Nursing homes are sterile at the best of times.
Medication, hydrogen peroxide, and the sickening stench of after-market lemon-scented sanitization wipes, always hung heavily in the air. I stood at the front desk; eyes downcast as I filled in the paperwork that I had seen every single time that I came to check in on my mother.
You would think that after visiting every Monday for the past three years, they may start to recognize or remember me, but the jury is still out on that. After all, my mother is in a dementia ward. Who’s to say that the staff aren’t a bit memory-challenged, as well?
I scratched my signature across the dotted line at the bottom of the page, then stowed the pen securely on the top of the clipboard.
A quick glance around the tiny reception area told me that I was completely alone. Even the receptionist had slipped away to abandon me in this place that held far too many bad memories. I put the clipboard on the reception desk for when she returned and sat back down in the uncomfortable black chair.
My eyes wandered the room, drinking in the sober reality of my whole life right now. I remembered vividly standing behind my brother as he held Mom’s hand. Waiting for the word to guide her to her new bedroom.
She had been far better then. It had worried us that she had been forgetting our birthdays or even Conor’s son’s name… but she’d declined so severely since she first enrolled in the program.
“Mr. Hunt,” the receptionist beckoned, ripping me forth from the sober memory of who my mother used to be. My eyes fell on the woman in her bright green pastel smock, with her brown hair tied back.
She offered me a reassuring smile and nodded slowly, “You can go on through now.” Her tone was kind.
My heart lurched in my chest, and I nodded slowly, pushing myself to standing. On shaky legs, I stepped quietly through the doorway towards my mother’s bedroom. A steady thrum of my heart met the downbeat of each step.
I pushed the door open with a gentle knock and peered inside. She was there, sat in a comfy recliner chair with her big fat cat pillow resting in her lap. Wispy white curls clung to her pale scalp, and a pair of thick glasses rested on the bridge of her nose. The large lenses magnified the size of her eyes, and as I entered, her sweet head turned to me and those massive lenses put her dark blue eyes on showcase.
My eyes soften, “Hey, mama.” I muttered. Though heartbreak tugged through my soul as her eyes searched me, as though she was trying to place me in her mind. I took a step toward her and sat down in the spare wooden chair next to her bed.
Her eyebrows furl like tiny fluffy white caterpillars as she looked me up and down, face scrunching into a disapproving grimace as she settled upon my tattoos.
“Oh, Adam!” She snorted, “You know I hate those blasted tattoos!”
She didn’t. My mother and I got matching tattoos on my 18th birthday. She always encouraged me to get more art done… but that didn’t matter.
At least today she knew my name.
A soft blush rose to my cheeks, and I tugged at the cloth of my sleeves, “Sorry, mama. I should have known better.”
Mom’s eyes darken and she nodded once, exaggerated and stern, “You absolutely should have.”
I grinned lightly; it was rare to see the fight in her eyes like I did today. It was refreshing. My eyes settled on the plush cat in her lap and I extended my hand to stroke its fur, “How is Muffin doing today, Mama?”
“Oh, Muffin is always good. I think I’d die without his comfort.” She prattled, then led on into a disjointed story about how she used to raise cats when she was growing up on the farm in Spokane.
This also wasn’t true. My mother had been born in a rich family south of the Okefenokee River basin, just above the Florida-Georgia line. She had worked all her life as an assistant teacher and actually hated cats until she found companionship in this plush toy… a gift from Conor.
“I had never heard that story, mama. Where is Spokane?” I asked, taking in the time of genuine conversation where she was lucid enough to at least remember me.
She sucked at her teeth, “Spokane is in Kansas!” Her tone told me that I absolutely should have known this fact, so I acted out an animated DUH, throwing my hand over my forehead.
“When is Conor coming?” She asked suddenly.
I glanced up to meet those brilliant blue eyes.
She was serious, wholly and completely.
The guilt that grew in my heart faltered and I felt the crawl of sadness as it encroached. I remembered Valentine’s face. But as I tried to pull myself back together, the idea faded and I smiled, “He should be coming tomorrow.”
This was the cruelest lie I could ever tell. Yet I told it to my mother every time I saw her since he had died three years prior.
It was actually only a week after she was admitted here.
It was best for her… that she didn’t have to worry about her son. She would never grieve his loss, and he would never grieve hers….
But me…
I would grieve them both.
And I think that I already grieve them both every day.
