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  The laughter gets louder with lots of squirming and pleading, “Kimber, no, no, no.”

  After a few minutes I stand up, reaching out to each of them, ruffling their hair.

  “Hey guys, I’ll be back in to play a game right after I help your momma, okay?”

  Both boys nod and turn back to the T.V. showing the latest and greatest in cartoons. I can’t even keep up with all the shows these boys watch.

  Michael and Martin are five year old twins. Mr. and Mrs. Bruin are a little old to be the parents of five year-olds. She told me the doctors broke the news to them that they would never be able to have kids and they accepted it for a long time, but one day, right after her forty-fourth birthday, she discovered she was pregnant.

  Before the boys she would visit with my momma every week and bring food over. After the boys, though, she had a harder time coming over each week. When Jenna left she suggested I come over here instead. I think she knew that momma was getting worse and she wanted to save me a little. It works for me, I adore those boys, and she’s not bad company.

  My home on the other side of town is nothing compared to this one. Momma and I live in a small two bedroom bungalow style house. One day, I keep telling myself, I’ll be able to live in a house like this one. It’s old and full of character. The rickety staircase leading up to the bedrooms and real wooden floors full of scuff marks are only a couple of the things I love. Mr. Bruin has updated the kitchen with all the newest modern styles like granite countertops and new appliances. As I step into the room, I can tell Mrs. Bruin has her mind on things. She’s concentrating on something and not acknowledging that I’m here. The counters are strewn with ingredients and she’s leaning over what looks like a recipe card.

  She turns around, suddenly aware of my presence, “Kimber, can you get the flour and milk? We’re making pies today for the ranch hands.”

  I want to ask what’s on her mind but she seems busy. It’s best not to pester her at the moment. I know she has a lot of things going on with running a ranch this size.

  Chapter Seven

  Jordan

  The sun beats down relentlessly on the back of my neck. I stand stoically, taking anything it has to dish out. This is not a comfortable event and I deserve every bit of discomfort doled out to me. My mom has her arm wrapped around my back as if she knows I need her to hold me up. Susan’s mother whimpers on the other side of her, wrapped in Dan’s arms. My eyes focus unwavering on the smooth, white coffin hovering above the hole in the ground, waiting to be swallowed up. As the priest utters his last prayer he turns and meets my glare. I take a deep breath and force my feet to move forward. As if not in control of my actions, unfeeling, I raise the white rose to my lips, kiss it, and place it at the head of the coffin. As I back up, an onslaught of people, including my parents and Susan’s, walk forward, mirroring my actions. I stand in my spot, numb to reality. The only thing I can focus on is that my life is over. My Susan is gone, and it’s entirely my fault.

  ***

  After the funeral Susan’s parents host a gathering. It’s tough coming here, knowing she won’t come barreling down the grand staircase to see me. When we came back home from college, I found an apartment in the city. Susan’s mother, Victoria, felt it was more appropriate that she live at home for the time being. I knew at some point she would move in with me, she was practically staying at my place every other night as it was. When we first came back though, I had to go through the motions of dating her. I would come over and wait while she finished getting ready. She would come down those stairs as fast as her little feet could carry her and just about plow me over every time, happy to see me as if it was the first time we laid eyes on one another. It was her way of rebelling against her controlling mother. She would do things subtly here and there to let her mother know that she was really the one with all the power. Staying at my apartment as often as she did proved that. My breath catches as I realize that she really wasn’t in control, at all.

  I avert my eyes from the stairs and make my way into the back parlor where the bar is situated. Dan, Susan’s father, is standing next to it, staring out the wide picture window across the acres of grasses and gardens spanning the backyard.

  I turn to leave the room before he can notice my presence but I hear his desperate voice before I can get away, “Jordan?”

  I turn on my heel and pocket my hands, staring at the cream tile under my feet.

  “Jordan, son, can we talk a little?”

