Chapter 33
Nolan
Em: I just got an opportunity to go to a beauty convention in Toronto this week. Huge opportunity for networking. Thoughts? I know I’m supposed to stay with Mom overnight when you’re in Montreal, but I was curious if Theresa could fill in?
Nolan: Go! It shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll text her and ask.
I’m counting down the hours, minutes—who am I kidding?—seconds until Andi comes over. It took me longer than expected to recover from our “talk” in the storage closet today. And even hours later, I’m still not a fully functional human being.
Not to be too dramatic, but seeing her lose it like that in my arms was otherworldly. Utterly addictive. I would have lost it right there with her if it had gone on much longer. I already can’t wait to do it again, but better.
Before heading home, I make a pit stop at the farm to spend some time with Cody. I can’t stay long today, though it’s better than nothing. I need to get home and prep for Andi.
My first order of business when I get home is to do a deep clean of my room, as well as the living room.
Not that I’m expecting anything. I want to go at Andi’s pace, whatever she’s comfortable with.
Mostly, I really want to hang out with her, breathe the same air, even if it just involves us watching sad movies together with cheesecake.
Either way, a cleanup is overdue. Emma texted the other day to ask whether her Realtor friend could come take photos of the house for the listing, and as it stands, things are still in a state of chaos with half-packed boxes stacked in the hallway and piles of random items, which I’m still unclear as to whether they’re to keep or toss.
I’m in the kitchen wrestling with the overflowing garbage when a piercing scream cuts the air. Mom. I drop the bag immediately and sprint down the hallway.
It takes a few frantic seconds to figure out where the sound came from. The bathroom. When I find her, she’s lying on her side against the cold, hard tiles. Her clothes are drenched, clinging to her frail frame, and her entire right arm is an alarming shade of crimson.
“Mom! What happened?” I shout, rushing to her side.
“Water. Too hot,” she manages weakly, her voice shaky through the tears.
The bathtub is still running, steam billowing out, and the water is scalding, as hot as it’ll go. I turn the water off, my mind racing. She must have tried to take a bath and scalded herself.
I help her to her feet, though she’s unsteady. Before I wrap a towel around her, I get a closer look. Her skin is angry and red, blistering. Fuck. She’s seriously hurt.
I’ve seen people in the field wounded ten times worse than this—I’ve carried men out of the line of fire, patched up injuries that would haunt most people’s nightmares—but this is different. This is Mom. And seeing her like this, so vulnerable, so hurt, it hits different.
My hands tremble as I dry her off as best I can, then dress her, my mind a blur of panic and guilt. Why didn’t she ask for help? And worse, why wasn’t I there to help her? How long was she lying there?
“Mom, we need to get you to the hospital,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, though inside, I’m anything but.
I help her to the car, every second feeling like it’s dragging on forever until we get to the hospital.
Thankfully, the ER nurses push Mom through to see a doctor fairly quickly.
While we wait, a nurse treats the burns with a saline solution.
I’m texting Andi to let her know I have to cancel due to an emergency while Dr. Rathbone, a calm woman with a reassuring presence, examines the burns closely, her expression serious but not alarmed.
“These are second-degree burns,” the doctor explains, her tone steady.
It’s a slight relief to hear that. It means the burns are deep, but they haven’t damaged the muscle or bone.
Still, they’re far from minor. “Good news is, they should heal within two to three weeks, depending on how her skin responds to the treatment and so long as the burns are kept clean and dry. We’ll need to monitor for infection and she’ll require a change of dressings a few times a day. ”
While the nurse treats the burns and wraps Mom’s arm in a bandage and gauze, Dr. Rathbone asks to chat with me privately in the hallway.
“I see from her medical file that she’s an Alzheimer’s patient,” she says, eyeing me over her iPad with thick-framed glasses. “Are you her primary caregiver?”
“Um, kind of. I’m her son. I live with her. She has a nurse who comes by during the day and sometimes at night when I’m working.”
“Private or through the Alzheimer’s Society?”
“The Alzheimer’s Society. We can’t afford private nursing.”
Dr. Rathbone lowers her chin in sympathy. “It’s a great temporary resource, but they aren’t always reliable, especially for Alzheimer’s patients who require constant care, as well as familiarity and routine.”
I nod, knowing she’s right. Emma and I have done the best we can with what we have, but based on recent incidents, it’s clear Mom now requires more and more intensive supervision.
“I’m curious if you’ve considered full-time care for her? In a facility? With someone in her state of decline, living at home without trained professionals is eventually going to become a hazard. It’s not to say her care at home isn’t adequate, it’s just, with these types of conditions—”
“Actually, she has a spot at Lakeside in the fall.” Saying that out loud makes it all the more real.
Soon, Mom will be in the facility and I’ll be gone.
We won’t have our morning chats anymore, or our walks.
My stomach dips at the thought, and it reminds me of how I used to feel as a kid whenever I missed her.
She dips her head, noticing my expression. “I know it’s difficult, but I think it’s the best place for her. At least you’ll know she’s safe and potentially catastrophic accidents like this won’t happen.” I know she means well, but I leave the hospital with Mom feeling like complete shit.
“I’m sorry about this,” Mom murmurs on the drive home. She feels guilty. It’s hard to imagine feeling worse, but somehow, her apologizing for an accident makes me feel like complete garbage.
