4
Frankie
Tension satheavy in my shoulders, setting my jaw on edge as I walked back into George’s house.
Some mornings, getting a six-year-old dressed and ready for school felt more vigorous than any fitness class could ever be. Collette overflowed with confidence and curiosity—which was great; I constantly worried how having an absent mother might impact her—but she was as argumentative as a lawyer and sharp as a fox. She would negotiate every step of her routine, as though we didn’t perform it five times a week.
“Let’s save the animal ears for after school,” I said.
“But I’m a cat. How will I be able to hear?” she said.
“You have to wear a coat. It might rain later.”
“But it will clash with this shirt, and I’m fashion,” she said with a snap of her fingers.
And on and on about every single obstacle that stood between her and first grade. Maybe I should set firmer boundaries and be harsher? But I wasn’t her mother; I wasn’t that person in her life. Plus, the world would find a way to crush her on its own, let her feel safe here to be free to be who she wants to be.
This and a thousand other thoughts had me feeling defeated before I’d even made it to a second cup of coffee.
I slumped into the couch, mentally planning what was in store for my work today. I hadn’t even come close to finishing the attic, but it was so cold up there I wanted to wait until warmer months. Plus, bringing those boxes down the shaky wooden ladder made my palms sweat.
I had almost motivated myself off the spot on the couch, from where I’d been staring into space for twenty minutes, when George shuffled into the room.
“Where’s Josephine?” he asked.
My heart skipped; the clenching in my jaw tightened. Wasn’t that the question of the decade? Joey was meant to be back three months ago for Collette and had barely called but a handful of times.
“I’m not—”
“Did she make the bus okay?” George clarified.
I blinked at George. He stood stooped over his cane with deep creases etched on his forehead.
“Oh. You mean Collette?”
“Yes, yes. That’s what I said.”
I let out a slow breath. I drove Collette to her private school, paid for graciously by George. “Yes, George, she’s at school. Would you like some tea?”
“Please. Bring it in my study. I need to talk to you,” he said and turned to shuffle back to where he’d appeared from.
I sighed with great gusto and heaved myself into action.
Ever since his scare a few weeks ago, a misstep that led to him falling, his moods seemed to be less predictable and more often leaning toward the ill-tempered side.
I needed to look into getting some help soon. George wasn’t getting any better, and I worried constantly about him. His moods, his mobility, and his mind worked in tandem against him. Every little bump in the night, I worried he had fallen again. Whenever he forgot a name, I worried he’d never remember it.
It was easier before to say this wasn’t my life and that I was just passing through, but I couldn’t consciously make excuses anymore. George needed me. More importantly, Collette needed me. I couldn’t stay in town with Brooks anymore, I had to be here twenty-four seven just in case.
My arms laden with the tea tray, I backed into his office. Somewhere within the stacks of books and papers was an old desk and typewriter.
Instead of sitting behind the desk, George sat in one of the two wingback chairs facing the fireplace. He leaned forward, resting much of his weight on the cane as he stared into the flames, his mind a million miles away.
I softly cleared my throat and set the tray on the table between the chairs. When he blinked back to himself, his eyes gleamed, and the skin around them was reddened.
“Good. Thank you. Have a seat,” he said.
“Everything okay, George?” I asked.
