Chapter 8
Tanya escorts us back and leaves us alone outside Mom’s hospital room.
I’m sure she’s happy to have the matter settled and relieved to be done with us.
Caleb hasn’t said a word since I offered to stay, which is a relief.
I don’t think I have the emotional energy to bicker with him.
I’ve barely come to terms with what I’ve offered and don’t want to cave.
I head to Mom’s door, but Caleb flicks his chin toward the window seat across the hall, an irritating gesture that I follow anyway. He sits in the corner, and I do the same but only manage to put a foot between us.
“You can’t take care of her. You don’t even have a relationship with her,” Caleb says.
And good Lord, I thought he was going to apologize.
“You know, I’m sick of your shit. I could say the same about you.
But just because I don’t understand your relationship doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” Our bodies are contorted so awkwardly in this intimate window seat.
I’m sitting upright and prim, arms crossed tight over my chest. He’s pushed against the opposite corner but manspreading shamelessly, as if his crotch can’t be sacrificed to our mutual goal of staying the hell away from each other.
“But the difference is, I see Nicki every day, and I’ve seen you once in twenty years, and only from behind when you skipped out on Uncle Sonny’s funeral.”
I didn’t skip out; I just didn’t linger for the reception. I went to the service through a mounting panic attack, but I’m not going to tell him that. “Yeah, well, I’m here now. She’s my mother. And I’m taking care of her.”
His thigh is too close for comfort, and I hate myself for noticing how strong and capable it is.
I can see where his IT band bisects his quads and hamstrings, prominent even under his worn Levi’s.
It means nothing. I notice strong legs. Unscarred legs.
But my mind flashes to a vision of straddling those impressive thighs, and I have to blink it away. Where the hell did that come from?
I think he catches me staring, and he glares back from under his filthy baseball cap. “You don’t get to decide that.”
I stand, pacing in front of him, and he watches me like a predator. “Because you have power of attorney? How’d that happen anyway? Are you lying in wait for an inheritance? Taking advantage of a frail old woman and hoping for a buck?”
He stands, blocking my progress. “Don’t even try to accuse me of that,” he says, jaw clenched. “I’ve been here for years, taking care of your mom while you shunned her.”
“Who are you to judge anyway? Abby says you don’t talk to your own parents.”
The look on his face is a douse of ice water on my anger.
It’s a microsecond of pain, as if all his facial muscles recoil for a heartbeat.
It’s there and gone so quickly I could convince myself I imagined it, but I know it.
I feel it. It’s how I wipe my own face clean after taking an emotional blow.
I likely made that same expression on the ride here, when Abby landed so many unintended punches.
I just found Caleb’s open wound, but it brings me no pleasure to exploit it. He doesn’t respond, watching me like he’s acknowledged the hit and is planning his counterattack.
I release my arms and face him. I don’t know why this man antagonizes me so—to the point that I hardly recognize myself. Maybe there is a way to appeal to reason and troubleshoot this together.
“How could you stay with her?” I ask. “Where would Abby stay?” Sonny’s house was built as a bachelor pad.
The stairs lead to a massive loft bedroom with a 360-degree view of the forest, but there are no other bedrooms. I—or Caleb, if I lose this battle—will be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.
But Caleb can’t have his teen daughter live in flux for months.
“Upstairs. And I’ll take the couch.” It’s as if he’s had these answers at the ready.
“Where will my mom stay?”
“In my old room. I’ve been trying to convince her to move down there anyway.”
“What room?”
Caleb sighs and sits, pulling off his cap and running a hand through his unruly hair.
He really needs a haircut. And a shave. “Sonny added a bedroom off the main level. He built it after your mom moved in, for you, actually, but you never came.” Caleb looks away; maybe he doesn’t relish confirming how badly I broke Mom’s heart.
“I moved in at sixteen. I didn’t have anywhere else to go. ”
This small gift of vulnerability, after I’d launched an emotional strike just a moment ago, defuses me.
This man has done everything he could to make my last twenty-four hours difficult.
But I’ve had a front-row seat to his loyalty, kindness, and tenderness with the people he loves.
He’s not an asshole. He’s just determined to be an asshole to me.
I take my seat—tree-trunk thighs be dammed—and remove all the starch from my posture. “I don’t know how much you know about what happened between my mom and me.”
“I know she left your dad for Sonny, and you disowned her,” he says.
Something tells me he doesn’t know everything, though, because I don’t think he’d be judging me so fiercely if he did. I bite back my frustration at his ignorance of the truth my mom refused to tell.
“Look, I get it,” he continues. “It’s easy to want a villain. But your mom isn’t one, and you’ve been punishing her long enough.”
He has all the power here, so I have to temper my fury. I don’t take the bait. “So let me do this,” I say. “Let me do what’s right.”
Caleb leans forward, and I sense his contempt softening, the first tug on a tangled chain that loosens the knot rather than tightens it. I see the Caleb that other people probably see—attentive, curious, and thoughtful.
I continue, “Besides, you’d have to uproot Abby and bring Houdini, who will likely knock Mom over.”
As I advocate for this plan, I also convince myself I need to face these demons finally.
For years, I’ve waited for an epiphany and change of heart.
I thought forgiveness would arrive like a gift I could hand to Mom with a tidy bow.
But now, my only hope is to steal it from the clutches of the town that gave birth to our rift in the first place.
I need to reconcile with Mom before it’s too late.
He watches me for several soundless moments.
Hospital monitors beep in the background, and calm voices drift in from the nurses’ station.
Caleb stands and walks toward Mom’s room, forcing me to follow.
He stops abruptly and turns back to me when he reaches the doorway, and I almost bump right into him.
“It’s your mom’s decision. She gets to make the call anyway,” he says.
“Do you really want to put her in a position to choose between us?”
He raises his chin, implying he thinks he’d win. “I don’t want to put her in a position to be devastated if you bail.”
“I think you have your facts wrong, because I’m not the one who bailed on her,” I snap.
“But you are the one who condemned her for it. And if you think for a second you can take this opportunity to make her feel even worse about herself when she’s at her lowest, I swear to God I’ll—”
Abby pokes her head out of Mom’s hospital room and clears her throat. She darts her focus between us and whispers, “Grams is awake,” like an accusation.