Saved By You (15 page)

My eyes flashed, horrified.

“Oh,” I said.

He nodded and waved a hand at everything already laid out on the counters. “So, we’ve got our work cut out for us,” he said.

Sarah and I looked at each other, suddenly very anxious.

“Oh boy,” I said.

Uncle Larry said the Hospice center would be delivering the hospital bed in the afternoon, so we needed to clear out the space for them. We spent the better part of an hour moving the furniture around. The floor was tiled, which made the moving easier. Uncle Larry didn’t have any details on how long Mom would be bed-ridden—we would find out more when she got home.

The rest of the house was another issue, entirely. It wasn’t a mess, but it was huge, and so was our family. Uncle Larry didn’t know who all would show up, but once the cousins started showing up, all bets were off.

It took a little over an hour for Sarah and I to get the rest of the house in working order. There would be more to do once Aunt Denise was home, but Uncle Larry said it was more important that we pick up things from the grocery store. He shoved a long list in front of us, and told Sarah to just put it on the credit card.

When we got back from the grocery store, Sarah’s little Volvo was weighed down until it was almost touching the ground. The total at the grocery store had been more than I cared to guess. There was no way we were going to run out of food or soda any time soon.

It took a solid ten minutes just to get the car unloaded, with both of us making repeated trips back and forth. As soon as Sarah pulled the last bag from the trunk, we heard the deep rumble of an engine coming up the little hill. Sarah and I both looked over just in time to see Aunt Denise’s Tahoe round the final little turn toward the house.

Mom was here.

Mom was home.

The Tahoe pulled into the driveway as Sarah slammed the trunk shut. I could see the hunched figure of Mom in the backseat, and everyone had a huge smile on their face.

We rushed to help Mom get out of the truck. Aunt Denise grabbed a wheelchair from the back, snapping it open with a quick jerk. Mom sat in it, and we wheeled her inside. She had a distant look in her eyes, as though she were still loopy from whatever drugs the hospital had her on.

She was small—frail. She looked like she had lost another twenty pounds in the last few days. I didn’t know where all the weight was going, but just thinking about it sent a chill through my spine. She looked like less of a person. She wasn’t the same woman that had just driven cross country with me.

We wheeled her into the guesthouse and managed to get her into the tiny bed in the guest bedroom. When hospice arrived, we’d move her into the more comfortable hospital bed. With a bit of help, Mom was able to lift herself out of the wheelchair and slide into bed. Her face was twisted and spread in pain as she did. The strain in her face didn’t fade for a few minutes after she was situated in bed.

The pain in her face so apparent that I winced along with her. I wished there was something I could do to make her feel better—but there was nothing. It was the first time in my life that I felt truly helpless to help her. After all we’d been through together, I’d always been able to make her feel better. I’d been able to hold her hand, or tell her a joke, or just sit with her, knowing that everything was going to be fine. But not this time. This time there wasn’t anything to do. I wondered if anything could save her at this point.

It wasn’t until she was settled in bed for a few minutes, that she finally looked at me. Her eyes were gaunt and distant. I flashed her a soft smile, and her lips curled up at the ends a bit, too. It was a slight thing, but it made me feel a little better.

“I’m going to make sure everything is ready for later,” Grandma announced.

Everyone murmured their agreement, and Mom and I were left alone. I sat down on the edge of the bed, and rubbed her leg. Her smile widened a bit.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said. I shook my head, unable to look her in the eye. “I acted like a child, and I know you raised me better than that.”

Mom didn’t say anything, instead she raised her hand and twitched her fingers at me. I reached out and took her hand in mine.

“It’s fine, dear,” she said after a while. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. “You were right. You had a reason to be upset. I shouldn’t have kept so many things from you.”

We sat in silence for a while. All of the questions in my mind just didn’t seem important anymore. Seeing how pained she was, how sick she was, gave me a little perspective. I felt even worse for the way I’d acted. I’d been childish.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not fine,” I said. “There was no excuse for the way I acted. I should have been there with you the whole time. If you don’t want to tell me how you know Scottie, then that’s fine. It doesn’t really matter anyway, right?”

