AllFreeNovel
Share Us
8
Dane
I tuckthe realistic-looking baby doll into the crook of my mother’s arm while she watches television from a wheelchair. We sit in the sparsely decorated common room at her facility. The same way we do every day. Though I couldn’t recall what’s currently on the mounted flatscreen. The show occupying my mind is an endless loop of Caiti waving goodbye from her idling red car at the curb as I drove off an hour ago and trying to decipher her unreadable mask. The vulnerability she’s shown thus far is either a rare occurrence she can’t control or a glimpse to an emotional side. Either option, I find a rare treat. I’d rather her be open than attempt to deceive me behind a stone wall of artificial strength. She came to me for help. I’m willing to give her whatever she needs.
The evidence of a strong woman too stubborn to ask for help sits beside me, and I’d do anything to turn back the clocks and give her the aid when she most needed it.
“What’re you doing in my house?”
“I’m here to visit you, Ma.” I gently reach for her hand that’s holding the wheelchair in a death grip.
My mother crying out isn’t a rare occurrence, but what she says in her native Southern twang drives a stake through my heart.
“Get out of my house, Barry!”
Fuck. Hearing her refer to me as my father is a special sort of torture. I thought seeing his features reflected back at me in the mirror was bad enough. The only solace I get is knowing he’s rotting in a prison and can’t hurt anybody ever again. Unfortunately, the lack of proximity doesn’t stop him from occupying my mother’s fragile brain from time to time. The chunks of her life she does remember tend to be from the distant past.
I should have known missing a day would set her off. Her confusion worsens whenever I delay a trip, and this time seems especially bad.
“It’s me, Ma. I’m your son, Dane.”
She yanks her hand from my grasp surprisingly quick. “Someone help me, please!” Her frightened stare moves beyond my shoulder to search out the faces around us. I feel the bruises on my heart with each rapid thump.
“I’ll get someone. Hold on.” I know from experience she won’t settle down until I leave, and she won’t remember this ever happened. This isn’t a common occurrence, but that doesn’t make it any easier to have my mother in such distress over my appearance.
A CNA works her way over at the commotion. “Want me to take her to her room?”
“Please. I’ll just make it worse.”
Sabrina smiles at me. “We’ve got her. I’ll give her one of those treats you brought, and she’ll be good as new.”
Or as good as a seventy-year-old with early onset Alzheimer’s can be at this stage. We’ve had nearly twenty years of practice during her incredibly slow decline.
“Thank you.”
I stand to the side, not wanting to leave until her distress dies down. Sabrina speaks to Ma with a soft smile and quiet tone. She touches her arm and hugs her. Knowing my mother is surrounded by people who care so much makes leaving her each day a little easier. Even these hard ones. I know she’s well taken care of and even loved.
They wheel past, Ma not even twitching her gaze a little bit in my direction. That’s my cue to head home. Tomorrow will be a better day for her.
My heart feels leaden during my walk to my truck. A quick glance in the rearview sends a familiar loathing through me. The day I cease being compared to my father will be one for celebration. The thought sickens me, knowing that day comes when my mom is entirely nonverbal or passes. I clutch the key harder than necessary and jam it into the ignition. A forceful exhale persuades the thoughts away. My cell dings from my pocket, denying their return. For now.
Evie: I don’t know what the two of you are doing over there, but can you send Caiti soon? She’s not answering her phone.
The organin my chest increases its beats. A glance at the time tells me she should have arrived over an hour ago. I punch the truck in reverse and speed off in the direction of home. I’ll make the five-minute drive, and if she’s not there—why the hell would she be—then I’ll sound the alarm. The only thing keeping me semi-calm is the fact she wouldn’t leave without her kid. Not a chance.
Except I don’t really know her. Not like that. I could describe in detail how she sounds when she comes and the location of a little brown mole on the inside of her right thigh. How she’s quiet overall but incredibly responsive in bed.
I also know she’s funny and kind. She’s not afraid to let loose a few tears rather than holding them inside when something strikes her emotionally. And she can verbally spar with the best in a way that turns me way the hell on.
But do I know her well enough to know this isn’t a ploy to leave her kid somewhere safe so she can start fresh?
No. No, I fucking do not.
Heated anger twines itself through my veins until my hands sweat. Coming around the block on my street, I spot her red car. Concern douses the fire inside me. The whiplash from this situation threatens to knock me down. Keeping up with my own life while navigating hers is tricky and unpredictable. Space might do us some good until we figure out our respective roles.
Relief at seeing her in the driver’s seat tames the beast within me. I kill the truck engine behind the red sports car.
“Caiti.” I follow her name with a sharp knock on her window. The flinch of her shoulders sends my stomach pitching, and before I even think, I’m yanking the handle. The door flies open without resistance. “Are you hurt?”
Her hands shake violently where they grip the steering wheel. “No. Not hurt.” The hollow tone is unconvincing. “I-I can’t drive.”
Not understanding, I order, “Look at me.” Her wide, fearful eyes nearly do me in. “Spell it out for me, Mama. What happened?”
“I sat down. I waved as you left, but the panic came back when I turned the key.”
“You had another panic attack?”
Tears spill down her cheeks with her nod. “I can’t do this, Dane. Why is this happening to me all of a sudden?”
“It’s not your fault, pretty girl.” I tuck a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “You’ve been through a lot, and your body is telling you it needs a rest.”
“I’ve never been afraid of driving before. I just drove across the country to get here, but suddenly, I keep thinking what if I drive off the road, or what if I drive into oncoming traffic, or what if I have a panic attack while driving? What if it’s with Ophelia in the car?” Her voice vibrates with a repressed sob.
I slide a finger beneath her chin and tilt her gaze to mine. “If it happens, you can handle it. The only way to know is to face it head-on.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“I’ll help you.” The vow rolls off my tongue with sincerity.
