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“And underwear.”
Underwear was something he did know about, especially the lacy stuff worn by Victoria’s Secret models. The sound of her boots on snow and gravel seemed unusually loud as she followed behind him toward the back door. He wondered if he should warn her about his mother. Give her a quick heads-up, but how could he explain Geraldine Brown? He’d tried in the past, but people tended not to believe him when he told them that his mother’s illnesses were all an act. That she was at death’s door at least twice a year. It sounded crazy because it was crazy. If he talked about it, people tended to think he was crazy, too. Either that or a coldhearted asshole of a son who didn’t care about his dying mother.
The back door squeaked as Sean opened it, and Lexie followed him inside. Instantly he was reminded of exactly why he’d stopped bringing his friends home at the age of twelve. Pill bottles and every kind of over-the-counter medicine took up most of the counter space. And just like when he’d been a kid, a rush of heat rose up his neck and face.
“Sean?”
He paused in the middle of the small kitchen as the old familiar heat scalded his esophagus. As a kid, he’d always had the most embarrassing mother on the block, or at his school, or sitting in the bleachers.
“Is that you? Are you back?”
This latest illness had been inspired at the medical clinic when a nurse suggested she get a glucose tolerance test for pancreatitis. “Were you expecting someone else?” Six months ago, she’d gone to the doctor for a scratchy eye, but she’d left his office at death’s door. Again. That time angina had come knocking and, of course, she’d answered.
He stepped into the living room and was somewhat relieved to see his mother lying in her recliner, covered by one of the multicolored afghans she was always crocheting. An Elasto-Gel Cranial Cap covered her head, secured with Velcro around her throat. He’d bought her the cooling cap when she’d had “meningitis.” What it had to do with her pancreas was a mystery. One he didn’t care to solve.
“I brought a guest,” he said, and glanced back at the woman close behind him. “Mom, this is Lexie Kowalsky.” He didn’t know which hat was stupider, the fish hat or the cranial cap. “Lexie, this is my mother, Geraldine Brown.”
Lexie stepped around him and moved to the recliner. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Brown.” She actually took his mother’s hand and patted it.
Geraldine turned her head and studied Lexie. “You’re not a local girl.”
“No. I live in Seattle.”
“Well, Sean.” She looked from Lexie’s face to his. “You didn’t tell me that you’d brought . . . a special friend?”
Lexie wasn’t a special anything. “Surprise.”
“I’ll say.”
Lexie dropped his mother’s hand and Sean was almost certain she recognized the Gettin’ Hitched bride. Geraldine Brown watched nonstop television, and Lexie was big news. His mother didn’t mention anything about the show, and Sean grew suspicious.
“How long have the two of you known each other?”
Lexie looked over her shoulder at him and they answered at the same time.
“For a while” collided in midair with “Not long.”
Lexie’s eyes widened. “For a while, but sometimes it seems as if we just met,” she said, then turned her attention back toward his mother. “Has that ever happened to you?”
“Just once. Sean’s father was the love of my life. I felt like I’d known him forever, yet never long enough.” She sighed for dramatic effect. “We were soul mates, but he died when Sean was two.”
Theodore Knox had been his mother’s second husband. She’d gone on to marry once more.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Geraldine managed a chin quiver. “Thank you.”
For God’s sake. It had been twenty-five years. “It’s past noon. Are you hungry, Mother?” he asked before she went into her long-winded story of how she’d tried desperately to nurse the love of
her life back to good health after a fall from a roof in Prince Rupert. His uncle Abe had always said that his mother had become addicted to the attention she received while caring for her dying husband and had turned into an attention-seeking hypochondriac afterward.
“I’m too nauseous to eat.” She reached up and adjusted the Velcro strap beneath her chin. “What do you have in mind?”
“I bought chicken, pasta, apples, bananas, and green vegetables.” His mother didn’t believe in fresh fruit and vegetables, but Sean was more mindful of what he put in his body. During the season, he consumed five thousand calories a day. He ate a prescribed diet of healthy carbs, lean protein, and fresh fruit and vegetables. He drank two to four liters of water, and the occasional vodka tonic or beer.
“Bread?”
“Multigrain.”
