Chapter Twenty
“Why can’t we go in and see her?” Alec looked at Dr. Jaffrey.
“Just give us a few more minutes. Your wife is having difficulty adapting to the situation. This is not unusual, but the family circumstances in this case are adding to her stress. We offered her a sedative, but she refuses to take it until she sees you all.”
Cujo focused on the floor tiles, took a deep breath, and waited for a sign that the bile rising in his stomach wasn’t going to make its exit all over the floor. Drea rubbed small circles on his back, and he started to count them. Knowing she was there helped.
“How long can we stay with her?” Devon asked. Elisa wrapped her arms around his waist as his voice cracked.
“Only a short while. If her levels of distress elevate, we’ll ask you to leave.”
The distance from the waiting area to his mom’s room felt like a thousand miles; the ten-minute wait felt like days. Cujo gripped Drea’s hand.
“Boys,” Alec said as they reached Evelyn’s room, “I think it best if just the three of us go in. Connor can join us when he gets here. This might be too much for your mom.”
Cujo wanted to argue. He wasn’t even sure he could take the final step across the threshold of the room without drawing on the strength Drea was giving him simply by standing at his side. Yet he knew, deep down in the parts of him there weren’t fracturing into pieces, his father was right.
Drea pressed her forehead into his chest. He kissed the top of her head, the faint smell of strawberries cutting through her coconut sunscreen.
“I’ll be right here,” she said, “no matter what happens. You wanna stay all night, I’ll be here. You wanna leave in five, I got you covered.”
He followed Alec into the room. What if she didn’t want them? Again. He was just getting used to the idea of her being around.
Evelyn sat up in bed, clutching a tissue to her eyes. “I don’t deserve you. Any of you,” she sobbed. The wires had been removed from her jaw, but it was clear it pained her to move it.
Alec hurried to the side of the bed, sat next to her, and gently pulled her against his chest. “Don’t say that.”
Cujo heard Devon sniff, and draped his arm around his little brother’s shoulders.
Mom pushed away from Alec. “Why not? It’s true. How could I? Could I…?” Heavy tears streamed down her face. “I left. When I should have stayed. Devon, you weren’t even in school.”
Devon shrugged out of Cujo’s hold, went to the bed, and lowered his head to his mom’s lap, crying silently.
“Please, Evelyn, don’t. Don’t get so upset. We’re right here.” Alec pressed his lips to her hand.
“I’m sorry, Alec. I just couldn’t … I was so young. And I wanted to do so much. Devon, you went to bed the night I left, crying because we couldn’t find your rabbit, and I left anyway. What kind of … kind of … mom … am I, was I?” Painful, angry sobs choked her.
Dr. Jaffrey entered the room. “I’m sorry, but Evelyn, you really need to calm down.” He handed her a small paper cup and a glass of water.
Evelyn shook her head. “You don’t understand. I can’t remember everything. Only pieces. It’s not clear.” His mom sobbed loudly and reached for another tissue. “The drugs will stop them from coming back.”
“I promise you,” Dr. Jaffrey said calmly, “they will not hinder. You may find you remember more in the morning because you rested.”
“Please, Evie, take it. We aren’t going anywhere,” Alec sniffed, wiping at his own eyes. “We’ll get through this. It’ll take time, but we’ll find our way through, I promise.”
And like Drea and her promises, he knew Alec meant it. Evelyn took the pills, and after several more minutes of gut-wrenching apologies, regained a small measure of composure.
Devon was no longer crying, but holding Evelyn’s hand. They all had their back to him. Except Evelyn, who looked straight at him.
Everybody stayed silent for a long while, absorbing what had happened. His mom’s eyes started to drift closed.
“We’ll let you get some rest,” Alec said, standing. “But we’ll be back in the morning. There’s no time limit on this.”
Devon said his good-byes and followed Alec out into the hallway.
Cujo nodded. Couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Just ground his jaw even tighter.
“Brody,” his mom called out. “Is Drea with you? Can I see her?”
“She is, but why don’t we visit tomorrow?”
“Please, Brody. I have so much to make up to all of you, but I put that girl in grave danger. Just for a moment.”
Cujo nodded and went to the hallway where Drea was stoically standing alone.
“Mom wants to see you.” He wrapped Drea tightly in his arms, more for his own benefit then hers. “She’s in rough shape, Shortcake.”
They entered the room together, hand in hand.
Evelyn patted the side of the bed, and Cujo walked cautiously over.
“I’m sorry, Drea … I had no idea…”
“No, no, no. I’m sorry,” Drea said, sitting next to her. “I should have been out front with you. It was my fault.” Drea’s eyes filled with tears.
