Chapter 8 MJ
MJ
I wake with a start to the sound of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer” being played at an earth-shattering decibel.
My glasses are halfway down my face, which is smushed into my pillow.
I sit straight up and wipe my hair out of my face.
A string of drool clings to my bottom lip as I push myself up and take in my surroundings.
I’m in my bed on top of the comforter with all of my clothes on from the night before and the lights still on.
The room comes into focus when I shove my glasses back up my nose. Where on earth is the music coming from? Am I dreaming? Is this a message from God?
The screeching continues, but this time I make out actual words. “Myra Jean, I’m sixty seconds from peeing my britches!”
“Oh no! Rose! I’m so sorry! I’m on my way,” I shout, jumping to my feet and hustling downstairs, gripping the railing as hard as I can. We’ll really be up shit’s creek if I manage to fall too. “God, where is that music coming from?”
No sooner than I land on the bottom step, the song comes to an abrupt stop.
“What the…” I’m losing my mind. “Did you hear that? Please tell me you heard that too.”
I enter the living room to find my sister wearing the nightgown I’d put her in and a smug smile.
“I had to get your attention somehow,” she says, already attempting to rise on her own. “It took me half an hour, but I finally figured out how to connect my phone to those fancy Bluetooth speakers the kids got you last year.”
“Why do you think I gave you Mama’s old dinner bell?” I hiss, rushing to her side.
“I rang the damn bell,” she argues as I help her stand. “Do you know how many angels got their wings while I was down here waving that thing around like an air traffic controller? I probably summoned Jimmy Stewart from the dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, securing my arm around her. “I was so exhausted, I must’ve just passed out.”
She winces as we slowly creep toward the bathroom, a crutch on her right side and me on the other keeping her steady. The giant brace on her left foot scrapes the hardwoods with every step.
“The pain’s bad, isn’t it?” I ask. “I don’t even know what time it is. You’re probably long overdue for your medication.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” she says as we make it to the bathroom. “I’ve felt worse. Remember the time I fell out of the tree trying to sneak back in the house the night Martin Boswell popped my ch—”
“As much as I love listening to you reminisce about the good ole days, can we at least wait till I’ve had some coffee?”
“I’ve got it from here,” she says, easing herself onto the toilet. “I’d like to keep a shred of dignity.”
“Too late,” I reply with a grimace.
If she hears me, she chooses to ignore me. “Go make the coffee. We have a lot of ground to cover on this trip down memory lane. Like the time Bart Sanders handcuffed me to—”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter under my breath, closing the door behind me before she can finish. I trudge into the kitchen on autopilot to prepare the coffee. The clock on the wall lets me know it’s a little after 7 a.m.
I still haven’t called the kids to fill them in on what happened, and I was so tired when we got in that I didn’t even think about it. My phone catches my eye from the counter while I wait for the machine to brew, and I pick it up to dial Lindsey when I see I already have a voicemail from her.
“You still good in there?” I call out to my sister.
“Yep,” she shouts back. “Need another minute.”
I cradle the phone between my ear and my shoulder, pulling mugs from the cabinet as the message starts to play. I’m half listening until I hear the word incident.
Within thirty seconds I’m in hysterics, and I practically carry Rose back to the couch, blubbering as I tell her what happened. I try Lindsey, Lucy, and Willow, to no avail, as I give Rose her coffee, a muffin, and her pain medicine.
“Lindsey, this is Mama, honey,” I say on my third voicemail two minutes later. “Please call me back. I’m worried.”
“What are you waiting for?” Rose asks, shooing me with her hand. “Go! Go check on her!”
“I can’t leave you here like this.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re not fleeing the country. I’ll be fine.”
I nod and scramble back to the kitchen for my purse. “Don’t try to get up on your own. You have to promise me you won’t.”
“I won’t.”
“Rose, I mean it,” I say, pausing on my way out the door. “You cannot move.”
“Dammit, woman,” Rose snaps around a mouthful of muffin. “Will you just go already?”
“I’ll be right back.” The front door shuts behind me, and within seconds, I’m on the road.
“You know I appreciate this, but it really wasn’t necessary,” Lindsey insists as I help her up the stairs and into the room she grew up in with her bags and Catrick Swayze later that evening.
“Nonsense.” I place the cat carrier and a duffel bag on the floor. “This will be much better than staying on the sofa at Lucy and Willow’s. Especially with your fibromyalgia. You need somewhere comfortable to rest.”
She wheels her suitcase to a stop. “I can still stay at the inn or get a temporary rental. The insurance adjuster said they’d cover it.”
