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“She and Dad were there for me after my divorce, letting me stay with them rent-free then dipping into their retirement savings to send me back to school for my Education degree. A month of playing nurse for her is the least I can do.”
But when Sam arrived the next afternoon, a month’s worth of clothing, books and knitting piled in cartons in the back of her car giving her an unpleasant sense of déjà vu, she quickly realized that there was much more she could do to repay her mother.
The two-story colonial had always gleamed beneath her mother’s touch, as clean as one of her father’s operating rooms. She didn’t notice the change when she relieved Mel and received a whispered status so as not to wake their napping mother. Then Sam carried the first pile of clothes into her old bedroom.
Dust visibly coated everything and not a light layer either. Balancing her box on one hip, she dug a tattered tissue out of her jeans pocket to wipe off the surface of her desk. She put the box on the newly dusted desktop then looked at the tissue. It was black. She’d have to give the room a thorough dusting and vacuuming before she brought the rest of her things in.
It looked as if her mother hadn’t dusted since Sam’s last visit home at Christmas. The holiday had been just a few months after her father’s sudden death and everyone was still in shock. They’d tried so hard to act happy for Mel’s kids, it had been painful. She’d hurried back to finish her final year of school, leaving early to escape the strained atmosphere of the house where everything reminded her of her missing father.
Curious, she looked in on the shared bathroom. Mold stained the corners of the walls and discolored the shower curtain. Dirt gathered in the nooks and crevices beneath the fixtures, and the once pristine grout was gray and cracked. The neglect wasn’t limited to Sam’s room. That knowledge both relieved and disturbed her.
Mel’s room and the master bedroom were not obviously dirty. But now that Sam knew what to look for, she could see cobwebs stretching between the curtains and the windows, and lines of dust crusting the folds of the curtains.
The first floor, where her mother rested in her father’s old recliner in front of the forty-two-inch plasma television that had been his last big purchase, was marginally cleaner than upstairs. But even there, dust gathered around the bases of furniture and darkened lamp bulbs. Unread mail, magazines and newspapers covered the dining room table and cobwebs skirted the kitchen cabinets.
In fact, the only room that seemed up to her mother’s former standards was the foyer, which anyone coming to pick her up would see, with the unforgiving Florida sun streaming through the open door to highlight any dust or spider webs.
The house had obviously not been cleaned in months. Quietly opening the cupboard under the sink, Sam dug out waterproof gloves, cleaning solution, a bucket and a rag. She’d start in the kitchen.
Half an hour later she’d emptied the black water in the bucket three times until it remained a dingy gray and the kitchen was as clean as she could make it. She had no idea what the sticky stuff on top of the refrigerator had been but felt much better knowing it was no longer anywhere near the food.
As she was rinsing out the rag her mother called from the den, “Melinda? Are you making tea?”
She dropped the rag into the sink and hurried into the den. “It’s Sam, Mom. I was just tidying up the kitchen.”
Her mother frowned, her once-smooth forehead creasing in newly etched lines. “Samantha? When did you arrive?”
“I got in about half an hour ago. You were resting and I didn’t want to wake you.” Sam leaned down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Mel called and told me what happened. I came down to take care of you.”
A happy light sparked in her mother’s eyes, quickly hidden when she glanced away. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to prepare your room. I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Mom! You cracked your vertebrae. I didn’t expect you to clean when you’re supposed to be resting.”
The frown returned. “When your father was alive, I wouldn’t have needed to do anything besides change the sheets. Keeping up with the housework has just been beyond me lately though.”
“Don’t worry about it, Mom. I’m here to help. You tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”
Her mother smiled, relaxing back into the recliner, a brief spasm of pain crossing her face as her back twinged. “How long are you staying?”
“As long as you need me. I’ve got two months before school starts.”
But as days turned into weeks, it became clear that two months would not be sufficient. Her mother had lost interest in everything. She was forced to abandon her gardens and her morning swims due to her injuries. But she also stopped reading, ignored fashion magazines and sale circulars, and couldn’t even sustain her interest for the length of a movie on television. If Sam didn’t put out different clothes for her, she’d wear the same jogging suit every day.
Sam’s new life as a high school math teacher was over before it had even begun. She resigned from her job, canceled the lease on her apartment and moved back home to care for her mother. A part-time work-at-home job proofreading math books and standardized tests gave her a little bit of income. It was a far cry from the indep
endent existence she’d envisioned for herself when she’d gone back to school for her teaching certification, but the warm glow of satisfaction that filled her with each of her mother’s grateful smiles was nearly enough to make up for the lost opportunity.
Caring for her mother kept Sam almost too busy to think about what might have been. But in those odd moments of time between tasks, she occasionally spared a thought for her dreams of independence and accomplishment. The thoughts were quickly dismissed with a stern reminder that she’d had her chance to do something with her life and wasted it. Second chances were earned and she obviously hadn’t done enough to deserve one. Each time the selfish thoughts occurred, she firmed her resolve to earn a second chance by being the best, most helpful daughter she could be, doing whatever it took to help her mother recover.
Yet it seemed that the longer she helped her mother, the less she could do right for her. She tried to tell herself that her mother was cranky and upset because of her long, enforced inactivity, but in her heart, she knew the failing was hers. Over and over she vowed to do better, to do more. Time after time she failed to measure up to her mother’s needs and expectations.
Her mother was at the doctor’s office now, followed by a visit to the physical therapist. Sam had two glorious hours all to herself and hadn’t hesitated about how to spend them. As soon as she’d dropped her mother off, she’d driven to the used book store, looking for escapist fiction to temporarily transport her out of her life.
Her tote bag was already bulging with over a dozen romances, exciting stories of women taking control of their lives and going after what they wanted the way she wished she could. Romance heroines rarely had sick parents who needed constant care. Although if she found a book featuring one, she’d pick it up in an instant.
Having combed the romance shelves, she moved to her other love, fantasy. There wasn’t as much turnover in this section of the store so she located the new books quickly.
A heavy leather-bound volume caught her eye. Most of the books in the store were paperbacks but occasionally someone cleaning out an estate would bring in hardbacks and fancy leather-bound editions. This looked old enough to have been on some collector’s shelves for decades. In faded gold print on the spine was printed, To Serve Man, and in smaller type, “M. Dante”.
