oving van unloaded, Chris surveyed the clutter-filled living room. Designer furniture sat squeezed between his mother’s faded floral sofas and recliners, and boxes were stacked everywhere. He had too much junk. Way too much.
“That’s everything.” A man in blue coveralls, sweat dripping down his face, handed Chris a clipboard and pen. He scanned the many boxes stacked from floor to ceiling. “You want the guys to help you unpack? We charge by the box.”
“No, I got it. Thanks.” Chris signed the papers and wrote a check for the final amount, wincing at the total, then handed both over. He really should’ve gotten a few more estimates before hiring this crew.
“All right then.” The man motioned toward the door with a jerk of his head and led his crew out.
Chris followed a few steps behind, stopping at the edge of his porch. He gazed across his overgrown yard to the stone-covered house next door. Light poured from the kitchen window, revealing the faint outline of Ainsley’s profile. But then she stepped away, and the light went off.
Unopened mail and business papers covered the table, Java Bean printed across the top. His pulse quickened as the reality of his decision—a decision now set in legal stone—settled like a pile of rocks into his brain.
“So what do you think, Rusty?” His dog cocked his head, ears perked.
“Have I gone loopy, trading in my suits and ties for an apron?”
He glanced at the clock. His mom should be finished with her evening meal by now. He grabbed his phone and dialed, trying her private extension first. When no one answered, he called the front desk.
“Shady Lane Assisted Living. This is Heather. May I help you?”
“Good evening. This is Chris Langley. May I speak with my mother, please?”
Heather sighed loudly. “The residents are just finishing up with dinner.”
Which meant finding his mother and bringing her to the phone would sap five, maybe ten minutes, from their robotic, check-it-off-the-list schedule.
“I’ll wait. Thanks, Heather.”
She sighed again, more dramatically this time. “Hold on.”
The receiver clanked against something hard before soft instrumental music came on. A few moments later, his mom picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice had the high-pitched tone of agitation, which was normal for this time of night.
“Hey, Mom, it’s Chris. Your son.”
“I know who you are. What do you want?”
Good. Today was a good day, then. “How are you doing?”
“How do you expect me to be doing? I’m stuck in this horrible place surrounded by people I don’t know. I have no idea where your father is. He needs to come soon. I’m tired. I want to go home. Please, call your father and tell him to take me home.”
Chris closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. Reminding her of his father’s death would only make things worse. “Everything will be all right. I’ll be by tomorrow. Sometime after 6:00, after I close down the coffee shop.”
“What coffee shop?”
“I sold my practice, Mom.” And so went their nightly conversation, but at least this time she remembered his name. For now.
“You did what? Why would you do a stupid thing like that?”
To be closer to you. To make more time for you, like I should’ve done with Dad. “It was for the best, Mom.”
“Your father is going to be very upset, especially after all the money we spent on law school. If you think I’m going to be the one to break it to him . . . if you think . . .”
“You don’t need to, Mom. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
Rusty lumbered across the linoleum and sat on his hindquarters. He let out a low, sorrowful moan, eliciting a chuckle from Chris. Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, he pulled out a bag of dog food and poured a small mound on the floor.
“Sorry, bud, I’ll dig your bowl out tomorrow.”
“What bowl? I don’t need any more bowls.”
“No, not for you, Mom. I was talking to my dog. He’s hungry, but his dog bowl is buried in my pickup.”
“Oh, you have a dog? Do you remember the dog you had when you were in college? Rustin, or Reddie . . . What was his name?”
“Rusty.” Chris squatted down and scratched the back of Rusty’s ears. “I found him huddled behind some dumpsters my junior year. Dad threw a fit when I brought him home.” He laughed. “He threw an even bigger fit when I came back to get him after grad school.”
“That’s right, Rusty! I remember him. Such a lovely dog. Whatever happened to him, anyway?”
Chris paused. “Are you cheeking your pills, Mom?”
“Am I what?”
“Your medication. Are you playing games with your Alzheimer’s pills?”
Something about the nursing staff at her facility didn’t sit well with him. Not that he expected them to do a mouth check every time they dished out meds, but his mom deserved better than to be treated like a task between break times.
He needed to get her moved, and soon. But what if the other home, Lily of the Valley, wasn’t any different? They promised a six-to-one patient-to-care ratio, but promising didn’t make it so. He’d heard, “Oh, we’re understaffed today,” more times than he could count. In the end, it came down to trust. Whom did he trust most to care for his frightened, disoriented mother?
“Mom, I asked, are you taking your pills?”
“For what? I don’t need those things. I’m not sick.”
This was the reason he’d moved to Kansas City in the first place—to be near his mom. To make sure she took her medications.
“Carl, I’m tired.”
Chris, Mom. The name’s Chris.
“I need to find my husband. Do you know my husband? His name is . . . His name is . . .” Her voice trembled.
Chris breathed deep, exhaled slowly. “You get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You will? Do I know you?”
“Good night.” Love you, Mom.
He hung up and dropped his phone on the counter. He turned to Rusty. “What do you say, old boy. Wanna watch the stars with me?”
The dog lumbered to his feet then followed Chris outside to the porch swing. Chris slumped against the metal frame. The rusted chains creaked against his weight. A cold breeze whistled through the overgrown maple a few feet away, sending gold and orange leaves fluttering to the ground.
He turned his gaze toward the star-filled sky, a silver moon peeking out from behind a cluster of inky clouds. Heavenly Father, hold my mom tightly tonight. Help the staff at Shady Lane be patient with her.
He relished the peace of the cool fall evening and the soothing sound of chirping crickets and cicadas. This had been a good move. Great neighborhood, friendly neighbors. Much different than the high-rise and high-stress environment he’d left. But if his business endeavors failed, he could lose much more than his parents’ house.
According to his sister, he was setting himself up for that very thing. He’d just have to prove her wrong.