“It’s the holidays. Everything will be booked,” I say, though I don’t know that for certain.
All I know is I want my daughter here. I want to take care of her.
“It'll be like old times. We can make cocoa and watch movies and put up the tree together. You can keep me from strangling your aunt. It’ll be great.”
“Poor Aunt Rose. I still can’t believe she fell. You two have had a rough twenty-four hours.”
“So have you.”
“And you’re sure you don’t mind the cat being here?” she asks. “Lucy offered to keep him and June Bug, but I think she’s going to have her hands full with that one and her own dogs. I can take Catrick Swayze to work with me during the day if you’d rather.”
“I don’t mind at all,” I promise. “There’s no need to cart him back and forth.
I’ve already cleared a place for his litter box in the laundry room.
Hopefully he can get settled in here, and so can you.
There are fresh sheets on the bed, and I put that old afghan of your grandmother’s that you used to love over the quilt because I know you get cold at night.
Is the temperature okay in here? I can turn the heat up or I can bring you the electric blanket. ”
“No, it’s perfect. Thank you, Mom.” She gives me a small smile. “It’s nice to be home.”
“Oh sweetie,” I say, pulling her into my arms, the corners of my eyes stinging.
“It’s so good to have you here. And I owe you and everyone else an apology.
I’m sorry for how I behaved on Thanksgiving.
It’s been hard for me to think about doing things differently because the old ways connect me to your father and a lifetime of happy memories.
” I pull back and smooth my hand over my daughter’s hair.
“But when I got the voicemail from you this morning…it made me realize how silly I was being. What I’m trying to say is, I’m open to discussing it.
I might not be ready to make the change this year, but I am open to making it. ”
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too.”
“Myra Jean,” comes the squawk of my sister’s voice from down the stairs. “I have to tinkle!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and sigh. “I’ll be right there,” I call back.
“Remember, she’s injured,” Lindsey says with a laugh.
“I know,” I say through a yawn. “I’ll go take care of Rose and let you unpack, but after that I thought I might make a meatloaf for dinner. How does that sound?”
“Mom, you don’t need to go through a bunch of trouble. You’re exhausted. Why don’t we order in Chinese?”
I can practically feel my droopy eyes brighten. “And watch The Preacher’s Wife?”
It was one of our favorite holiday movies, so much so that we went through at least three copies of the Whitney Houston classic over the years because we inevitably wore them out.
She nods. “You read my mind.”
Thankfully, the rest of the week passes without any additional disasters or mishaps.
With Lindsey and Rose staying at the house, I don’t have time to feel lonely or sad because I’m having so much fun.
Sure, Rose gets on my nerves on occasion, and I fully regret ever giving her that damn bell, but it’s nice feeling like I’m taking care of someone again. Like I’m needed.
Rose is flipping through the channels while we drink coffee on the couch late Sunday morning when Lindsey bounds down the stairs in her scrubs.
“Where are you off to in your work clothes?” I ask. “It’s Sunday.”
She shrugs on her coat. “One of my clients called and is having a problem with his goat.”
“A goat emergency?” Rose says. “What on earth?”
“I’ll be back in time for dinner,” she promises, lowering herself to plant a kiss on each of our cheeks. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to a family dinner more. With the stress of the fire and dealing with insurance adjusters, I’m beyond ready for some normalcy.”
I choke on a sip of coffee as the consequences of my own actions pop up like a jack-in-the-box and sock me right in the nose. This family dinner will be anything but normal with Oliver in attendance. How could I have forgotten?
“You okay?” Lindsey asks while Rose eyes me suspiciously.
“Of course,” I say, gesturing to my mug. “Yes, sorry. We’ll have a good time. Dinner will be great.”
“See y’all later,” she calls on her way out the door, closing it behind her.
I slam my cup on the coffee table with one hand and grip Rose’s knee with the other.
“I forgot we invited Oliver,” I blurt out.
After a moment, my sister throws her head back in a rich cackle.
I jump to my feet. “Crap, Rose! We can’t uninvite him because that would be rude, and even if I was willing to do that, I don’t have his number.”
“Sounds like quite the predicament, doesn’t it?” she says between fits of laughter.
I pace the floor, my arms flailing at my sides. “Rose, this is serious. What are we going to do?”
“We?” My sister flashes me a smug smile. “I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m planning to sit back and enjoy the show.”
“Gee, thanks for the show of solidarity,” I say. “What happened to you not letting me have all the fun?”
She points to her braced ankle. “This was the extent of my fun, and I learned my lesson. Guess it’s time for you to learn yours too.”
I let out a heavy sigh. As much as I hate it, she’s right. The only way out of this is through.