Her mouth pinched together in a little smile, and she gave me a nod. We both sat in silence for a while. I gave her hand light squeezes, and each time she gave me a tight little smile. After a while, she glanced out the window, her eyes going distant for a time. The sky was blue outside—peaceful. I was glad she had a view of it.

“He’s an old friend,” she said, suddenly. My eyes locked on her, but she remained staring out the window. “We met a very long time ago—before I even met your father.”

I winced, but tried to keep it hidden. We didn’t talk about
him
very often. As far as we were concerned, there wasn’t anything to talk about.

“We were good friends for a long time,” she said. “Like Huck and Sarah. We grew up together in Houston, and Grandma would always say we were thick as thieves.” She let out a small laugh as she thought about it. “Whatever that meant.”

I laughed along with her, and her smile widened. I could hear Grandma saying that.

“So Grandma knew about him the whole time?” I asked. “Why didn’t she tell you he was here?”

Mom almost shrugged, but winced in pain before her shoulders moved much. Her hand tightened around mine. I ran my other hand along her arm, trying to comfort her. Her eyes were thankful.

“It seems like we’re not the only ones that keep things from each other,” she said.

A pang of guilt ran through me.

“So what happened?” I asked, pressing forward. “Why did you guys stop being friends?”

“Sometimes that’s just what happens,” she said. Her eyes closed as she tilted her head to the side. Then, she went back to looking out the window. “When you get to be an adult, you have to start making adult decisions. Sometimes, that means things have to change.”

I frowned. There was something she wasn’t telling—something she was leaving out. I could feel the pain in her voice. It wasn’t physical, it was caused by a memory. Sometimes I thought about my dad and the way things might have been if he hadn’t started drinking. I imagined that I looked the same way she did right now anytime I thought about those possibilities.

“I bet you’re happy to see him again,” I said. She smiled, and tilted her head in a nod.

“It’s unexpected,” she said. “But, it’s very nice.”

“I’m glad it makes you happy,” I said.

We sat in silence for a while longer. I wondered what it would be like to be reconnected with someone after so long. I thought of Huck and Sarah and everything they’d been through. I couldn’t imagine the two of them ever not being in each other’s lives. Had Mom ever had those kinds of thoughts about Scottie?

“We’re going to have a lot of people over here later,” I said. “Hope you’re ready for that.”

Mom grinned. “It’ll be nice to see everyone. And to have some good food. I was getting sick of that crap they were giving me at the hospital.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I can’t even imagine.”

She gave me a long look. “Why don’t you go help Grandma, dear?” she said, then. “I think it’s about time for my afternoon nap.”

I nodded at her. “Sleep well. We’ll wake you up later.”

She closed her eyes and every muscle in her body relaxed. I watched her for another minute before I gently lifted my hand away. Her breathing fell into a steady rhythm, and a wave of relief came over me. She looked more peaceful at home than she had at the hospital. Maybe that meant she was feeling better. Maybe that meant there was hope for things to work out, after all.

I let out a soft breath, giving her one last look, and left her there to rest.

There wasn’t much left to be done around the house. Uncle Larry fired up the grill and began throwing slabs of meat on it, and Aunt Denise arranged the various refreshments and condiments that Sarah and I had bought.

Around one in the afternoon, the Hospice truck pulled into the driveway. Uncle Larry and two of the guys from Hospice lifted and rolled the thing into the guesthouse. It was a tight fit to get it through the door, but with Aunt Denise and Grandma’s guidance they made short work of it.

Mom napped for a few hours. After the bed was setup with fresh linens, Grandma woke her and we all moved her to her new bed in the living room of the guesthouse. From there, she could see out the windows overlooking the backyard. Her bed had a perfect view of the pool, the grill, and the entire area where the family would be milling about later on in the day. Mom’s spirits were lifted immediately, and, as a result, we all had big smiles on our faces.

