Page 47 of The Breaking Point

“Unless you’d rather go alone,” she said. “I realize I’m being kind of bossy when it’s your mom we’re talking about.”

“You, bossy? Never.” I grinned, then turned serious. “It’s okay if you come. Just ... keep your expectations low.”

Mom was out of it when we arrived. Then again, it wasn’t much different from how she usually was. But this time, it wasn’t booze making her loopy. She was on such strong painkillers that it took her a second to recognize me.

“Baby,” she crooned. She reached out a hand to touch my cheek.

I nearly flinched from her touch. She looked skeletal, and on top of that, she was so yellow from the jaundice that it was shocking. Her skin, the whites of her eyes. A sickly yellow color that I didn’t think was possible in a human being.

“Is that the nurse?” she asked me, pointing at Grace.

“She’s just a friend, Mom.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Grace held out a hand, but Mom didn’t notice it. She was too busy staring up at me.

“My baby boy, I missed you so much. I didn’t think you’d come. You never come to see me, your little old mom. I’ve waited so long to see you ...”

I hated myself at that moment. “I’m sorry,” I said.

Mom just smiled, but she was missing so many teeth that it made her look like she was ninety, not in her fifties.

“Could you do something for me?” Mom asked.

“Sure, I can.”

She tried to whisper, but it came out more like a loud rasp. “Can you get me a bottle of something to take the edge off? I’m hurting something terrible.”

I stilled. Grace looked away. Embarrassment flooded me.

“You’re in the hospital,” I said through gritted teeth.

“They’re total Nazis here.” Mom scowled. “They won’t give me anything. You know alcohol withdrawal can kill you, right? But do they care? No, of course not.”

I sighed. I’d spoken with Mom’s doctor, and I knew that she was being weaned off alcohol slowly and was under medical supervision with her detox. But Mom didn’t care. She just wanted to drink, as always.

Why had I ever thought she’d change? She would go to her grave clutching a bottle of vodka or a can of beer. It was the only constant she had in her life.

“The doctor says your vitals are looking better today,” I said, trying to change the subject. “You might be able to leave sooner than they thought.”

“They always say that, but then they keep you just to get all your money.” Her gaze turned to Grace now. “These places just want money. And then when you die here, they sell your body parts for extra cash.”

“Mom, they do not.” I wanted to point out that her body parts and organs were pretty useless, anyway.

“Who do they sell them to?” Grace asked.

She didn’t sound sarcastic, just mildly curious.

Mom’s eyes widened. “To the Illuminati. Look them up. They’re everywhere.” Mom glanced at the ceiling and then the floor. “Sometimes I can see them from the corner of my eye.”

Mom had always been out of it, but this was new. Was it the painkillers? Or just further deterioration from all the drinking?

“Well, Brady is good at keeping people safe,” Grace said, her tone serious. “So he’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

Mom’s gaze turned back to me. “He’s a good boy who loves his momma. And so talented. He gets that from my side of the family. Your dad and his family were useless pieces of shit, you know.”

Mom then went down a long tangent about my dad, and my dad’s parents, and then somehow we returned to the Illuminati, and aliens, and by the time Grace and I left, I felt a little drunk.

“Sorry about all that,” I said to Grace as we got into my car.

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