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The Langley foundation.
Mia taps me on the leg. “Don’t forget about the unclaimed property thing.”
I love my tiger.
“Oh, Mia also located a little over eight thousand dollars’ worth of unclaimed property owed to his estate from a few different sources. In fact, Mia found all the money.”
Caroline spins the bangle bracelets on her wrist slowly, her gaze swooping between Mia and me. “How much money are we talking about here?”
“It’s a little under three hundred fifty thousand.”
My sister pulls out her phone and opens the calculator app. Chuckling, I cover it with my hands. “We already did the math, sis.”
“And?”
“We got an estimate from Kate, the woman caring for her part-time the last few weeks. She agreed to a reduced salary in exchange for room and board. She hates the apartment she’s in now. I was thinking she could take your old room.”
“So she’ll care for her twenty-four hours a day without a break? That’s too much to ask, even if she’s being paid.”
My sister doesn’t take anything at face value and never makes rash decisions. It’s part of what makes her an excellent mother and human.
“We already discussed a schedule for regular time off. She has recommendations of people in the caregiver community to help during those times.”
Caroline returns to fiddling with her bracelets. “So we’d what? Just let… a stranger move in with her? Unregulated? Is that safer than a facility?”
“Well, she wouldn’t be alone. Not all the time,” I explain.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Mia and I would continue living here. Full-time at first, but once everyone is settled, we’d alternate half the week here and half the week at Mia’s place. That way, we have some privacy as a couple and time with Mom. The best of both worlds.”
“And when we’re not here, we can check in through the surveillance system like Cal’s been doing,” Mia adds, giving my sister the extra reassurance she needs.
My sister’s grin spreads slowly, widening until it reaches her eyes.
I glance at Mia, who’s smiling warmly at us. She holds my mother’s hand in her right and mine in her left. Literally keeping us together.
If she had a third hand, she’d probably be holding Caroline’s too.
“How long?” Caroline swallows audibly and whispers, “How long would the money last?”
“About four years.”
According to the doctor on our last visit, four years is an overly-generous estimate. While we don’t know how much longer we’ll have her, the speed of her decline has increased and will likely continue, which is often how it goes with early-onset cases like hers.
“Excuse me.” The three of us twist quickly toward the meek voice coming from the end of the table. “I’m here,” my mom says, her chin raised proudly.
Son of a bitch.We’re talking about Ma like she’s not here.
But she is still here.
A heavy brick of guilt presses against my chest. “Sorry, Ma.”
“Explain it to me. Please.”
Caroline and I break down the money situation and her options, but she keeps getting hung up on certain words. When she can’t find what she wants to say or ask, she gets irritated. As the conversation goes on, her agitation grows.
“Let’s take a break for dinner,” Mia suggests, popping from her seat. “Who’s helping bring everything to the table?”
