Chapter 11
Days like today, I wish I were back at the ranch with Bode barking orders at me.
I can see Mama pacing the greenhouse through the kitchen window as my fingers struggle to make our sandwiches for lunch.
My hands tremble with the anxiety that’s cursed my chest since we woke up this morning.
Add a little mix of overstimulation, frustration, and guilt, and I’ve got myself the perfectly imperfect cocktail.
I know she’s overwhelmed, too. It’s hard not to be when her memory picks and chooses the days it wants to work.
I just wish it would choose more days than not.
Her temper has gotten worse and she hardly remembers my name anymore.
It’s only after a few hours of trying to get her to do a task that I get a glimpse of the old version of her, and anytime she says my name, relief floods me, even if it is fleeting.
The crash of yet another flowerpot shattering against the ground breaks through the haze, forcing my eyes closed as I brace myself against the counter.
A few steady breaths later, and I hear Joleen’s footsteps come up the back steps.
When I look up again, Mama is back on her stool, tending to a cluster of cornflowers she planted last winter.
The shattered pot forgotten, and her mind, at least for now, is focused on its task.
“I tried, Maggie.” Joleen sighs as she steps into the kitchen. Her strawberry-blonde hair is a fluff of perfect coiled curls, and her scrubs are dusted in dirt and fertilizer. “She’s insistent about staying out there.”
A long breath leaves me as I focus on trying to get these sandwiches made and glance over my shoulder at her. “Thank you for trying.” I offer her the best smile I can, but even I can feel that it doesn’t reach anywhere near my eyes.
“It’s my job.” Joleen waves me off and moves to wash her hands in the sink. “We might need to get her some of those plastic potters, the terracotta ones are going too fast.”
A part of me bristles at the thought of child-proofing Mama’s most precious places, but the other part of me, the one that had to grow up too fast, realizes the reality of the situation. It would only take one broken pot with either of us not looking for her to hurt herself.
“I’ll get some tomorrow after I finish at the ranch.
” Even as the words leave me, they’re thready and tight.
I know Joleen notices because she only nods before preparing Mama’s meds.
She’s been an enormous help, and most of the time she can handle Mama’s outbursts.
Today feels a little different though, and I can’t figure out why.
I’ve spent more time at the ranch than I have here, and maybe the lingering guilt I have every morning leaving Mama alone is starting to catch up to me. My chest tightens as the butter knife in my hand clatters gently against the counter. “Joleen?”
She hums in response, counting out the numerous pills Mama will fight to take.
“Why don’t you take the day?” I urge softly. “She’s going to be out there all day and…” I need this time with her. Even if she doesn’t remember me.
Joleen’s brows knit together, pausing her movements. “You sure? I can stay.”
I shake my head and turn to her. “I need to spend some time with her.”
She studies me for a moment before she just nods. “Let me finish this first, and then I’ll head out.”
“Thank you,” I rasp.
“You’ll call if you need anything, right?” Joleen asks as she finishes prepping Mama’s medications.
I nod, and she looks at me over her glasses.
“Anything, Maggie,” she says again before patting my shoulder as she passes me.
Joleen slips out of the kitchen and leaves me with her words. Anything.
The implications of the word sit heavily in my stomach. Anything can mean anything, but for us, it means one thing.
I suck in a deep breath and turn back to the half-made sandwiches and force myself to finish making them.
I know Mama won’t get better, and I know it’s only a matter of time before things get worse than they already are.
It doesn’t stop the ache, though. The expectation of what’s going to happen is there, it always has been.
Lingering in the corners of the house I grew up in, like a vicious mold creeping down the walls.
Is it bad that I wish I were mold? At least then we’d have answers. At least we would have a chance at saving Mama.
Angry, bitter tears I keep to myself bite at the corners of my eyes.
This isn’t fair, and I’m fully aware of how childish that makes me sound, but it’s not.
Mama spent her life taking care of everyone around her.
It didn’t matter if it was a stranger or a neighbor.
She was always there, with a smile and a bundle of flowers.
Now? We get looks every time we have to go into town for a doctor's appointment. People who used to be her friends and would spend Sunday services with her now whisper and watch us struggle to make it the ten feet to the door.
I plate up the sandwiches, letting the plate clatter against the counter without care, and then instantly feel bad when I catch a glimpse of the chip I put in it the last time we had a day like this.
The front door opens, and I hear Aunt Dot’s familiar soft hum float through the house. I let out a breath of relief as she pokes her head into the kitchen, smiling at me, and I instantly can tell she spoke with Joleen on her way out.
“Rough day, huh?” Dot says as she holds up a basket of cookies and muffins.
The ball in my throat tightens and all I can do is nod as she sets down the basket and wraps me in her warmth. I bury my face against her neck and take her sweet smell to calm the frayed edges of my nerves. “You have no idea,” I rasp.