“Mom, it’s not your fault,” I say, trying to mask my anger with reassurance. The truth is, I’m pissed at myself. How could I have let this happen? She shouldn’t have been trying to bathe without her nurses in the first place.
The what-ifs start an aggressive invasion of my stream of consciousness, each one more terrifying than the last. What if I hadn’t been home when it happened? What if I hadn’t heard her scream? The thought of her suffering alone, in pain, makes me want to throw up.
I glance at Mom, who’s resting her head against the window, eyes closed, looking more fragile than I’ve ever seen her. I swallow hard, forcing myself to focus on the road. This can’t ever happen again.
I called Emma earlier while we were in the waiting room, which I felt terrible about.
She was busy packing and getting things ready for her convention.
The last thing I want is her thinking I’m a total fucking disaster taking care of Mom without her.
But she made me promise to keep her posted on everything.
Things get even worse by the time I get Mom to bed. A text comes in from Theresa, confirming they still don’t have anyone to cover the two night shifts while Emma and I are away. I think about what Dr. Rathbone said about the lack of consistent, reliable care.
What the hell am I going to do? I can’t bail on Montreal without jeopardizing my job.
I refuse to ask Emma to sacrifice more than she already has, but there’s no way I can leave Mom alone.
I contemplate asking Katrina, but decide against it because she’s already done so much for us lately.
I lie back in bed, running through all the options until it feels like I’m drowning.
I’m not sure what prompts it, but I naturally find myself calling Andi. I don’t expect her to solve my problems. I just need to hear her voice. Something steady and comforting.
“I’m so sorry about tonight,” I croak. When I texted her earlier, she’d told me to call when I was free. “My mom had an incident.”
“What happened? Are you guys okay?” she asks, her voice clouded with concern. Still, the warmth in her tone envelops me like a cozy blanket.
I explain how Mom tried to take a bath but put the hot water on full blast instead of mixing it with the cold, scalding herself and falling out of the tub trying to escape.
“You have no idea how much I wanted to see you tonight,” I confess, my voice dropping to a whisper. And I mean it—I needed that escape, that comfort, more than I can put into words.
“Don’t even think about that right now. All that matters is that your mom is okay. And you. Are you okay? You don’t sound good.”
My breath hitches in a sharp intake of air. Without notice, my vision blurs. It’s moisture, pooling in the corners of my eyes, threatening to burst over my lash line. Shit. Am I actually crying?
My chest tightens and I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, refusing to blink, trying to hold them at bay.
Trying to hold it together. “Sorry. It’s just been a shit night.
And I’m supposed to go to Montreal with Eric tomorrow for two days, and then we have Mexico a couple days after.
But Emma was invited to this beauty convention in Toronto and can’t stay with Mom overnight.
At least not for the next two nights. If I can’t get any of the support workers or anyone to fill in, I might have to cancel both trips, and I feel like a total asshole because I told you I’d go and—”
“Nolan, don’t even worry about Mexico. Seriously,” she says firmly.
I clench my jaw, unable to respond, my throat aching from holding back these stupid tears. The guilt is suffocating.
“Your mom is a billion times more important than a not-like-the-others wedding of some couple you don’t even know.
And when it comes to Montreal, how about I go over at night when I’m off work?
I can sleep on the couch, make sure everything is okay while you’re gone, even help a little with some packing for her move.
I know it’s not a great alternative compared to you or Em, or even her nurses, but it’s better than her being alone. ”
I finally allow a blink, as though that will improve my hearing.
Did she really just say that? Sure, we’ve established we have feelings for each other that can’t be ignored.
But shit. This is beyond that. Beyond anything that feels reasonable to ask of someone, even someone you’re in a kind-of-relationship with.
“No, I can’t let you do that. It’s too much.
You’re way too busy with work and the gala—”
“I really don’t mind,” she insists, cutting me off with a no-nonsense tone that leaves little room for argument. “So long as it’s okay with your mom and Em.” I already know Mom will be okay with it. She loved Andi. Wouldn’t stop talking about her after the dinner.
“I don’t even know what to say.” And I mean that. I can already feel my anxiety slipping away, little by little, just at the sound of her voice.
“Say yes.”
It’s an easy yes. She may not be a professional trained to deal with Alzheimer’s patients, but I trust her implicitly for two nights.
I trust her to make Mom feel comfortable, to watch her, to make sound decisions.
“Only on the condition that you don’t sleep on the couch.
You’ll stay in my bed. Things in the living room are a mess right now, with the packing. ”
“Okay. Deal. One question: Do you sleep on an extra-firm pillow? I need to know if I should bring my own pillow.”
A deep laugh bursts out of me, which I thought I was incapable of five minutes ago.
“You totally do, don’t you?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Just a hunch. You strike me as an ultra-firm guy. Mattress, too,” she adds.
“You’ll have to find out,” I say mysteriously. “Seriously, I owe you. I know how busy you are and—”
“Nolan, stop. I’m doing this because I want to, end of story.”
“Fine,” I say, laying my head back. “But for the record, I’m really annoyed I won’t get to see you till after Montreal.” After Montreal, we only have Mexico, and then a week and a half left before the gala, before I’m set to leave. It’s not nearly enough time.
“It’ll go by fast,” she assures. “You’re going to be too busy to even miss me.”
I wouldn’t be too sure about that.