Page 82 of Reckless Love

The nurse leaves, and I watch them for a beat. My father laughs after he’s obviously won a hand, and my mother grins while sitting in a straight-backed chair next to a walker. The other people around them also seem jovial as another hand is dealt.

I push through the door, the warm sun hitting my face, and I realize I haven’t spent much time outside lately either. With my parents both sick or injured, I’d started to think I knew best, but it turns out they’re still the ones that do. Those roles aren’t reversed yet. They seem happier, and while my happiness is tenuous—reliant on so much I can’t predict yet—I can’t deny that removing the weight of nursing schedules, alternating night watches with Vanessa, and keeping on top of who’s paying what to whom has been a relief. Maybe we all were living half lives in a desire to cling to something that no longer served any of us.

“Hey,” I say as I approach the table. “Is the old man winning?”

“The old man is,” my father says, beaming.

“Penny poker,” one of the other men at the table says.

“I just thought I’d stop in to see how you’re both doing,” I say.

My mother checks her watch. “I’m due to move around again. Everyone, this is our son, Stephen. Most of you have already met Vanessa.”

She doesn’t mean for her comment to be a dig, but I feel it nonetheless. My sister has been here, and I have not. My mother rattles off the names of everyone at the table and then beckons me over to help her stand.

Once she’s up, I help her get the walker in position.

“Are you supposed to be walking around?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says with a little chuckle. “I’m a rule follower, don’t you worry. Can’t be sitting for longer than sixty minutes at a time. Thirty to forty-five is better.” She takes a step and then calls over her shoulder, “You stay here, Walter. Add to our pot.”

“I won’t let you down, my love,” he says.

“Living here is going well?” I ask as I shuffle beside her, her progress slow.

“Happier than I’ve been in a long time,” she says. “We get to play cards in the sun with people who still have all their marbles. There’s bingo on a regular basis. We can both do Chair Fit, and the other night, there was an outdoor movie. Food’s not great. That’s my only complaint. Edible, but not like your cooking.”

“I’ll remember that next time I come,” I say. “I’ll bring you some treats.”

“Vanessa says you’ve moved Ava and Landon into our old apartment. Glad to hear it’s getting some use.”

“Just not sure if the threat is gone, and that big house of hers is probably too much right now.”

“Right,” my mother says, sliding me a sly smile. “Of course.”

Since I don’t know exactly what to tell her yet, I let her assumptions go unchecked or defended.

“Van’s been here quite a bit?” I ask.

“Every day,” my mom says. “I worry about that girl, though. I thought us moving out might have made things easier on her, but she’s still burning the candle at both ends.”

“She’s not working,” I say.

“She is!” my mother says, giving me a dirty look. “Working at that underground parking lot in Rockdown. Nights! Can you imagine her all alone in an underground parking lot? Shameful, if you ask me.”

“I doubt she’s there alone,” I say, but I vow that I’ll have to force myself to make those phone calls when I leave here. Did she really have that job interview the night of the accident? Do the traffic cameras show her rushing through Bellerive to get back to my parents, late but where she said she was?

“Then during the day,” my mother says, as we inch toward the door into the facility, “she’s out scheming with those union people.”

“Scheming?” I ask, prickling at the implication.

“I don’t know,” my mother amends. “She doesn’t say much. But she’s not the same Nessy she used to be.”

I hit the automatic button on the door, and I’m somewhat relieved when my mother points to the door directly across the hall. We’re not breaking any speed records. “That’s us,” she says.

Their door also has an automatic opener, and I hit that. The heavy door creaks back, and I look it over carefully. “Can you lock this?” I ask.

“Yes and no,” my mother says. “Staff can still get in, but we can lock the automatic opener from being used when we’re sleeping. Staff use a passkey system to get in to check on us.”