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“Any time, Miles. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”
I end the call with a promise to talk later in the week with an update. Would it be good to have my dad to lean on? Maybe. But he’s spent a lot of years separating himself from the past, and for him it’s better if it stays that way. And, more selfishly, it’s probably better for me, because I don’t know that my mom can handle more of the past haunting her.
chapter twelve
COMFORT IN CONNECTION
Miles
It’s already well after eight by the time I arrive at my mother’s place, and I still haven’t had dinner. I should have stopped to grab takeout on the way over. And asked Kitty if she wanted anything, although I assume she’s already eaten by this hour.
I knock on the door before I let myself in, so I don’t scare the crap out of her. Especially since she’s worried about ghosts.
“Hello!” I call out. “It’s Miles!”
“I’m in the living room!” Kitty replies.
I round the corner and find Kitty in my mom’s lounger, Prince Francis curled up in her lap. I’m envious of the little gremlin. “I hope I come back as a cat or a lap dog in my next life.”
“It’s the life, isn’t it? Being eternally cute, snoozing when you feel like it, never having to make your own meals.” She scratches behind Prince Francis’s ear, and he tips his chin up and headbutts her hand, telling her he’s not done with pets. “How was the home? Did your mother like it?”
I shrug, uncertain if I want to get into this with her or not. “Eh, she doesn’t really understand why she can’t come back here.”
Her expression shifts from hopeful to sympathetic. “Oh no. I’m so sorry, Miles. Does that mean it didn’t go well?”
“It’s going to take her some time to get used to the idea, but once she’s in there and living the retirement life, I’m sure she’ll be okay.” Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I’ll will it to be true.
“I can imagine it’s been a lot for her, being in the hospital, not really understanding where she is or how long she’ll be there.” Kitty’s empathy is soothing, but it also reinforces all the worries I’m still not sure what to do with.
“Yeah. This whole thing is a lot to get my head around, so I can only fathom what it’s like for her.” I don’t know when Kitty got so easy to talk to, but this is a lot nicer than the earlier bickering matches.
“Change is scary.”
“It is, isn’t it? Anyway.” I wave a hand around in the air, not wanting to drag Kitty’s mood into the dumps along with mine. “You had some issues last night. I probably should have filled you in before now, but, uh—I honestly didn’t realize that room hadn’t changed since my parents’ divorce.” Which sounds doubly horrible since Kitty lost her dad and stuck by her mom all these years. Hell, she still lives with her so she can help with the house.
“I thought the room I’m sleeping in used to be yours.” She scratches Prince Francis under the chin.
“It is. It was. The other room belonged to my brother.”
“Oh. I thought you said you were an only child.” She absently scratches between Prince Francis’s ears. “Does he live far away or something?”
I shake my head and rub the back of my neck, too over-whelmed with everything to soften the revelation. “He died when I was eleven.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry.” She stops petting Prince Francis and carefully lifts him from her lap, setting him on the lounger. It’s then that I notice the cat is wearing a tiny sweatshirt. “I didn’t realize,” she says softly.
“I probably should have told you sooner. I don’t really like to talk about it. Basically, when that happened, my family fell apart.”
She gives me a soft, sad smile. “I get it. Or sympathize, at least, about not wanting to talk about it. But maybe we could look at the room and make sure there isn’t anything living in there that shouldn’t be?” She clasps her hands. “I didn’t want to go snooping around while you weren’t here.”
“I should have given the go-ahead to look around.”
“Eh, I sort of wanted backup, in case there really is a portal to another dimension behind the closet door.” She gives me a hesitant smile, and I return it with one of my own.
“Let’s have a look.” I incline my head toward the stairs.
She follows me down the hall to my brother’s bedroom. My palms dampen as I approach the closed door, and I remind myself that it’s just a room. As a math and logic person, I’ve never put a lot of stock in the idea of haunted houses. There’s always an explanation. So there really isn’t a reason for the heart palpitations, or the sudden roll in my stomach, apart from the memories I can’t let go of.
