Chapter 2
Chapter two
Carter
Present Day: January
“Two pancakes and a side of bacon,” my mom says, setting a plate down on the table next to mine. I try not to pay attention, instead focusing on the checklist I’m creating in my phone of things to pack when the team and I leave next week.
“Thanks, Alice,” Janice says, digging into the pancakes I know she didn’t order.
“Of course. And how is that pesky nephew of yours?” my mom asks.
According to my mom, Janice is the queen of Wild Bluffs gossip, and apparently, she spends most of her free time trying to set her nephew Matt up with any single woman in town. Which I can only imagine is as miserable as it sounds.
“Still refusing to date any of the women I set him up with. I really thought he and that Lila Walker were going to be a hit. Who knew professional golfers stealing the young women in town was a problem we’d have to worry about.”
“Oh, but they make such a lovely couple,” my mom gushes.
“Unfortunately. Now I have no idea who to set Matthew up with. That boy will be the death of me.”
“I know the feeling,” my mom jokes, sending a stern look in my direction.
I roll my eyes good-naturedly, knowing she gets a lot of enjoyment out of teasing me about my dating life—or lack thereof.
The two women continue to dissect poor Matt’s love life before the sound of a bell dinging on the counter pulls my mom away.
As my mom heads into the kitchen, Bill, my mom’s boss for the last thirty-two years, stops at Janice’s table, quietly asking if she’d like the eggs she ordered instead of the pancakes.
Janice smiles before shaking her head. “No. Alice must’ve known I needed a pick-me-up today. The pancakes are delicious. Plus, this is what I get for not having a usual order.”
Bill laughs and taps a finger on Janice’s table before sitting down in front of me.
“How are you today, Carter?”
“Good.” Or at least as good as I can be with the stress I’m currently under.
“She’s going to be all right. I know you’re worried about leaving now that her dementia has progressed, but she’s going to be fine. Mildred and I will make sure she has everything she needs.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, though the fear still grips my stomach.
My mom started showing signs of memory loss over three years ago, and after her diagnosis with Alzheimer’s a year later, I left the Army and moved back to Wild Bluffs.
After speaking with several memory specialists and spending countless hours down rabbit holes on the internet, I realized moving in with my mom after being gone for the last fifteen years might not be the best for her routine, so I moved into a small rental down the street, ensuring I would be nearby when she needs me.
I’ve had dinner with her almost every night since then, and I’m worried about what changing her routine will do.
Unfortunately, I’m also worried about the mounting costs of her medication, the experimental treatments we have her on, and her increased need for care, so now is not the time to tell my boss I can’t be the lead security agent on a six-week international tour—especially when my boss is my asshole half brother.
“How often does something like that happen?” I ask, tilting my head toward Janice and her plate of pancakes.
“Not often. We don’t get a lot of people in from out of town, and most locals have usuals.
She knows those like the back of her hand.
But when someone orders something different?
It happens about half the time. I’ve tried to get her to carry a notepad to write it down, but it’s something new, so it doesn’t stick too often. ”
“I can pay for the wasted meals.”
“Honestly? You know how people in Wild Bluffs are. Everyone knows what she’s going through, and unless someone has an allergy or an extreme dislike for something, they usually just go ahead and eat whatever they get.”
“You’ll let me know if it gets to be too much?”
“Sure,” he says, his eyes focusing on a spot over my shoulder.
He won’t. Even before his eyes gave him away, I knew the real answer.
Bill and Mildred have been like grandparents to me since I was an infant playing behind the counter of their restaurant while my mom waited tables.
Years later, I sat at that same counter doing my homework, getting help with math from Bill, and having Mildred proofread my essays.
They saw my drive to get out of this town and never failed to provide me with the support I needed.
Looking back, I see just how much they supported my mom during that time too.
“Thanks, Bill,” I say. I’m not someone who likes to vocalize my feelings, but I owe a lot to Bill. So, for him, I’m willing to force the words out.
He takes a deep breath. “Don’t thank me just yet.
I do need to talk to you about something.
It’s not a big problem now, but when you get back, we’re going to need to talk about cutting her afternoon hours.
” He holds up a hand. “Not because I don’t want her here, but because she’s starting to get tired in the afternoons.
She’ll be fine while you’re gone, but once you’re back, we need to consider it. ”
“She won’t do well with the change.”
“She doesn’t do well when she’s tired. She gets easily confused and is starting to get more visibly frustrated by little things.”
“I’ll tell Trent I can’t go.”
“I didn’t realize you were in a position to lose your job,” Bill shoots back.
The downside of sharing details about your life with people?
They then know things about your life and can use them against you.
Like the fact that I’m worried about money.
The Army made sure I didn’t have any school loans, despite attending one of the most prestigious colleges back east, but my mom’s best option for treatment was a trial medicine outside of what her insurance would cover.
Paying for everything over the last three years has drained almost every drop of savings either of us had.