  I look up and meet his pained expression, “Sir, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”

  He nods, acknowledging my apology, but waves me in, changing his tone. “I understand. Come have a drink. I know that’s why you’re in here.”

  I slowly walk forward and grasp the drink he hands me a moment later. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp taste of whiskey and swallow the rest in one short gulp. He holds his hand out for my empty glass and fills it back up. This time I sip it, cradling the glass while the numb feeling the alcohol offers, begins to spread. I welcome it. Dan turns back toward the backyard as if searching for something just out of his gaze. I realize at this point we are all lost and searching for something that will never again be present in our lives. My heart aches for her.

  As the night rolls on, a barrage of friends and family utter their condolences. After a while I get tired of trying to play the part, whatever that part is. I frequent the bar until my dad finally finds me alone in the library. It has two full walls of books from floor to ceiling. Centered above the leather settees is an amber chandelier which gives the room an incandescent glow.

  He comes to a stop in front of me, and slowly lowers himself to the edge of the brown leather couch across from me. “Jordan, I came to let you know that I’m taking your mother home.”

  I nod and look away, taking another swallow from my almost empty glass.

  “Son, come with us, come home for the night. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get your car.” His voice almost cracks while pleading with me.

  I consider his request as I peruse my options; the empty apartment with reminders of Susan everywhere, or my parents’, where there are people, where I won’t be alone.

  I push myself up out of the chair and momentarily lose my balance. My dad scurries to his feet as I stumble and secures me before I can fall. I set the glass down on the low, round table and gesture to the door. “Let’s go.”

  My words sound a little slurred to my ears. Better this way, though. It keeps my mind numb, unable to focus on anything for long periods of time.

  Chapter Eight

  Kimber

  Mrs. Bruin was in her own world this afternoon. I was concerned, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Momma. Lately that seems to be her topic of choice. I know she means well, making sure Momma is getting her meds and the bills are being paid, but it’s too much sometimes. One of the main reasons I stay away from home as much as possible is to avoid all the hassle and fussing.

  After making the pies and helping Mrs. Bruin gather lunch for the ranch hands, I played at least six rounds of Candyland with the twins. They beat me every time. When lunch rolled around, Mr. Bruin came in to get the food we made for all the ranch hands. I know she likes having me around, but she could do all this stuff on her own. It makes me feel like a charity case sometimes and all I want to do is leave. I stay though, for Momma, even though it makes a serious dent in my pride.

  When 4:30 rolls around I reach for the handle of the Jetta. My phone rings in my back pocket so I grab it, noticing Heidi’s dimpled face and bright hazel eyes lighting up the screen.

  “Hey girl.”

  “Kimber, did I time it right or what? Are you done at the Bruins’?”

  I laugh. “You’re lucky she let me leave when she did, time waster. You made me late this morning.”

  “Ahhh no, Andrew made you late. He showed back up in your life and screwe
d with your mojo.”

  “Damn, Heidi, I almost forgot about that whole fiasco this morning. You would have to go and bring it back up.”

  She giggles. “Just keepin’ it real. What’s this thing going on tonight?”

  I sigh at having to go over this with her again. Sometimes she can be so stubborn. “This thing is nothing. I have to work and that’s all. You, as usual, have nothing going on, so if you want to catch up, you should stop by the Duck and I’ll buy you a beer,” I add to make it even sweeter. “It’s Monday night, so no one will even know you showed your face.” God forbid.

  “Umm, I’ll think about it.”

  Frustration rings in my voice. “What is there to think about? You told me this morning that you’d come. Come or not, I’ll be there regardless.”

  “Okay, I think I can make it.” She exasperates me when she drags her feet like this.

  “Okay girl, see you tonight.” Abruptly I end the call and climb into my car.

  My hand moves out of habit to caress the dash, while pleading silently with my car not to give me any problems. It starts right up with the turn of the key. Pulling down the long drive under the canopy of bright green leaves overhead, I notice the grey clouds rolling across the sky. A rainy Monday night. It’s not going to be very busy at the bar. Super.

