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I was a plague to this town.
Quicker, I moved on the sidewalk. Needing somewhere to gather my thoughts I saw the nursing home, A Home Away From Home, where Mom stayed. At the counter, I greeted the receptionist who eyed me with disdain. She was Rachel’s cousin, Ashley. Would she give Mom less attention because of me? This had to be corrected. Mom could not suffer because of my sins.
“I wanted to say goodbye to my mom if that’s okay. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
The attitude toward me instantly softened at my announcement. “Of course.”
Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to do, but if I wasn’t walking around town it shouldn’t be a problem. For now, I’d focus on Mom.
Not a word was spoken as I followed the woman down the long pale-blue painted corridor. The place was cozy giving a home-away-from-home feel which suited the name of the place. During high school, I’d volunteered here two afternoons a month helping with the activities in the communal room.
At room 218, Ashley announced, “Here she is. Your mom is having a good day. We love having her. Your father comes often. You have a great family, London.”
There was so much I missed through the years. I wasn’t able to be here to help Dad with Mom. I hated it. Hated myself. The actions of my past angered me. All my fault. Emotions tumbled over me. My bottom lip trembled at my thoughts. “Please take good care of her.”
“I promise.”
The woman left me alone.
Mom sat in a chair starring out into the garden. Her brown hair was cut short, above her ears. I remembered it being long like mine. I traipsed cautiously farther into the room.
“Mom.” Hollow eyes looked my way. “Hey, Mom, it’s me, London.”
She started singing “London Bridge Is Falling Down.” Her frail body still had the sing-song voice that sung me to sleep on countless nights. But clearly she wasn’t lucid and my chest hurt. Her hand shook as the empty hollows of her eyes looked past me. The vivacious mother who dried my tears when I was upset . . . was gone. When we were together
our laughter filled the room and now only an eerie version of a childhood song I always avoided since it had my name echoed against the walls. If only I was able to turn back time to those memories and escape.
So much changed while I’d been in prison. More than I imagined. A place I never wanted to leave was now becoming my nightmare.
Something more was going on.
Mom sung the song again. I sat in the windowsill, hugging my knees to my chest as I looked out into the park, thinking about earlier at the bakery. Marion acted scared. Scared of what? I know what happened was horrible. I lived with it every day. If I could change anything, it would be to give the boy his life back.
Mom stopped singing and I watched her look out into the park.
“I had a girl named, London. She was a dancer.” Mom spoke the words with love.
“I know. She loves you a lot.”
Mom closed her eyes. “She was taken from me. Someone did something to her.”
Oh, how I wish that was true. The tears choked me like a hand grabbing at my throat.
Mom gazed at me. Her eyes squinted as if she was working something out. Just as fast, the cloud returned. “Come here, sweet child, you look sad. A hug helps everything.”
I raced into my mother’s arms, grateful for the affection. “I love you, Mom. I’ve missed you.”
There was no response for a few minutes. Then quietly Mom said, “I hope someone is giving my London lots of hugs. I miss her so.”
“I bet they are.”
Squeezing her tighter, I pretended to be back in our farmhouse, in my room, hugging like we had a million times before. Releasing her, I stepped back and sat in the chair while Mom hummed more songs from my childhood while she impassively watched out the window.
After some time, Mom fell asleep. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to be near her. I looked back at the park. The last time I’d been there was with Millie.
We laid on the blanket while eating a sandwich Mom had packed us. We were home for summer break. It was the end of May. Life was perfect. The first year at Juilliard had been amazing.
I took another bite as I watched the lazy clouds pass by. “Have you told Charles about your thoughts?”
