Chapter 20
TWENTY
AMY
My mom was humming. It was a completely familiar sound.
When I was young, she always hummed show tunes when she was doing dishes or folding laundry.
I always thought it was funny that the few times she was cheery enough to hum or sing was when she was performing boring chores.
It had something to do with her mind being focused on easy tasks instead of on the bad stuff.
Hearing it now, a Sound of Music medley, apparently, it sounded weird, misplaced, as if I’d woken up in a different life.
I walked out of my room. Mom was in the hall closet moving stuff around.
She heard my footsteps and peeked her face around the open door.
The new meds seemed to have finally leveled out, and she was feeling better.
Or at least I hoped so. She hadn’t done anything too crazy, and she wasn’t always sleeping.
To me, having her semi-normal was like waking up to a pony on Christmas.
If she stayed steady like this, I’d be thrilled and relieved.
The occasional humming of show tunes would just be the icing on top.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
“What are you doing, Mom?”
“Just thought I’d spend some time rearranging the closet.”
“Great.” I moved to walk past her.
“Oh my gosh,” she said as she pulled a dress out of the closet. It was the lavender dress she’d sewn for my eighth grade promotion. “Do you remember this?”
“Of course I do. I loved that dress.”
She held it up against me. “Guess it’s a little out of style and a bit too short now.” She lowered it and smoothed her fingers over the silky purple fabric. “Your dad was so mad at me because I spent so much on the material. He just never saw the beauty in things.”
“No, he didn’t.” We were having a regular, lucid conversation.
These moments had been so scarce lately that I felt like I was standing on a floor made of tissue paper and I’d fall through it soon and land back in crazyville.
The sad thing was— these moments, fleeting and rare as they were, almost made it harder when she returned to her other self.
They reminded me of the mom who I’d once known and loved to spend time with.
I had hope for the medicine, but I also knew it was always a wild roller coaster ride with my mom.
I never knew what was waiting around the next turn of track.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” I said.
“Already made.”
I looked at her and raised a questioning brow.
“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. No snail poison, I promise.”
“Good to hear.” I stepped into the kitchen.
My gaze drifted to the window just in time to see Hunter heading down the street.
He walked everywhere now, refusing rides from anyone.
He looked sad and lonely like a little boy who had lost his dog.
He loved that motorcycle and losing it had crushed him.
I had no way to make that better for him, and I hated that.
He was on his way down to the Ranger. He still hadn’t found work but spending time fixing the boat seemed to make him feel better.
Mom came in behind me. She caught me watching Hunter.
Even with everything she was going through, she knew how strong my feelings were for Hunter.
When I was a teenager, Mom and I had gotten into more than one all out scream-fest about him.
She constantly prefaced her side with how badly she felt for the boys and she'd do her little tongue clicking thing but nothing else that would actually help them. Then she’d remind me that I was ruining my reputation by hanging out with them.
My retort had always been that my reputation remained solidly crappy with or without the help of the Stone brothers.
But as we grew older and as my mom’s mental health deteriorated, she’d given up on the fight.
Her arguments, she knew, had never made a bit of difference.
The Stone brothers were always going to be a part of my life.
“Where’s Hunter off to so early? He looks tired. Those boys. That father sure left behind a mess.” She was extraordinarily normal this morning, and it was slightly scary. The words ‘the calm before the storm’ kept floating through my head.
“They’re doing fine, Mom. You don’t have to worry.” I pulled my eyes from the window as Hunter turned the corner out of view. My mom even looked more mom-like today with pink cheeks and her hair neatly brushed into a ponytail. “Hunter had some spare time, so he’s fixing the engine on the Ranger.”
Her eyes rounded. “The Ranger? Your dad’s boat? Why on earth is he doing that?”
“The boat is just sitting there decaying from salt and sun. I’m sure we could still get some good money for it.”
She shook her head and reached for a cup. “What would your father say?”
I looked at her. “Nothing. He’s dead, Mom. Remember?”
Confusion crossed her face for a second, and I thought the moment of clarity was gone. But then she smiled. “Of course, I know that.” Her tone wasn’t completely convincing. “I just meant that boat was his pride and joy. He would be distraught to know that it was being sold.”
“Uh, excuse me for pointing this out, but shouldn’t we have been his pride and joy instead of that rust-eaten trawler? We need the money, Mom.”
She poured some coffee and took three big spoons of sugar, a recent habit she’d started of turning her coffee into something that resembled syrup. “That’s fine, sweetheart. Whatever you think is best.”
“It’s only in the fixing stage right now anyhow, so you don’t need to worry about it.” I sipped some coffee and watched as she pulled out the kitchen chair and sat with her sugary drink. “Mom, those new pills really seem to be helping you.”
She lifted her eyes to me. They were my eyes only more glazed and slightly less focused. “What pills, Amy?”
“The new ones that Dr. Peterson prescribed.”
She waved her hand. “Oh those. I stopped taking those two days ago. They were making me terribly sleepy.”
I put down my coffee and crouched down next to her. “Do you mean you haven’t been taking the pills from the weekly pillbox that I set up for you?”
“Nope, and I feel just fine.”
“Mom, you can’t just stop like that.”
“I’m fine. I was thinking about making some spaghetti tonight. What do you think?”
I straightened and stared down at her. “We’ll have to go see the doctor then, Mom. He’ll find you something else to take.”
“For what? I don’t understand, dear, why you’re so upset. I’m perfectly fine.” She smiled and sipped her sweet coffee.
“Oh, Mom, if only it was fine. If only we could just capture these last few minutes and keep repeating them over and over again. But we can’t.” I kissed her forehead and headed out to work on the yard and wait for that damn storm.