Evelyn battled the sedative, but Cujo could tell from her slurry speech and drooping eyes, she wouldn’t win.
“I saw you,” Evelyn said quietly, just when they thought she had fallen asleep. “That night. On the stairs. I couldn’t look at you. I wouldn’t have been able … to go. I would have—”
Cujo took her hand. “Not tonight, Mom. We’ll talk about it, but not tonight. Please just sleep. There’ll be time in the morning.”
“Don’t let Don know,” she murmured, half asleep.
“Don’t let Don know what?” he asked, a sense of dread sweeping around him.
“That I remembered…”
* * *
Drea helped Cujo unload the truck. He’d said nothing since they’d left Evelyn’s room. Every now and then, he’d shake his head and sigh. She wanted to ask what was on his mind, but knew better. Her man needed time and space.
Cujo left the bags in the hallway, and flopped down on the sofa.
Drea wandered over to the kitchen and poked around in the fridge. There were some vegetables that were salvageable. The freezer revealed an anally retentive display of labeled containers and bags of meat. Easy enough to throw something together.
She opened a cupboard in search of a salad bowl, only to find it filled with a lifetime supply of protein powders. Another was filled with containers of things she’d never heard of: baobab powder, agave syrup, hemp seeds. The guy was a nutrition nut.
The third contained cups and bowls. She must be getting closer.
“Can I help you find something, Shortcake?” Cujo was on the other side of the island, both hands pressed on the granite counter, his arms flexed straight. “Or you just going to bang around in there all night?” The smile he gave was forced, but at least he was talking.
“I was going to make dinner. Salad and meat.”
“Meat?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Yeah, you know. Animal by-product. Likely went cluck, moo, baa, or quack when alive.”
Cujo laughed and shook his head. He walked around the island to the sink and began washing his hands. “What are your thoughts on pho?”
“Pho?”
He rummaged in the freezer and retrieved two containers of stock and a Ziploc bag of cooked chicken. “Vietnamese Pho. Meat, as you put it, broth, and noodles. I normally use fresh beef in this, but seeing we’ve been away and don’t have any in the fridge, I’ll use a cooked chicken breast.”
There was no way he was making dinner for her, and besides, this seemed like assembly rather than real cooking. She opened the fridge and pulled out one of the beers she’d seen earlier. “Take this, and go sit on one of the stools. You can tell me what to do.”
He squinted his eyes at her but did as she suggested.
“There’s a large pot in the cupboard to your right,” he said, pointing toward the window. “It’s sacrilegious to use a cooked piece of meat, but it’s the best we can do on the fly.”
Cujo instructed her. She prepped the noodles, grated some fresh ginger, and chopped cilantro and scallions.
Less than thirty minutes later, they were sitting side by side at the counter, slurping delicious pho, and drinking a chilled Sauvignon Blanc.
“Sometimes, it just good to be home, isn’t it?” he said between mouthfuls.
Drea embraced the little shiver she felt at the word “home.” Rosa’s had only ever felt like a house rather than a home. The truth is, she hated staying there. Here, with Cujo, she appreciated what it really felt like to be somewhere warm and welcoming.
“I’ve never really had that same attachment, I guess. It was somewhere to stay.”
“That’s a shitty way to grow up, Drea. For all it sucked when Mom left, Dad held us together.”
Drea took her last mouthful of soup and pushed her bowl away.
“I’m scared, Drea.”
The words were so quiet she nearly missed them. “Oh, Brody,” she said, reaching for his hand.
“I have all of these mixed feelings about Mom. I hated her for so long, it’s hard to switch it off.
I mean, I might not be able to have kids and it fucking kills me.
She had three of us. And left us. I dreamed of seeing her one day, and being able to show her all this.
My home, and Second Circle. Tell her I’m a partner in Devon’s garage and Connor’s business.
I’m a cancer survivor. Then tell her none of it was because of her. ”
Cujo took another drink of wine. Drea didn’t know what to say, so instead, she stood, and moved between his knees.
“It’s sucks, Brody. I wish I had some profound words of wisdom, but I don’t.”
His arms snaked around her waist.
“The tough part is, I see this woman lying in a hospital bed, and the man in me wants to pulverize the asshole who did that to her. I can’t tell whether I feel so strongly because Dad raised me to never hit a woman, or whether it’s something more …
I don’t know … primal, maybe? Because she’s my mom. ”
She rested her hands on his shoulders, squeezing them to loosen the tension.
“What the fuck do I say to her tomorrow, Shortcake? She’s been through enough without me acting like a fucking eight-year-old pussy.”