“It's okay," I whispered. “Everything is going to be okay.”
"No." She shook her head slowly. "No, it's not okay."
When her gaze landed back on me, my stomach twisted because I recognized that look. The guilt. The shame. The self-loathing. I'd seen it before in her eyes. In mine too. In Kelly’s also.
"I shouldn't have told her to take it,” she whispered.
"Mom, let’s watch the game show and...”
"I saw the job post and thought it would be an easy job for Kelly to work on, to build her confidence,” she continued, staringdown at the blanket. “She tried to explain why we couldn’t take it. Tried to tell me who the family was that we’d be spying on. But it didn’t register... in here.” She tapped her head hard.
I had to grab her hand to make her stop.
“It’s okay, Mom...” I started.
“It's not,” she cried. “Little Kelly tried to tell me it wasn’t a good idea. I got mad at her. I thought she was treating me like an old lady, saying I didn’t know how to run The Circuit in your absence. I thought...”
“Mom,” I cut her off. “It’s okay. I’ve taken care of everything.”
“They’ll never let it go,” she cried. “Families like that don't forgive things like this. When they find out what I did...”
“They won’t find out. I’ve handled it.”
“It’s too much for you to handle alone,” she told me.
“I’m stronger than I look, Ma. You raised me to be strong. I can handle this.”
"I thought I was helping Kelly gain more experience,” her voice cracked. “She hates me now, doesn’t she? She blames me for making her do it, for getting her into this trouble.”
“No, Mom. I’m protecting her. I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“It’s all my fault...” Another sob escaped her.
My chest ached for my mother, for Kelly, for Marcel. I blamed myself for it all. I should’ve noticed something was wrong. I should’ve been paying more attention. Those times when sheforgot things, I shouldn’t have listened when she said it was just old age.
Nobody knew the dementia had already started. No one noticed the signs. Everyone thought she was okay. But I was her daughter. I should’ve noticed that her forgetfulness wasn’t normal.
"Kelly said she wanted to call you to see if it was okay,” my mother cried. “I should've let her. I shouldn’t have gotten angry, thinking the younger generation was trying to shut me out of what I’d helped build."
"Mom..."
"I should've waited until you got back." Her breathing became uneven. "I should've remembered our rules, our protocols. I couldn’t remember them. I can’t remember... a lot of things. Everything feels... broken... in my head. Some memories... I can’t reach them.”
Those last words shattered me. My mother hadn’t remembered she wasn't supposed to take jobs like that. She hadn’t remembered that there was a list of families we didn’t get involved with.
The cruel irony was that now she couldn't stop reliving that mistake, couldn’t stop blaming herself, and feeling guilty. Pulling her close, I tightened my arms around her as she cried against my shoulder.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure everyone is okay. I promise.”
“Oh, Little Flower, what is wrong with me?” she cried.
“I’ve got you, Ma. I’ve got you.”
That was all I could say as I rocked back and forth, holding her the way she held me so often when I was growing up. I don’t know how long I sat there, rocking her and humming softly.
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
I hummed and rocked her until she fell asleep. Then I lowered her onto the bed and tucked her in. Rising to my feet, I stared down at her. She looked so peaceful. But her tear-stained face broke my heart.