“Oh,” Her eyes drifted towards the window beside her, searching out into the maintained courtyard. This answer never satisfied her, but it was just enough to push back concerns or questions. Mom then turned to me again and said with a serious look on her face: “You are upset.”
A spark of confusion sizzled between my eyebrows as I turned my own eyes from my mother. “I am fine,”
“You’re not fine.” She said in full lucid stare, straight at me. I could feel the cool kindness of her eyes on my skin.
I sighed and shook my head, reaching up to tousle the curls of my brown hair, “It is far too complicated to really explain right now, mama.”
Her face sank into an annoyed humph as she stared me down, but after a moment I noticed the gaze change. The care and concern in her eyes drifting back into the vacancy of an unknowing stare.
My heart broke again as the feeling of loss, for the few moments of her that I had that were fully real, returned.
“Are you, my nurse?” Mama asked.
And though the lie was painful, I choked back my pride and nodded slowly, “Yes, Louise. I am your nurse. I was just about to bring you some grape juice.”
A pleased smile teased at the edges of her lips and she nodded happily, “Oh, that would be wonderful! My son Conor will be coming today. Could you bring him some juice too?”
Tears forced their way to the rims of my eyelids, but I nodded, “Yes ma’am.”
I pushed myself to standing and placed a final squeeze on her shoulder before finding my way out of her room and then asking the first nurse to bring her a glass of grape juice.
As I staggered out into the parking lot, I felt the pain lessen.
Once I was through the doors it didn’t feel so real.
It didn’t feel like she was actually gone. Just staying somewhere else, where she would be taken care of.
My phone buzzed as the alarm I had set for the end of my lunch break went off. I pulled a sigh from the depths of my chest and silence it, sinking into the front seat of my Cobalt and then driving towards the site.
Today marks three months.
Three months since I had that awful discussion with Valentine.
Three months since Lorenzo had thrown me off the team without a second thought.
Three months since I lost track of who the hell I actually was.
I often find myself driving circles around the city at night, circling the route I used to take to drop off Val and the girls. I would drive to the Midnight Raven just to see if I could ever spot her walking home, but I never did.
Probably for the best. If it was up to her, I would just go jump off a fucking bridge.
She was a mess.
She was a liar.
A manipulator.
She was a Killer…
But I still yearned for that laugh…
I still craved the sensation that my body cried out with when she turned to me and smiled, like I was the only person who existed in the entire world. And I still felt the electricity behind that fucking kiss.
I had told her… that I loved her.
I had said it in past tense…
What a fucking dickhead, right?
As if I could have actually known that I loved the woman whose smile only fell upon me twice in the entire two years that I had worked with her.
Who the hell did I think I was?
The road towards the site grew heavy with traffic and I felt annoyance creep in over my shoulders, enveloping me in a disdain for other people. I felt like that a lot in the past few years.
My phone rang, and after a quick glance at the clock on my dash, I realized that I was already late. I sighed and swiped the answer key without actually looking down. “I’m so sorry, Roy. The traffic is terrible, I’ll be about twenty minutes.”
“Roy?” A familiar voice spoke. A thick southern drawl with hints of sass that were strong enough to tell me exactly who was on the other end of the phone.
I glanced down at the screen to confirm my suspicions. “You can’t have deleted my number already, Cain.” Mags’ voice called out.
I felt the annoyance fade slightly and a wave of confusion replaced its ebbing wave, “Magnolia? Are you okay?” I asked, searching the road around me for a break in the traffic. Hopeless. It was a standstill.
A scoff bounced from the other end of the phone, “I didn’t think you’d care how any of us were. Considering you dipped off the face of the earth after ripping Val’s heart out and kicking her to the curb.”
My eyes rolled as I sat back in my seat, groaning, “Did you call me to lecture me?”
She laughs. It was the kind of laugh that made you instantly feel like not only the biggest asshole, but also the biggest fucking idiot in the world. “No, actually. I called you to tell you something important.”
“Oh, yeah?” I pried, staring anxiously out the window, the annoyance of the traffic beginning to override my confusion for hearing Mags’ voice again.
“Yeah. You see, your girl is in a bit of trouble.” She said, an inflexion of seriousness dancing over her bouncy tone.
I sighed, “Mags, I don’t have a girl.”
“Yeah. I fucking know. I scraped her off the pavement after you drove away. But listen to me for a minute, you shitface.” Mags took in a deep breath through her nose before returning to the serious tone, “We have a new driver.”
