Page 4 of Slay Ride

“Six months? That should cover the next fucking year!”

“Inflation has hit all of us especially hard, Mr. Carter. I can refer your mother to one of our less-expensive facilities, but you’ve chosen to house her at our premier location, and that comes with premier pricing.”

I shake my head. It’s bad enough that I have to keep my mom in one of these places. If she has to be looked after, I only want the best.

“You’ll need to come up with the remainder before the end of next week,” he adds. “Based on your lapse in payment, we won’t be able to handle a different arrangement.”

I grip the chair’s leather armrests for no other reason than to keep myself from launching across this desk and using his stupid blue tie as a garrote. Having nothing more to say to the piece of shit, I stand and turn for the door.

“Next week, Mr. Carter. Don’t forget.”

I turn to face him before I leave the room. “Alt and F4, Doctor Whitlow. Don’tyouforget. I never will.” I give him a parting wink.

As I travel back downstairs, I work to keep my breathing level. No matter what state my mother is in when I see her, I don’t want to bring any negative energy. She worked her ass off to raise me on her own, and she never brought any of her stress to the dinner table each night. Now I strive to keepmystress away fromher.

She’s still seated in the chair by the boxwoods when I step into the Florida sunshine. Beyond the hedges, a few patients totter around the edge of the koi pond. A fence prevents them from falling in, but I’ve seen my fair share of gown-wearing deviants hop it in one leap to go for a swim.

My mother hasn’t noticed me yet, but I’ll know her mental state as soon as she does. Her eyes tell me everything. Despite her diagnosis, the dementia only rears its head on rare occasions. The doc says that will change. Her illness will progress as her brain deteriorates.

It feels wrong to hope that she’s having a bad day, but it’s the only way I can learn more about any siblings we may have. Before her mind started to go, she’d begun delving into my father’s past. She wanted to destroy him for no other reason than leaving me fatherless. She never made it far enough to uncover proof of his many misdeeds, but she did uncover siblings.

Plural.

She hears my footsteps on the cobblestones. As she turns toward me, the distant, foggy look in her eyes is unmistakable. The neurons aren’t firing as they should.

“Could you be a dear and fetch a cup of tea for my friend here?” she asks me. She thinks I’m an orderly, and I won’t correct her. The medical team taught me it’s best for her if I don’t confuse her.

“Sure, Mrs. Tierney. Do you mind if I sit with you for just a bit first? It’s mighty warm today, and my legs are tired.”

She offers a sly smile. “I won’t tell if you won’t, but it’s Miss Tierney, I’m afraid. I never married.”

Again, guilt eats away a little more of my soul. I’ve learned that calling her Mrs. instead of Miss will grant an opening, so I use it to my advantage. I’m not perfect.

“A pretty thing like you? I’m shocked no one scooped you up.” I study the two chairs beside the table. I want to sit, but I’m not sure which chair holds her imagined friend.

She motions to the chair closest to her. “You can sit there, beside Ronnie. She doesn’t bite.”

Ronnie. That was my mother’s sister—an aunt I never met because she drowned at the tender age of nineteen, three years before I was born.

I turn to the empty chair and nod. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie. It isn’t often that I meet a redhead.”

“Don’t try flirting with her,” my mother says with a chuckle. “She’s wise to the ways of men.” Her voice lowers to a scandalous whisper. “You don’t have the right equipment, if you catch my meaning.”

I learn all sorts of things on her bad days.

My mother stretches her hand across the table, reaching out for someone I can’t see. “Take care, Ronnie. I’ll see you as soon as I’m back from vacation.”

Her eyes follow the departing apparition, then turn to me. These interactions aren’t my favorite. It’s easier when I can eavesdrop on a conversation rather than participate.

“No need for the tea, I guess,” she says. “You and I can have a little chat, though. As long as the boss doesn’t come around.”

“I’m due for a break, so they won’t mind.” I force a smile. “I’m still shocked you never married. Surely someone stole your heart at some point.”

She turns her teacup and shakes her head. “Stole is certainly a good word for it. The man was a cad. I wouldn’t be surprised if he left a woman with child in all fifty states, and that’s just America.”

“How many children does he have?”

“I only know of three for sure. My son, Bennett—such a good boy—Ezra, a boy in the UK, and Luisa, a girl in Texas.”

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