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“Yes, well...” Jennelle sniffed, communicating just how little she thought of her daughter’s brand of help. She ignored Miranda and smiled for Talen’s sake. “I had a lovely time with you, little man. Next time we’ll have to meet at the park and have lunch.” She shot her daughter a look. “If your mother approves, of course.”
“That’s not fair,” Miranda said in a low voice. “You never stop hitting below the belt, do you?”
“I’m merely saying—”
“I know what you’re saying and it’s bullshit.” Jennelle’s eyes widened at Miranda’s foul language but Miranda didn’t care. “Talen, get your things. It’s been a long day and it’s time to go.”
“But Grandma’s house still stinks,” Talen said, looking worriedly at the mess.
Miranda glared at her mother as she helped Talen into his coat. “Grandma likes it that way,” she said with disgust. “Let’s go.”
They left and Miranda felt deflated. She’d tried to make her mother feel safe enough to trust her with the cleanup but each item seemed to have some special significance in Jennelle’s life. Mostly all they’d done was move piles around. Jennelle had only allowed Miranda to throw away the equivalent of one garbage bag in an entire day of work.
What a waste of effort.
“Why is Grandma so messy?” Talen asked as they drove home.
“I don’t know,” she answered her son. “She didn’t used to be that way. She’s different now.”
“Why’d she change?”
“I think when Aunt Simone died, Grandma’s heart and mind changed,” she said. “But only Grandma knows for sure. Thanks for all your help today. You were awesome and I think you deserve some hot cocoa for that.”
Talen smiled. “I don’t mind. Someone has to help Grandma because she’s all alone. Except for the ghost but I don’t think they talk all that much.”
Miranda didn’t know if Talen meant a figurative ghost or a literal one. She hoped it was figurative. That was all she needed to deal with on top of everything else—a real ghost haunting her damn mother’s house!
“Well, we managed to clear the sofa enough for people to sit somewhere,” she said, trying to look for anything positive so it didn’t feel as if the whole day was ruined.
“Yep. And now Grandma can stop sleeping in the bathtub.”
“Bathtub?” Miranda was appalled. “Why do you think she sleeps in the bathtub?”
“I saw blankets and a pillow in there.”
Miranda didn’t know what to say. She swallowed and forced a smile. “Yeah, a sofa is probably far more comfortable than a bathtub to sleep.” Lord have mercy... She hoped Trace got here soon. She was this close to turning her mother over to the authorities and letting them sort everything out. Somehow, she had to push from her mind the knowledge that her mother was sleeping in the bathtub because she’d been pushed from her own bed by her disease. If she didn’t, she’d turn the car around and drag her mother out by her ear and demand that she come to her senses.
Not that it would work.
Her mother had a stubborn streak that was damn near legendary.
Kind of like her own, she mused.
She thought of Jeremiah and her stubborn refusal to send his letter of recommendation for her when she’d submitted for that position. He’d been right: she had been cutting her nose to spite her face but she’d been angry and hurt.
Now she just felt stupid.
How did she manage to keep making dumb decisions that could potentially affect her entire future? She glanced at Talen and felt an overwhelming surge of love and despair. She wanted the best for Talen...but so far she’d done a terrible job of providing it.
How was she supposed to fix that?
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
IT’D BEEN TWO WEEKS since Jeremiah and Miranda had said their piece to one another and in that time Jeremiah had done plenty of soul-searching. He’d vowed to make some changes in his life, starting with one very important thing.
As he pulled Tyler’s pictures from the box, he was bowled over by the wash of emotions they stirred—both happy and sad. When he wasn’t sure if he could suppress the sadness, he let it knock him down and he sobbed until his voice was hoarse and his nose ran with snot. It was an ugly cry, the kind they never show in the movies, because sometimes human biology was gross.
But when he emerged from that dark place, his soul felt light. He knew there would be more tears and more grief but each time there would be less. This was the process he was supposed to go through when Tyler had died but he’d run away from it, refusing to succumb to the natural stages of grieving. Perhaps by not grieving, his subconscious was made to believe that he could pretend that his son hadn’t died. Who knew? All he knew was that it felt good to remember Tyler and look at his pictures without immediately shying away from anything that had to do with his son.