What she brings in from work barely covers her cost of living, so it’s up to me to cover everything else.
“He’ll listen to me,” I say, though it’s with little conviction.
“Didn’t you already talk to him about it? And he insisted you be the one to go?”
“Yes. He doesn’t want to leave Julie alone for that long.” I sigh. “He already bought her a new car to make up for being gone a few days when he joins me on the road.”
A smile flicks across Bill’s worn face. “She sure does know how to get what she wants, that one.”
I nod. Julie grabbed Trent by the balls the day they met almost a year and a half ago—not caring the man at the bar was almost ten years her senior—and hasn’t let go since.
They had the most ostentatious mountain wedding you’ve ever seen this past summer, inviting almost no one from our little town to come celebrate with them.
I had the distinct displeasure of making the invite list, though my mom wasn’t invited due to her strained relationship with Trent’s and my shared DNA donor.
As both his half brother and his employee, I felt I had to attend. I regretted my decision the entire night as I was strangled by my black tie while trying my best to avoid Julie’s sorority sisters.
“Well, I’m sure your mama will be out with your food soon,” Bill says as he stands. “But don’t worry about her while you’re gone. Enjoy your time traveling around the world with that Harper girl. Which one is it again? I can never seem to keep them straight.”
The gleam in his eye suggests otherwise, but I answer him anyway. “Kelsey.”
“Right.” The playful look in his eyes is now joined by a grin, and I’ve never been so pleased to see my mom as she pushes out of the back with a plate of food.
“Thanks again, Bill.”
He nods, turning to leave as my mom slides my plate of food in front of me. My usual three scrambled eggs with avocado and toast on the side stare up at me from the beige oval plate.
“How are you feeling today, Mom?” I ask as I shovel a bite of eggs into my mouth.
“I’d feel much better if you didn’t worry about me all the time,” she grouses. “I managed to raise you by myself when I was only eighteen. I sure think I can handle a few lapses in memory at fifty-two.”
I narrow my eyes at her but decide not to point out that it’s more than a few lapses in memory at this point.
I’ve taken over paying her bills after she forgot to pay for her electricity two months in a row.
She would’ve had her power cut off if not for an old classmate of mine giving me a call to let me know what was going on.
When she saw my sperm donor and his wife at the grocery store last week, she forgot the name of Trent’s mom, despite their entwined histories of both being impregnated by the same boy from their class less than three months apart.
“Are you excited for your trip?” she asks, intentionally changing the subject.
It’s one of the hardest parts about the disease, not knowing what she will remember at any given moment.
I’m dreading the day she forgets my name, though I know it will be here before the end.
She forgets a food order between the table and the counter but remembers I’m headed out on tour with Jaxon Steele, which I mentioned weeks ago.
It’d be hard on anyone, and for someone like me who relies on knowing what to expect, it’s an added layer of stress.
Fortunately, I love routine and have found Mom’s reliance on them to be just as beneficial for me as they are for her.
“I am. I haven’t had the opportunity to travel much that wasn’t on the Army’s dime.”
“You’re saying you don’t count your time in Afghanistan as a vacation?”
“It was better than others’ time there.”
My mom narrows her eyes at me. “Just because you could’ve had it worse doesn’t mean you have to deny how hard it was.”
“I know,” I say. And I do. She’s lectured me enough about it that sometimes that exact phrase plays in my mind on repeat while I’m working out. It makes for a long hour when that’s constantly circling through my brain.
“It’ll be nice for you to see Jaxon again,” Mom says. “You two were good friends during your junior and senior years. I always felt bad for him.”
“If it goes anything like the ten minutes we were together in Denver, I’m sure it’ll be just fine.”
“You should see if you can spend some time with him while you’re there. You two always got along so well.”
I grunt a reply, trying not to grimace or give extra attention to her repetition.
We, as humans, repeat ourselves a lot. Most of the time, people don’t pay any attention to it, but now I’m analyzing everything my mom says and does, and it’s hard not to take a repeated phrase or a simple forgetful moment as a sign of something worse.
“I’m serious, Carter. You need a friend.”
I shovel more food into my mouth before realizing she’s going to make me answer. “I’ve got Bill.”
“You need friends your age.”
“I’ve got Wes and Vince,” I say, naming my two buddies who served in the Rangers with me.
“Friends in Wild Bluffs.”
“I went to that thing at Ken Harper’s house.”
“That was last summer!”
And I have absolutely no idea what I had been thinking.
Jen Harper cornered me in the diner and invited me to their annual summer party.
I tried to get out of it, but Bill heard and invited my mom—just my mom—over for dinner that night so I could go.
I couldn’t get out of it then, so I went. And it was…fine. I guess.
Except I had to double my time in the gym for the next month just to get the image of Kelsey Harper’s lips wrapped around the tip of a longneck beer bottle out of my head.
No, friends is not what I need.