I check her oxygen. The doctor said to keep it at two liters, but she seems to do better at three. I turn it up a little more, all the way to four this time to see if it’ll make a difference.
Next, I bend over to fluff her pillow. “Mom, did you take your meds?”
She rubs the back of her neck, a reminder of her constant aches and pains. “I took my morning and afternoon pills. And before you ask, I didn’t forget my evening pills. I was just about to take them.”
I believe her. She’s been good about taking them lately. Thank goodness I don’t have to worry about that anymore. “Hold on, I’ll get a glass of water.”
I head back to the kitchen with thoughts of strangling my dad and brothers. Mom has been alone in that room since I left this morning. She’s alone all day, every day, and it breaks my heart. Why am I the only one who spends time with her? I’m with her as much as I can be, and I still wish I could do more. Why don’t they feel the same?
I return with the water and help with her meds. She has a hard time swallowing the larger pills, so I break them inhalf with a device I found online. There are a lot of pills, and I have to give them to her one at a time.
“Did you eat anything today?”
“I had some oatmeal this morning, and later I had half a tuna fish sandwich.”
“Mom, we talked about this. You have to eat more.” It’s the same conversation every night. “How about some eggs and hash browns? You always liked that.”
“Maybe. I’m not really—”
“I’ll be right back.” She was about to tell me she’s not hungry, but I don’t care. She has to eat.
I poach two eggs and place them on a pile of hash browns I just finished frying, then add two slices of toast with honey to the plate. She used to love this, but she doesn’t seem to care for a lot of her favorite dishes anymore. Hopefully, eggs and hash browns will appeal to her today. She needs her energy.
After she’s eaten as much as I can get her to, about a measly third of what was on her plate, I take a seat at my sewing machine. I set up my dressmaking station in her room so we can talk while I work. I love the time we get to spend together, and I think she does too. She taught me how to make clothes. Dresses were her specialty, and I found there are plenty of girls who want something special, so I never seem to run out of customers.
It’s a little after ten and I can hardly keep my eyes open. Mom finally fell asleep. It’s the same every night. I can’t help it. I always have to watch her for a moment to make sure her chest is moving up and down. I don’t know what I’d do if she stopped breathing. I don’t think my heart could take it. She has to find a way to beat this thing. She just has to.
To my relief, she’s breathing just fine. Now comes the familiar routine. I turn my sewing machine off and tuck her in. After pulling her blanket up, I kiss her forehead with a soft whisper, “I love you, Mom.”
I turn off her light and wander down the hall back to the kitchen. I’ve been working on laundry throughout the evening, so at least that’s done. Now I just have an entire kitchen to clean. If I hurry, it shouldn’t take more than an hour. I like to get to bed before midnight, then I’ll start again at four in the morning. The dresses won’t make themselves.
Mom is usually up by three-thirty, so she’ll be wide awake by the time I return to her room. She sleeps only a few hours at a time, but at least she naps throughout the day.
As I walk into the kitchen, to my surprise my phone pings. Who would send me a text at this hour?
Rhonda:Did you open it yet?
Open what? I look at the stack of envelopes on the kitchen table. Sure enough, one is from Ms. Southerby. She could have brought what she calls our “special bonuses” to the store and handed them to us in person, but she’s seventy-one and loves envelopes with Disney-themed stamps. April is her bonus month. Rhonda and I think it’s because it’s when she files her taxes. Whatever her reason, it’s the same every year—a fifty-dollar Amazon gift card with a handwritten note.
Maddie:Not yet. Why?
Rhonda:Open it!
What’s she so excited about? I consider it for a second. Business has been good lately. Maybe there’s an extra fifty dollars this year. Lord knows I could use it.
Maddie:Hold on.
As soon as I open the envelope, my jaw drops nearly all the way to the floor. Temporarily immobilized with shock, I find myself standing rigid, staring in disbelief, barely able to comprehend what I’m looking at. A plane ticket to California, along with a car rental? For what? And there’s more! A reservation for a four-day weekend at a resort called Antelope Lodge. There’s a brochure. My fingers are trembling as I pull it open. It says it’s a ski resort in Yosemite National Park, and the photos make it look… luxurious! As I flip through the pages, I don’t understand any of this. There’s even a heated pool and seven hot tubs. Seven? Holy shit! What is all this? Old Ms. Southerby has never done anything like this. In fact, I would have sworn she wasn’t capable of it. With a suspicious eye, I check everything again. Is this some kind of joke? Then my gaze falls back on the giant hot tubs, and I can’t help hoping the whole thing is somehow real.
I’ve experienced a hot tub one time in my boring life. It was at a party I went to with Jake. Relaxing in water that was almost too hot for comfort while getting the most amazing massage from the water jets made me feel like royalty. I remember wishing it could last forever.
That was back when I was in lovewith Jake. The hot tub belonged to one of his coworkers at the lumber mill. While he and his friends got drunk and ran around doing stupid stuff with a bunch of fireworks, I just sat there in that bubbly heaven, by myself with my head tilted back, eyes closed, enjoying the whole thing while thinking it was the best night of my life.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something else in the envelope. As I pull it out, my breath leaves my lungs. A check for five hundred dollars!
I grab my phone.
Maddie:Is this real?
