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Marty and Jackie exchange a look of pity, and when Jackie nods in my direction, Marty takes the seat next to me on the couch.
“You’re not okay,” he says. It wasn’t even a question, and I can’t blame him for being so direct. He’s right.
“No,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. “I’m really not.” Uncomfortable with the vulnerability that threatens to rise to the surface, I brush it off with dark humor. “But, you know, Mom’s dead because of me, so I should probably get used to being not okay.”
They don’t laugh. I don’t expect them to.
Jackie leans forward, her eyes wide. “Do you truly believe that?”
She has to ask? She basically accused me of intentionally dehydrating Mom and causing her fall moments after she died. “Uh, yeah.”
Jackie winces as she hunches forward, dropping her head in her hands. “That’s not true, Sam. I’m sorry for making you think you were responsible for such a terrible, tragic accident.”
That’s nice of her to say, but it doesn’t change anything. “You were right, though. I didn’t read the notebook. I let her eat her favorite foods and watchReal Housewives.And I objected when Marty suggested installing that fucking baby gate.”
Jackie doesn’t offer a reply. She leans back in Mom’s chair and pinches her eyes closed.
“I bought it,” Marty says out of the blue.
“What?” Jackie asks.
“The baby gate. I bought it,” he admits, staring intently at the corner of the bottom stair. “It was in my trunk the night of the wedding. I planned to install it the next day.” His gaze lifts to each of us, but just for a second, before dropping to his feet. Then he shakes his head. “Yeah. I didn’t care about your objections, Sammy. I thought it was the right thing to do.” His nostrils flare, and I can see the tears that fill his eyes. “If I had installed it one day earlier. Just…just one day, then maybe…” he trails off, covering his eyes.
I reach for his hand, and he lets me take it.
Jackie sighs heavily. “I saw Mom sleepwalking a few weeks ago, and I didn’t put it in the notebook.” Her voice is shaky as she continues. “When I noticed you guys weren’t writing in it, I stopped writing in it too.” She chuckles softly. “I guess it was my stupid, petty way of punishing you. Like, if you weren’t going to share your observations, then I wasn’t going to either. Which is ridiculous, I know. How would that even be a form of punishment when you didn’t read it to begin with?”
I lean over the arm of the couch and take her hand. She nods as she looks down at where our hands are joined, and a slight smile tugs at her lips. This was hard for her to admit, and I want her to know I’m listening.
“I really meant to tell you about the sleepwalking. It’s not like I wanted you to be in the dark about what was happening with Mom. I just kept forgetting.”
“You should’ve written it down,” Marty adds with a smirk, sending all three of us into a welcomed fit of laughter.
When our laughter fades, I squeeze both of their hands. “I’m dyslexic. I didn’t read the notebook because I can’t.” I lock eyes with Jackie. “Your handwriting is atrocious.”
She doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, she takes my hand in both of hers and shakes her head. “Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us. My god, Sam. How long have you been struggling with this on your own?”
“Since…forever,” I tell her. “Why do you think I had no interest in going to college?”
Marty huffs a breath. “Did Mom know? She must’ve, right?”
“Yeah, she knew,” I reply. “But when my teacher told her, she refused to believe it. I think it embarrassed her, that there was something wrong with me. I told Nate when we were married, and Mylo picked up on it immediately at the library. But other than that, I kept it to myself.”
“I don’t understand,” Marty says. “How could Mom just refuse to do something about it? The school emails me whenever the kids don’t turn in their homework. We’re not even allowed to bake cookies for their classes unless the recipe is allergy-approved by the teacher.”
“Things were different when we were kids,” Jackie clarifies.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Mom essentially told me to suck it up and try harder. I did what I could to pass my classes, and then left town right after graduation. I pursued a career where I didn’t have to read.”
“Jesus, Sammy,” Marty says, his hand covering his gaping mouth. “So you can’t read? Like, at all?”
Jackie barks out a laugh.
I roll my eyes. “Of course, I knowhowto read. It just takes me a lot longer than it does other people. I do it if I have to with contracts, bills, or other important documents, but aside from that, I try to avoid it.”
They each give me a hug, and then pull me in for a final Rodriguez group hug, which lifts my spirits enough to clamber up the stairs and help them sort through Mom’s clothes. It takes hours to empty out the closet and her dresser as we stop to reminisce the moment we recognize a shirt or dress. The task wipes me out, and once we’re done, Marty and Jackie join me in the living room for a little mindless TV watching.
I drift off at one point, but the moment, “Baby gate!” “Dehydration!” and “Sepsis!” jolt me back awake, Jackie tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, “Go back to sleep, Sam. It’s okay. Marty and I are here.”