A few hours later, people starting arriving. There were faces that I recognized but didn’t really know. I hadn’t seen much of my family since we’d moved to Jersey—and they hadn’t seen me. I kept a smile on my face, and wondered people were ever going to stop showing up. I just hoped that someone I recognized would get there soon—someone I could cling to, and catch up with.

Of course,
everyone
knew
exactly
who I was—I blame it on my hair. They were quick to come up and throw their arms around me, and tell me that everything was going to be alright. I appreciated all the thanks, but part of me was frustrated that they felt the need to treat me differently. I hadn’t seen most of them in nearly a decade, so what right did they have presuming to know what I was going through?

After about an hour of that, Sarah came to my rescue and pulled me aside.

“How you holding up?” she asked in a low voice.

I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s all a little overwhelming,” I said. “There are so many people.”

She nodded. “We have a big family—in case you forgot,” she said, with a tiny laugh.

I nodded. “I won’t make that mistake again,” I said.

The younger cousins were quick to don their bathing suits. Water splashed as they jumped off the diving board, and everyone appeared to have a good time. On any normal day, the party could have been mistaken for a joyous event. But it wasn’t, was it? They were there to see my Mom. They were there because she may not have long to live.

As I watched everyone, detached, I realized how fake it all was. I know they were all family, but I wondered where they’d all been when we were in Jersey and needed their help. It had just been Mom and I back then, and why should it be any different now?

But, it wasn’t all bad. There were people, like my Uncle Joe, that I had really missed over the years. He was tall, and gangly, and always had a positive look on things. He ran his own business, and had made quite a success of himself. You wouldn’t know it if you looked at him. He wore a plain t-shirt, and old, faded jeans, and had to be the most down-to-earth man I knew.

“How do you like Jersey?” he asked. He was cradling a beer in one hand, and had the other slipped in his pocket.

I shrugged. “It feels more like home than anywhere else,” I said.

He nodded. “You did a lot of growing up there.”

I agreed.

“Heard you’re going off to college soon,” he said. “Bet you’re excited about that.”

I grinned. “I can’t wait,” I said. “I can’t wait to spend more time in the city. I think I’m really going to love it there.”

“Home is where the heart is,” he said with a tilt of his head.

There was a slow stream of people in and out of the guesthouse visiting with Mom. Grandma stood near the door—a gatekeeper to prevent overcrowding in the tiny living room. Everyone wanted to see her, but there was only so much space. I was thankful she had taken a nap earlier, but I knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep up that pace for long. Smiling and being polite to everyone was going to take its toll, and before long she would be exhausted.

I went in and sat next to her for a while. We held hands for what must have been an hour while people visited all around. I didn’t want to let go—and she never tried to pull away. She squeezed my hand, here and there, and flashed soft smiles my way. She looked happy, and it was relieving. Again, I let myself wonder if everything might be alright, after all.

Over the course of a few minutes, though, the smile in her eyes began to dim. It was a gradual thing, but I noticed it happening. After a few minutes, she looked down at me, confusion painted across her face.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her eyes darting around the room at everyone.

My brow scrunched. “What do you mean, Mom?” I asked.

“Why are all these people here?” she said, her tone growing more urgent.

“They’re here to see you,” I said. “They just want to spend time with you.”

She shook her head, seemingly more confused than before. The look in her eye grew frantic.

“What’s going on?” she demanded. “Tell me right now—what’s going on?”

“Mom…,” I began, not sure what to say. “Mom, everything’s alright. Nothing’s going on.”

She shook her head, violently. It was the quickest motion I’d seen her make since she went to the hospital.

“There’s something you’re not telling me. What does everyone know that I don’t?” she said.

Aunt Denise was nearby, and she rushed to my aid.

“Patricia, everything’s fine, dear,” she said in a high voice. She sat on the bed next to Mom, putting an arm around her. “Everything’s fine.”

Mom looked at her, the panic still in her eye. Her body was tense.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “Everyone’s here because they know something I don’t. What did the doctors tell you? What’s going on?”