She tugs gently on the ends of my hair and pulls back to press her forehead to mine. “You’re doing what you can, Maggie. That’s all anyone can ask.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” I whisper, sounding smaller than I want to. “Nothing feels like enough these days. Not for Mama.”
Her eyes shine back at me, glossing over to match my own as she cups my cheeks. “It won’t, baby.”
My face crumples within her grasp and those tears I try to hide fall down my cheeks. Dot swipes them away gently before leading me over to the table. “Sit,” she commands softly. “Pick a cookie and take a breath. Is that plate of sandwiches for Daphne?”
I nod and swipe away the next set of tears, afraid that if I try to talk, nothing but choked sobs will come out.
She swiftly takes the plate, planting a kiss on the side of my head before she walks the sandwiches out to Mama, and I’m grateful for the few minutes she takes to try and catch up with her while I gather myself.
I pick out the largest cookie she brought with the most chocolate chips and nibble on it, ignoring the stray tears that still fall as I stare at the wall.
When she comes back, I look up at her, seeing the exact look I have every time I walk out of that godforsaken greenhouse and she’s forgotten me again. Our eyes lock, and she tries to smile, but it’s dim as she sits across from me. “She’s fine,” Dot tries. “She’s eating and pruning.”
“No more broken pots?” I ask softly.
Dot shakes her head. “Not for the moment.”
I nod and nibble some more on the cookie. “These are good,” I whisper.
Dot gives me a look because she knows I’m trying to change the subject. I’d rather talk about cows and grumpy cowboys than Mama right now. She takes a cookie off the plate and leans against the counter beside me.
“They’re Bode-boys' favourite.” Dot smiles as she takes a bite, and I sigh. She’s always digging holes in yards that didn’t belong to her.
“What bones did you bury now, Aunt Dot?” I ask her and take another bite.
“Just seeing how you're doing, Magnolia. I’m your last coherent family member,” she laughs gently, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“That’s not true, I’ll always have Ford,” I joke, leaving out Wyatt on purpose.
Growing up in such proximity to the ranch, I spent most summers up there as a kid with them, but there’s always been something off about Wyatt, he just didn’t love it as much as the rest of us.
He only sees the land as a means to an end.
“Is that what we’re considering coherent now?” Dot says back with a smile. “Stop dancing around the question, young lady.”
“Was there a question in there?” I ask her, and she thinks back on the conversation for a moment before shaking her head.
“You’ve been spending a fair amount of time driving Bode up the wall. What’s that about?” she finally asks.
“Ford stuck me in his service, there’s nothing more to it,” I say, finishing my cookie and wandering over to the fridge for some milk. “Do you want tea?” She shakes her head no. “Besides, your Bode-boy is a jerk most of the time,” I say.
“He’s just…” Dot sighs, and I can tell she's trying not to gossip.
“Out with it,” I say, coming back to her and leaning against the counter with my chest against her side. She always smells like vanilla and fresh laundry. If she isn’t puttering around the house, she’s in the kitchen baking.
“Things have been a little stressful on the ranch, and Bode is feeling the heat of it. His life hasn’t been the easiest, and now with everything going on, I can only assume he’s feeling a little threatened.
He’s not usually so grouchy,” Dot explains.
“But he looked like he was having fun painting that silly little barn with you yesterday?”
By the time we finished the evening before, we were covered in paint, and the later it got, the more relaxed Bode had become.
It was the first time I'd seen him without a scowl on his face.
In the absence of frown lines, he is truly handsome, his jaw strong and square, hidden beneath a dusting of dark hair that makes his blue eyes sparkle a little brighter.
“Is Bode one of the Walker’s that grew up down behind the rodeo?
” I ask, taking a seat at the small, paint-chipped kitchen table.
It’s not that I really knew them, just that I knew the name.
Everyone did. The accident that put the town’s famous Walker in a wheelchair had been news just about everywhere we looked.
I just never connected Bode to the news. I had no idea it was his father.
“Ace Walker was a rodeo king until the accident, he was unbeaten on a bronco. The only thing he did better than ride was hit those boys.” Dot follows my lead and sits at the table across from me. “He died a few years after Bode came to the ranch.”
I had no idea that Mr. Walker had passed, let alone the rest.
“With Ace unable to move around, someone had to look after Levi,” Dot reminds me. “Bode dropped out of school early. He was too young to take on all that responsibility, and he didn’t grow up fast by choice, between medical bills and Levi’s love of the rodeo.”
“Broncos too, right?” I say softly.
“Just like his stupid daddy. Someone had to put food on the table, get Levi to school, and to training. Bode took it all on himself at seventeen,” Dot says.
“That’s a lot to handle,” I say, my breath getting caught in my throat.
After all that bickering, it seems Bode and I have more in common than either of us could have realized.
It’s not easy watching your parents unable to care for themselves, especially when they’re supposed to be the ones taking care of their children.