Page 6 of Plunge

The truth of her words hits me like a slap. And I know all of this because I helped to set things up this way. On paper, we appear to be a small business. I clear my throat and interrupt her.

“So I either come back to New York or I’m out?”

I hear the sounds of rustling papers in the background and my boss’s muffled voice as he says something to Nancy. He pipes back in: “Me again, Thistle. We were, as you know, extremely pleased with the work you did for the Paris agreement. We’ve prepared your bonus check for that work—an amount that will, I’m sure, enable you to hire full time care for your mother once you return to your office at the conclusion of your vacation.”

My heart starts pounding in my ears even as I hear my mother making her way down the hall toward her bedroom. She lumbers along, patting the walls for support while she fumbles with a cane. I close my eyes and swallow, not sure what to say.

In one ear, I hear the visceral need my mother has for another person to help her navigate this new life and in the other, I hear my career being flushed down the toilet if I step up to help her with this task.

On one side, international travel and fancy foods and flashy cars. On the other…a woman who doesn’t even know the phone number of a neighbor to ask for help taking a work call today.

Do I want the work or do I want to be the good daughter? Do I want to send home money like my father has always done or do I want to tie my hair back and help Teresa McMurray learn to talk again while she picks out the most attractive wood for her long-term cane?

At least my father has someone to send a paycheck home to, I think. Who have I got, apart from Larry?

Walter keeps talking, Nancy starts to say something. I stop hearing them. I look at the mirror above my scratched dresser. My ribbons from track meets are tacked to the frame along with the faded yellow suns our coach used to give us when we earned a personal best in any event.

I never even wanted to run track, not really, but sophomore year, I was trying to find my way to a future business leaders club after school when Fletcher Crawford sneered at me. “You’re not going out for track are you?”

When I’d raised an eyebrow and told him I certainly was not, the smug bastard had said, “Good. You’d never make the cut anyway.”

I never could let Fletcher get the last word. I didn’t even have workout clothes with me in my bag, but did the basic fitness tests in jeans and Keds. Fletcher and I were the only sophomores to make the varsity team that season, and I spent the next three years literally chasing after him on the track while spending every second off of it with him.

I think again of the loneliness that’s overwhelmed me this past week home with Mom. Something is off in my life right now, and paying someone to take care of my mother isn’t the way to fix it.

I walk across the room and drag my hands through the dusty ribbons. I clear my throat. “Thank you, Nancy, for all of that information. What exactly does leave of absence mean?”

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