Page 23 of Hard Hat Hottie

The following morning, I’m released early, and Matt and Ellie drop me off at home before heading to the airport. I wish they could’ve stayed a little longer, but it’s not like this was a planned vacation.

My mother appears no worse for wear. Hopefully, she enjoyed spending a little time with my brother.

Joyce places a cup of coffee at the end of the kitchen island where I’m seated, giving my good arm a reassuring rub.

“Thank you. I couldn’t drink that stuff at the hospital. I can’t believe they call that coffee.” I make a face of disgust as I take a sip of the rich, fresh brew Joyce prepared and give a thankful hum of approval.

“Yeah, don’t know many people who intentionally check in for the food and beverages.” She chuckles.

Mom comes to stand beside me. I don’t know if it’s a product of her quiet demeanor or the fact her personality is lost to her dementia, but she seems so much smaller now. So much more frail than the woman full of moxie who raised me. She reachesa trembling hand over to my cast, running the pad of her index finger over the rough exterior. Her eyes look a tad distant, but not blank as they usually do. Could she be remembering when I broke my arm sliding into home base in the third grade?

“Carolyn, why don’t you be the first to sign it?” Joyce encourages. She hands my mother a black sharpie and gives her a nod.

I fully expect Mom to stand motionless, but she surprises me when she uncaps the marker and draws a shaky black heart onto the bumpy surface of the cast. My breath becomes lodged in my throat. I’m transfixed as she attempts to write MOM inside of it. Her handwriting is illegible, but I know exactly what she’s doing. I have to blink back a tear as I recall the way she did the exact same thing after my baseball injury. She’d said,a lot of men in the navy have hearts with Mom tattooed on their arms.

How bizarre it is that something she did an hour ago is completely lost to her, but an act performed over twenty years ago is fresh in her mind. The neurologist had said, many patients afflicted with Alzheimer’s will retain long term memory, not short term. I guess I should simply be grateful for whatever is left.

“I love it, Mom.”

Her eyes hold mine for the briefest of moments, and I swear I catch a small smile within them before her expression reverts back to the blank one I’ve grown so accustomed to.

“All right, Harrison, Carolyn and I are going to take our walk now. You should go try and get some rest.”

“Thanks, Joyce.”

She slides my mother’s arm through hers and leads her to the front door. I realize the time may come sooner than I like, where Mom is no longer able to walk, eat, or drink. I’m glad Joyce is getting her to enjoy these moments while they last.

I head to my room, hoping I can prop my arm up with a pillow and get some rest in my own bed. It was nearly impossible to sleep last night with monitors beeping and my arm incredibly sore, as the pain medication wore off far too quickly.

Removing the small amber bottle of pain medication from my pocket, I place it on my dresser and make a mental note not to leave it where my mother could get a hold of it. Reaching beyond it, I pick up the Magic 8 ball sitting next to the jar of spare change that I empty my pockets into each evening.

Turning the sphere around in my hands, I watch as the little white triangle bounces in dark fluid against the glass.It is certainimprinted on the floating shape.

This Magic 8 ball belonged to my father. I’m not sure why I’ve held onto it after all these years. Perhaps it felt like my last connection to him. But why would I want that? He was a selfish man who walked away without looking back. I shouldn’t need any reminders of that.

“Why did I keep this?” I ask aloud. Slowly, I shake the black ball and look back down for the response.Outlook not so good.Hmmm. Is it talking about my overall outlook on life, or the fact I’m asking this inanimate object questions and expecting a reasonable answer?

I place it back down on my dresser and make my way to the bed. Punching my pillow to allow my arm to rest within the trough I’ve created, I shift my body back and forth until I feel like I can rest. This only lasts a few moments before I again adjust my position, unable to find the right angle to support both my arm and my neck. I’m going to need to figure out how to manage work and life at home over the next six to eight weeks while I’m wearing this stupid thing. But for now, I’ll try to focus on how to get comfortable enough for a few hours of sleep. One thing’s for certain. I look down at my dominant arm, wrapped inwhite textured fiberglass.Doubt I’ll be waking up with my hand around my dick for a while.

CHAPTER NINE

HARRISON

“Hey, boss,” Gus greets as I walk into the makeshift office we’ve constructed under this pop up nylon canopy.

“Hey,” I grumble as I sit in my fold up chair perusing a letter I’ve received from the prestigious Outer Banks Seafood Restaurant Group.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. As good as I can be when I need to be up there with you guys, but…” I lift my cast and roll my eyes.

“You’re up there in spirit.” Gus smiles. “Ah, don’t beat yourself up too much. It’s only a few more weeks, and you’ll get that thing off and be back up there getting in our way.” He snickers. “What’s that?” His chin tilts toward the letter in my hand.

“It’s, nothing.” I hastily fold up the paper and tuck it back into the envelope.

“From the expression on your face, it didn’t look like nothing.”

I reach back with my good arm to rub the tense muscles behind my neck. This damn sling gets on my nerves. But the cast is heavy, and I tend to position my arm at an awkward angle by my side if I’m not using it. Then I hurt in muscles I haven’tstretched since… well, since I fell off of that damn platform like an idiot. “Keep it between us, okay?”

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