time? You know I don’t want you having to do something like that.”
I swallow back my cringe. I knew she would ask questions I wasn’t ready to answer.
