Ma got off work even later than expected. “Lord,” she said, collapsin’ into a window seat on the bus ride home. “I am worn clear down to the bone.”

She settled in, with her bag on her lap and a care package of leftovers at her feet. The director had forced monster-sized helpings of food on any of the day-shifters who’d stayed late to clean up. They were packed in plastic containers and put inside big cloth bags.

I wasn’t sure what-all was in ours.

I was praying there was no zombie turkey.

Ma might have been worn clear down to the bone, but her mouth sure wasn’t actin’ like it. The minute she sat down, it started flappin’ away, forgettin’ all about her fancy g’s.

“All that work we did makin’ sure everything was perfect?” she moaned. “Why’d we bother? It was like bein’ in a room with two-year-olds.” She gave a little snort. “That’s what everyone says, right? They become children again. They squall and cry and demand and fight. And I’ve seen ’em swipe food, or spit it back out, but Lord, an actual food fight? And the families just sat there.”

“It was pretty crazy,” I offered.

“Yes,” she said, turning to face me square-on. “Yes, it was. There is no other word to describe it. You can say it again.”

“Ma’am?”

“It’s okay. Say it again.”

“Crazy?”

“Yes. That is the one and only word for tonight. Crazy.”

I laughed. “And here I was tryin’ to quit sayin’ it.”

She laughed, too, then heaved a big sigh and went quiet. I just sat watching the wheels turn in her head, until finally what she was thinking began slipping out. “Today was hard the whole way around.” She slid a look my way. “Except for one thing.”

I thought back, trying to figure what that might be. It had been a long one, that’s for sure, from Mrs. White dying to cleaning up after a food fight.

“You and Isaac,” she said, saving me from recalling the details.

“Me and Isaac?”

“Mm-hmm. It was so nice to see you playin’ with someone.”

“We weren’t playin’.”

“Maybe I was readin’ those happy cheeks wrong?”

“What happy cheeks?”

“The ones you were wearing when you came sneakin’ in from whatever mischief you two were up to outside.”

I tried to wipe the uh-oh from my face.

She laughed, and for all the weight of tired I knew she was carrying right then, that laugh lifted her like an invisible balloon. “Doesn’t matter, and I don’t care. I just liked seein’ the two of you havin’ a good time.”

“I thought you might be mad about us comin’ in when the director was talking.”

She gave me a sweet smile. “He was just doin’ the introductions. It was a good part to miss.”

“It got you a standing ovation, though. That was nice, right?”

“Yes, it was,” she said. And after a minute, she added, “It’s nice to be appreciated.”

I could see her driftin’ off in her mind again, and when she came back, she said, “I wish there was a way folks could know what it’s like without actually livin’ through it.”

“You mean bein’…havin’…”

“Alzheimer’s. Dementia. It’s hard. It’s hard any way you look at it. For them, for the families, for us.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You try to give folks dignity to the end, but you lose your own along the way.”

“What do you mean?”

She gave me a never-mind shake of the head.

“Ma?”

She tested me with a good, long stare, then said, “I change diapers, Lincoln. Big, messy diapers. It’s not in a world anywhere near glamorous.”

“You do a lot more than change diapers!” It came out a whisper.

This time her smile was small and sad. “I know, but none of it erases the diaper changin’, now does it?”

I kept on whisperin’. “Isaac’s ma said she thinks you’re an angel.”

“That’s nice….” Her voice trailed off, and I could see her mind leapfroggin’ from one tired place to another.

“Ma?”

“Hmm?”

“What are you thinkin’?”

“Oh, just that Isaac’s ma’s an interior designer.”

“A what?”

“She styles folks’ homes.”

“How do you style a home? What does that mean? And why you thinkin’ about that?”

She shook her head. “Never mind.”

“But…what does it have to do with her callin’ you an angel?”

She turned to me, and her face seemed so…pained.

“Ma? What’s wrong?”

She stayed quiet, and her eyes were holding mine like she was waiting for me to say something.

“Ma?” I said again. “Tell me.”

Her head wobbled again as her eyes broke away.

Then she leaned against the window and stayed that way for the rest of the ride home.