Page 4 of Don't Trust Her

Mom continues so loudly I have to hold my phone away from my ear. “Your brother had another incident, so I have to get to the institute and deal with that.”

“Okay.” I stop Sophie from spinning, point to her school clothes, and give her a serious look.

She nods, and I head back downstairs.

Mom continues. “I need you to come over here and watch your dad while I go deal with your brother.”

I hold back a groan. So much for that nap. “Can’t Dad’s visiting nurse watch him?”

“He doesn’t have one coming today. We can’t afford to have a nurse here every day.”

“And you can’t schedule a nurse for today instead of another day?” I’m the last person she should ask for help. Dad never listens to me. While he’s forgotten everything else, he seems to remember on some level that I’m his daughter because he doesn’t take orders from me.

“No. We’d have to pay it ourselves. If the insurance would cover it, I’d have someone here all the time.”

“Why don’t you look into a nursing home?”

“We don’t have the kind of money that your husband makes, and I don’t hear either of you offering to pay for Dad’s care.”

Gotta love the mom-jabs. I’m never going to do that to my kids.

“I can stop by after dropping off Owen and Sophie at preschool.”

“Hurry!”

“Don’t worry, I will. Bye, Mom.” I end the call before she makes more demands or tries to guilt me. She seems to think we have an Olympic-sized pool full of money that we swim in every morning, but the cost of the round-the-clock, in-home care that she wants for Dad is beyond even Peter’s income. We’ve offered to help pay for a nursing facility, even though it would strain our monthly budget, but she doesn’t seem to appreciate—or even remember us making—the offer.

She wants everything her way. Nothing else will do, even if it’s a gift.

It’s no wonder I ended up married to Bryant right out of college. That kind of selfish attitude and ungrateful treatment was all I often felt. What I didn’t know was my first husband would take those negative traits to a whole new, unimaginable level.

Dwelling on those toxic personalities is unhealthy and unproductive. I set out to finish my morning chores. As I put the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher, the littles announce they’re ready. We head out a little later than usual, and by the time we get to the preschool, there’s a line at the reception desk.

When we reach the front, Emily gives me a frazzled smile. She has bags under her eyes, and her hair is unusually dull and lifeless.

“Are you okay?”

She rubs her temples. “Just a little headache. No big deal.”

After she checks in the kids, I give them each big hugs. Teacher aides take them to their classrooms while I go to the coffee shop next door and order the largest mocha they offer. I’m going to need it if I have to somehow keep Dad from hurting himself while Mom’s away dealing with my brother.

I don’t even want to know what trouble he’s gotten himself into now. At least he is in an institution, though the only reason why is that it’s court-ordered. Mom tried fighting the judge for the right to keep him home, but that went over as well as expected.

By the time I get to my parents’ house, I’ve already finished my gallon of coffee and chocolate. I’m still not ready to see either one of them. All I want is that nap. Maybe if Mom’s visit to my brother is quick, I can still squeeze in some shut-eye before picking up Owen and Sophie.

I’m not going to hold my breath.

Before I even get out of the car, Mom is on the porch waving frantically for me to get inside. I remind myself I love my parents then force myself to open the door. My feet fight me as I make my way inside.

“What took you so long?” Mom closes the door behind me. “I’ve been waiting!”

“Like I told you, I needed to drop the kids off at school.”

She sniffs my mouth. “You stopped off for coffee.”

“Mom.”

“You should’ve come right over. You knew I was waiting for you.”

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