“That’s usually what happens when someone retires,” I glanced out the window to my left at the drivers in different lanes who were shouting, annoyed at the others.
Mags returned to me with a sigh that was comparable to my own, “Can you shut the fuck up and let me talk?”
Silence.
After a moment, I heard her draw a shaky breath. “Listen, Lorenzo has been putting V up to some real shady shit, but this new driver guy… he seems to be real touchy. I mean REAL touchy on your girl!” She paused, as if debating on giving me room to speak, but then continued, “And I really don’t like the way she acts around him. It is like she is starstruck.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly in annoyance, “Why are you telling me this, Mags?”
It must have been a ploy. Something to make me jealous. Something to anger me… and I can’t lie, the more I think about the situation, the more I realize how heartbroken I am to have lost the friendship I had gained with Valentine. I missed being able to trust that she was going to be a pain in my ass no matter what happened that day.
Mags hummed, “She is self-destructing.”
“And why do you think I am the best person to speak to about this? She literally murdered my brother.” I sighed, rubbing my temples. The sound of car horns began to pepper the distant soundscape.
The woman on the other end seemed to shift, a sigh escaping her lips, “Lorenzo told her that you left because of her. She’s been drinking nonstop since that night.”
I frowned, shaking my head lightly and leaning my head back in my seat, “That isn’t true…”
“It doesn’t matter what you think is true, Cain. What matters is that it hurt her, and now she is doing everything in her power to hurt herself without doing the actual damage, herself.” Mags said sternly, “She is being nasty, and aggressive, and sometimes just plain mean.”
I wanted to know more, but I didn’t want her to know that. I wanted to understand why Mags was so worried, but this shadow within me eclipsed the desire to grow close to Val again. “Have you thought, maybe this new version of her is actually who she has been the whole time?”
Mags was silent for a moment, but I felt the sting of her eyes as if she was there with me, “I cannot fucking believe you.” She uttered in a low growl, “You really are a fucking dick, aren’t you?”
A response chewed at the back of my lips. Suddenly, my phone began to buzz lightly as a second call was coming through. This time from Roy. I sighed, “Right, Magnolia. I have to take this call.”
Before I could even finish speaking, the sound of the call-ending tone droned loudly throughout the cab on my car, and the next call immediately connected.
“Adam?” Roy asked, his voice was cheerful. Grating. The worst possible tone to nurse the throb that began to grow in my head. “Where are ya, kid? Lunch ended ten minutes ago.”
It was impossible for me not to soften at his words. The traffic before me still stood at an impasse and I groaned, “I am so sorry, I am stuck in traffic right outside my mom’s clinic.”
He laughed, a bolt of light that shot through the darkness that was beginning to encircle me. “You can probably just head home, then. I have sent the rest of the crew home for Memorial Day weekend any ways.”
I glanced at the clock on the dashboard, feeling a thrum of impatience in my chest, “Are you sure?”
“Yes!” He chuckled, “That’s probably why you’re stuck in traffic in the first place, to be honest.”
“Right… thank you,” I said flatly.
Roy paused for a few seconds, “You alright?”
Was I?
“I’ll be fine. I just finished talking to my mom. She doesn’t seem to be really changed from last time.” I stared out the window to the miles of cars, shutting my engine off to save its life.
He hummed, “The week of your birthday, you seemed really energetic and happy. But for a few months, you have gone back to being broody and depressed.” Roy cleared his throat, “Why don’t you meet me at that nice steakhouse on Jeff Davis?” He asked. “I’ll make sure you don’t spend Memorial Day alone. I’ll bring Ashley and the girls.”
The annoyance that chipped away at my faculties began to wane and I could feel a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“Well?”
I coughed out a laugh, “Yeah… that would be nice. Thank you.”
“Great!” The smile on Roy’s face was audible, “I’ll see you there at seven! Don’t be late! Ashley hates tardiness.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m never late.” I grinned.
Roy howls laughter, “Ha! Yeah. Sure, you aren’t.” He laughed in an animated way that mimed out his movements in my mind. The way he threw a hand over his slightly chubby belly, wiping a fake tear from his face. “I’ll see ya at seven!”
The line dropped, sending me back into a cacophony of silence within the cab of my car.
I could feel annoyance as it chewed at my thoughts, spitting them out into worthless globs of dead ideas.
Roy was great, and I needed this.
I really really did.