  When I pull into the short dirt drive, torrents of rain are enveloping my house. A glance around the car reminds me I forgot to put the umbrella back in here after the last time a storm hit. Great. I open the door and dash to the front of the house with my key ready. Unfortunately, that small expanse between the car and the door drench me. As soon as I walk in, my mom’s scratchy voice calls out, “Kimber, is that you, girl?”

  “Yes, Momma, I just got done at Mrs. Bruin’s.”

  I run my hand through my now soaking wet hair as I answer and make my way to the kitchen. The sight is the same as usual. She’s sitting at the rickety kitchen table with a stained laminate surface. Her posture is slanted as she leans in for support. The hair on her head has just about completely changed to gray, oily from lack of a shower. Tiny hints of blonde still stand out, but just barely. Before she got sick she took better care of herself. We used to look alike. Once upon a time her eyes were a vibrant blue and she was so full of life. Now it seems the disease has taken all the color from her. Her eyes are more of a steel grey, dulling more each day.

  “Hey Momma, you want some help getting into the shower before I get ready for work?”

  She turns toward me with a cigarette hanging half out of her mouth and utters around it, “You didn’t tell me Jenna’s in town.”

  Shit. How’d she find out? “No, Momma I didn’t. She said she wouldn’t be here long.” I let my voice trail off. It’s obvious from the slur in her words that she’s had a lot to drink today. She started with a glass of vodka this morning, I wonder if she’s been at it all day.

  Her voice takes on a whiny quality. “I know you girls are done with me. Jenna don’t even wanna visit anymore.”

  Oh boy, here comes the guilt. She’ll go into this whole spiel about how we don’t love her and we’d be better off without her.

  I lurch forward and slide my arm around her bony back. She’s not eating again; the vodka is going to have to go. I take her cigarette away and put it out in the ashtray. Grasping her other hand in front, I pull her up out of the chair. Her whole body shifts to lean on me. Yes, definitely no shower in days. I turn my head away from the stench emanating from her. We make our way back to her bedroom down a short hall off the side of the kitchen. I help her sit on the edge of the bed and leave to turn on the shower. Once it’s warm enough, I lead her into the small bathroom, scarcely big enough for the two of us to stand in it. Slowly and laboriously I pull her shirt off over her head and lower her pants, helping her to step out of them.

  Once she gains stability, standing there with only a white bra and panties, both obviously too large on her thin frame, she barks at me, “Kimber, get out. I can do it. Do you think I’m an invalid or something?”

  I move backwards, giving her space. I clench my fists at my sides. “Okay, Momma, let me know if you need any help.”

  She spins toward the shower and snidely comments, “Don’t you need to go to work?”

  I turn around, ready to walk out, glancing back once as she climbs over the side of the tub and pulls the flimsy rose-covered shower curtain closed. My momma has never been very loving, but now she’s even worse. I’m not sure she’s even capable of love anymore. I wonder if I am. Maybe that’s why Andrew left in the first place. Maybe I couldn’t give him what he needed. As I make my way to my room across the house, today’s events resurface. He looked so good, nothing like the eighteen year old boy who left four years ago. He filled out in all the right places and his chiseled face makes my knees go weak just thinking about it.

  Becca and Heidi may be onto something. Maybe I just need to get laid and things will look better. That might be an option I need to explore in the very near future.

  Showered and wrapped in a towel, my foot finds the threadbare cotton mat spread out on the bathroom floor. Once I’ve stepped completely out, I hear a blood-curdling scream. My feet move into action before I can focus on exactly what it is. I head to Momma’s room and find her sprawled out on the floor. Her feet are splayed at an odd angle. Leaning over her, only inches from her face, I ask, “Momma, are you all right?”

  She stares across the room as if she didn’t just fall. Concern etches itself across my face, for her health but also for work. We can’t afford for me to miss a day of work. We’re barely getting by as it is.

