Laura Fry stood at the edge of the driveway, looking at the two-story house she’d grown up in. Memories flashed through her mind quickly—like playing on the swing on the old oak tree in the back—bringing a smile to her face. Unfortunately, the swing was long gone. Then her eyes landed on the wheelchair ramp, and her smile vanished as quickly as it had come. With a sigh, she closed the door to her car, not even bothering to take anything with her. The car was packed to the gills with her stuff but…she could always change her mind. Couldn’t she?
“No, you can’t,” she murmured. Her sister would kill her.
She still couldn’t believe that Carla had talked her into this. Guilted her into it was more like it. Yeah, yeah…Carla was married. Carla had two kids. Carla had a real job. Laura? Not so much.
She took the steps to the front door instead of using the ramp. She noted the house was badly in need of a paint job. The flowerbeds were filled with weeds, not flowers. The yard needed to be mowed. She paused at the door, hand raised. Should she knock? Should she knock and wait or should she knock and go inside? Frankie wasn’t here, she reminded herself. No need to be hesitant about going inside. She took a deep breath, then tapped her knuckles three or four times on the door.
“It’s unlocked,” a voice called from inside. Her mother’s voice.
With another deep breath, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Her mother was in the short entryway, waiting. Not using her walker, which Carla said she should be using. No, she was in the wheelchair. For effect. For sympathy. For guilt, maybe.
Well, this is getting off to a fine start.
“Hello, Mom,” she said dryly.
Her mother pursed her lips together. “Laura. I hardly recognized you. Have you gained weight again?”
Again? I’m going to kill Carla for making me do this!
But she forced a smile to her face. As much of one as she could muster, that is. “No, I haven’t. At least I don’t think so. My clothes still fit.”
“And what have you done to your hair? It’s certainly not flattering on you.”
Laura reached up, touching her now shorter locks. Dare she tell her she had a breakdown one day and cut it herself? No. As she’d told Thomas, she needed a change. It took him an hour to fix her mess. She liked it now. But she voiced none of that to her mother. Instead, she walked closer. “Are you having a bad day? Carla said you weren’t supposed to use the wheelchair. She said you could get around with the walker.”
“How would she know? She’s come by only once since…since the funeral, as if I can manage on my own.” Her eyes narrowed. “But at least she bothered to come by. You? How long has it been?”
Laura mentally threw up her hands. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But, no. She could do neither. Her mother was in a wheelchair, for God’s sake. She couldn’t just walk out on her. She wasn’t however, going to play games.
“I don’t know how long it’s been, Mom. How long were you married to that jerk? Seven years?”
“Laura Sue Fry! The man has been buried less than a week. Have you no decency?”
Laura rolled her eyes. “I hated the man, Mom.”
Her mother raised her chin. “He was my husband,” she said, as if that mattered.
“He was an obnoxious jerk! Nobody liked him! Nobody could stand to be around him!”
“You never took the time to get to know him. He was a good man.”
“No. Dad was a good man. Frankie didn’t come close.”
“Your father left me a widow at fifty-eight. What was I to do? Live the best years of my life alone?”
“No, Mom. But you didn’t give it a chance. You grabbed the first jerk that came along. You let him move in with you!”
“I’ll not have you talk about Frankie that way!”
She pointed at the wheelchair. “He’s the reason you’re in that chair! He’s the reason you can’t live alone at the young age of sixty-five!”
Her mother stared at her in disbelief. “How dare you?”
“I dare because it’s the truth.”
Her mother spun her chair around. “You are simply too hard to get along with. You always were. Your father spoiled you rotten! I told Carla this would never work.”
“So did I! She made me come anyway,” she yelled to her mother’s retreating back. She grabbed the bridge of her nose and squeezed it.
Well, that actually went better than I expected.