Page 6 of Tempting the Heart

The thought of seeing my parents after all this time left a gnawing sensation deep in my stomach. It almost felt like heartburn. I took a sip of coffee and couldn’t help but smile, thinking about Mae.

I shook my head and let out a deep breath. Mae, Brad, and the rest of the Evans family got me through high school, and I doubt they even knew it.

My old house came into view.

The sea air hadn’t been kind to it. The money I’d sent to repair and paint the siding obviously didn’t go to that project.

I shook my head, unsurprised.

The wood siding on the house had been so worn down that the ashy grey made the wood look nearly transparent. The trim barely clung to the windows. The porch steps looked crumbled along the corners, and the weeds were knee-high.

I was relieved that I’d chosen to book a few nights at a hotel in town.

Pulling into the narrow drive, I felt my heart pound harder, and it frustrated me. I was a grown man, nearly forty.

Yet all the feelings rushed back like I was a kid again. The darkness hung in the cab of my truck. Apprehension sank into my chest. I didn’t want to be here, but there wasn’t a thing I could do about it.

I parked the truck, turned off the ignition, and sat in the cab for a few minutes, trying to remind myself that I wasn’t fifteen any longer. Their words couldn’t hurt me. The wounds hadn’t necessarily healed, but they didn’t burn as potently as before.

By the time I’d managed to climb up the stairs, I really didn’t want to be here.

I knocked on the door and halfway expected it to fall off the hinges. Instead, I heard thumping, followed by the door creaking as my mom appeared, looking as disheveled as the day I left for college. My mother’s beige bathrobe clung to her body. Her stringy hair looked like it hadn’t been combed in days, if not longer. But none of it was anything new. Other than a few more lines along her eyes and forehead, she looked the same as when I’d left.

“Wondered if you’d bother showing up.” Her eyes didn’t brighten when they saw her youngest son. They darkened. I brushed off the familiar feelings and cleared my throat.

“I told you I would. I’ve always been a man of my word.” I gritted my teeth as she stepped aside, and I walked into the small house.

The place was filthier than before. Stacks of unopened mail, bags, and boxes littered the small hallways. The door opened directly into the small gathering room where an oversized recliner parked in the corner held my father. The stuffing poked out from the seams, and my father stared at me without a greeting. He wore the same color robe as my mother, sweatpants, and flattened slippers.

“I see everyone is in great spirits, as usual,” I said, closing the door behind me.

The moment I did, I regretted it. An odd mustiness hung in the air.

“Those jeans don’t fit you well.” My father’s brows rose. “What part are you trying to play in them? A clown, maybe?” He looked at my mom, and she smiled. “Why don’t men wear jeans that are jeans? What happened to Levis?”

“They are Levis.” I looked at the time on my phone. “We have to get to the physical therapist in twenty minutes, and you’re not dressed. Do you need my help or Mom’s?”

“I’m not going.” My father turned his attention to the television. “And I certainly wouldn’t want any help dressing if I looked like you afterward.”

Ah, good times.

I looked at my mother for assistance, but she just sat on the couch and watched the same program as my dad. A pile of magazines and scratch tickets fell to a different heap on the floor when she lifted her legs onto the couch.

I rubbed my hands together and laughed, shaking my head. “Okay, so you’ve had every single care nurse quit. The transportation company Paul and I organized returned our money, and they quit. I’ve tried every option out there that would be convenient for the two of you.”

“I don’t have to do what I don’t want to do.” His lips turned into the familiar frown I’d grown accustomed to as a kid.

I nodded my head, feeling the frustration boil through me. “But you just had hip replacement surgery. If you don’t do the rehab, you’re going to deteriorate quickly.”

“Ah, who cares?”

I looked at my mom, expecting her to say something. She didn’t.

“You might wind up in a nursing home.”

Neither of them said a word.

“One week of therapy. That’s it. I spoke to the therapist, and she told me if I could get you to her sessions this week, you can do the rest at home. If you don’t, it will be very difficult for you to be mobile.”

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