Page 15 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I suppose a loving daughter would actually wait at the hospital until the surgery was over, but my mother doesn’t have one of those.

I oversee the delivery of my office furniture, yell at Gary, and return only when the hospital calls to say she’s waking up.

My mother looks me over when I walk in. “Not sure why you’re always dressing like you’re Anna Wintour these days. You’re not even a real estate agent. You don’t need those suits.”

“Some people are cranky when they come out of anesthesia,” the nurse says gently as I cross the room.

I’m pretty sure it’s not the anesthesia.

My mother carps about the snacks while the nurse pulls together the discharge papers, and then carps audibly about the nurse’s slowness. She snaps at the orderly who pushes her wheelchair to the hospital’s exit. “Your job is too easy for you to be so bad at it,” she tells him.

It’s rather pleasant, not being the subject of her ire, but all good things must come to an end.

“Since you’re so smart,” my mother says as we hit the highway, “I suppose you’ve figured out how to get me up the porch stairs?”

Shit.

“Didn’t they show you how to do it at physical therapy? Can’t you just, I don’t know, scoot up on your butt?”

“Of course not,” says my mother. “I can’t believe you didn’t realize this would be a problem.”

“What was I supposed to do, Mom? Build you a handicap ramp? Look, I can call Jeff—”

“Jeff lives a half hour away, for God’s sake, and he’s out of town anyway. That’s the whole reason I had to have you come.”

I don’t actually believe that for a minute. I believe Jeff claimed to be out of town so he wouldn’t have to be around for the surgery, but it’s not like he’s going to admit he lied if I call asking for help.

My mother sighs. “You’ll need to ask one of those boys working in the back to help you.”

No. “That’s not their job. And—”

“Do you have a better solution?” she demands.

Alas, I don’t.

I rack my brain for the remainder of the drive, and when we arrive, I admit I’m going to have to do the unthinkable: ask Liam or his guys for help. Mac and JP are both nice. As long as it’s one of them I’m asking for a favor, I’ll survive.

I turn off the car, go to the backyard, and it’s Liam I encounter first, hammering a two-by-four, his lovely biceps on display.

I’ve got the worst luck.

“Need something?” he asks.

Ugh.

“My mother just had surgery. She needs some help getting up the stairs.”

His grin is unbearably smug. “So you need some help getting your mother inside?”

“I don’t need help,” I snap. “My mother needs help.”

“Sure.” He smirks, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’d be happy to help you.” He follows me to the front yard.

“If you can get her out,” I grumble, “I’ll lift on the other side.”

He scoops my mother up as if she’s made of air. “I’ve got her. Just unlock the front door.”

“Thank you for doing this,” she tells Liam. “Emerson should have made plans but she’s never thought of anyone but herself in her entire life.”

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