  “Here, Momma, let me help you up.” I reach down, allowing her access to my opened hand to help her up. She ignores it, placing her hands by her sides. She attempts with all the strength she has to push up but gives up after one try. After a minute of watching, I center myself behind her and gently place my hands under her arms, pulling her up. As she gains her bearings, she brushes my hands away and yells, “Get out, just get out.”

  I back away once again and head for the door, swallowing a lump in my throat, trying to hold back my tears at seeing her like this. I don’t turn to check on her. She’s slowly losing control of her body and she doesn’t know how to deal with it. That’s what this disease does. Multiple sclerosis is a slow killer. Yes, I make sure she takes her meds every day but she was diagnosed late. The fact that she drinks and smokes doesn’t help either, but I can’t blame her. If I were slowly losing command of my muscles, I might venture to vices, too. It breaks my heart every time she has a fall or is unable to grasp something. Her only response is to lash out her frustrations and I just happen to be the only one around. Jenna ran away because she couldn’t stand to watch her deteriorate. I can’t really blame her.

  My towel is still wrapped tightly around my small chest. Entering my room, I glance over at the clock on the bedside table, 5:15. I have exactly forty-five minutes to get dressed, find something to eat, and make it to the Duck. In a pile of clean clothes yet to be folded and put away, I find a clean tank and shorts, and rush to pull them on. My dirty-blonde hair, desperately in need of a trim, hangs limply, so I decide to braid it angled to the side. A smear of lip-gloss after brushing my teeth and I’m ready.

  The kitchen is empty when I make my way to the fridge looking for something to eat. It’s empty with the exception of an expired half-gallon of milk and a few leftover containers from Mrs. Bruin. I reach in and pull out the container I brought home yesterday. A glimpse inside reveals homemade macaroni and cheese, my favorite of all the meals Mrs. Bruin makes. It’s barely been touched. I pull a plate down and heat half the container up in the microwave. As it cooks, I peek around the doorjamb into Momma’s room. She’s sitting on her bed looking down at a book opened up in her lap. She doesn’t notice my presence. I call out softly so as not to startle her, “Momma, I’m heating some dinner up for you. Do you want me to bring it in?” She doesn’t glance up. I’m not even sure she heard me.

&nb
sp; The ding sounds, so I turn to get the warmed plate. Grabbing a fork, napkin, and glass of water, I carefully walk it to her bedside table and set it down. She doesn’t look up. This breaks my heart so much, seeing her like this. I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Bye, Momma, I love you. Please eat something.”

  Once outside the doorway, I turn again to check one last time. She’s still looking down at the book. It looks like a journal of some sort. She isn’t writing anything down, though. Resigned, I turn, checking my watch. I have fifteen minutes now to get to work and the drive takes twenty. Perfect.

  Chapter Nine

  Jordan

  The bright light behind my eyelids wakes me up. I roll over grabbing for Susan and find an empty space instead. My reality crashes into me, she’s gone and I failed her. Sharp pains pierce my heart and radiate throughout my body, causing me to ache everywhere. I want nothing more than to fall back asleep and never wake up again. Life goes on though, as much as I don’t want it to, and I can’t lay here forever.

  Squinting, my eyes register that I’m in my childhood bedroom, completely transformed from the way it used to be when I lived here. The walls are a neutral brown with paintings of trees dotting the room. New furniture typical of a guest room is placed strategically, making it look like a picture straight out of a home decorating magazine. I roll over away from the sun’s rays and focus on the headache pounding through my temples. Oh Susan, what am I going to do? My mind keeps repeating this as if she’s close enough and able to answer. Never could I fathom what my life would be like without her. She was, and still is, everything to me.

  A soft knock echoes through the impersonal space that used to be so warm and inviting. Before I have a chance to answer, the door swings slowly open and my mom’s face peeks around the edge.