Page 26 of Wreck Me

“Nothing. Feel better, Sis. I’ve got a strong immune system. I’ll kick this thing by morning.”

As she ended the call, a deep engine rumble from out front told her Nico was driving away. Both she and the dogs listened with perked ears as the truck’s growl faded into the night. When the only sound was the humming of the refrigerator, the house felt eerily quiet and oddly empty, and so did Ginny. She grimaced as she swallowed hot tea down her increasingly angry throat.

With all hope of veggie dogs gone, she expected the dogs to stake out their various favorite places on the living room rug and curl up to sleep, but they stayed by the door. Her brain felt stuck in low gear as she stared them, not understanding. Finally, Annie, the best communicator of the group, whined her specific whine. They needed a trip outside.

“Okay,” Ginny said, using both arms to push herself up with a groan. Her head swam a little. “But make it a good one, because it’s bedtime after this.”

After letting the dogs out, she walked down the front steps and meandered her way over to the rectangle of lawn that Nico’s rug had slightly flattened. A scent of popcorn lingered, and a few shiny shards of what she assumed were movie projector bits glinted in the road. Had she overreacted? The outdoor theatrehadbeen cute. It might have been another nice evening, like the last. Shedidlike twinkle lights…

She frowned as she shook her head. No! He was using her to get what he wanted, nothing more. If she ever desired such things, there were plenty of men she’d have fun cooking veggie dogs with. Plenty of handsome guys who’d set up twinkle lights around cozy pillows for an outdoor movie with her. Plenty whose every movement and glance could set her nerves on tingly alert. She couldn’t remember any just now, but that was her brain on a cold.

And anyway, even the most attractive man wouldn’t be worth the pain and annoyance she’d eventually feel from having him around. She had learned this lesson first at the knee of her Great Aunt Lydia, but the lesson had been reinforced time and again by her own observations and experiences. Sadie seemed to have found the rare exception in Grant, but Sadie didn't get bored as easily as Ginny did.

Ginny had been sneezing every few minutes, but the next one was massive. Still, it barely raised an ear flick from the dogs—even they understood that she had a bad cold.

Finished with their doggy bedtime routine, Ginny brought them all back inside to start her own. It was a simple one. First, she changed into jammies. Her regular ones were somewhere in the deep strata layers of the overflowing laundry basket she was supposed to have washed that day. She didn’t have the energy to excavate them, but, as she looked in her dresser for a suitable oversized t-shirt, her fingers found the lovely, hand-me-down (but still as perfect as new) navy blue satin set from Monique. They were far too fancy for Ginny’s tastes, but she was far too exhausted to care.

Next, she headed to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face with hand soap—but she only managed the first part. As she set her toothbrush back into its cup, all her energy seemed to seep out through the soles of her feet. She gripped the edges of her small bathroom sink as a yawn took over her entire flagging body. She reached her hand determinedly toward her washcloth on its rack but let her arm drop. She was too tired. Her face would just have to deal with being dirty till morning. She took an antihistamine, drank some cough medicine straight from the bottle, and her bedtime routine was officially done.

Exiting the bathroom, she felt light-headed enough that she placed her hands on the doorframe for a little added balance. Antihistamines tended to have this effect on her, but it hadn’t been in her system long enough. This had to just be the cold. The overhead light in her bedroom was off, but her bed was mere feet away, and the darkness was so inviting. She couldn’t wait to plop into the sheets and nod off. And that’s all she needed, really, a good sleep. Sleep off the cold. Sleep off the man.

Her bare foot touched something squishy, and Ginny heard a yelp. It was more a yelp of surprise than of pain, and the surprisewas mutual. The dogs never slept in her room. One of them must have snuck in while she was in the bathroom.

Reflexively, Ginny yelped too. She attempted to direct her foot to a safer landing spot, but her sense of space was off kilter, and her nervous system was running uncharacteristically slow. Whichever dog had decided to bunk with her reacted at the exact same time, creating a scrabble of nails and a flailing of furry limbs. A head or a read end—she would never know which—bumped hard into the side of her standing leg, and down she went in the dark. Piercing pain stole her breath as her right ankle twisted, and the hardwood floor she’d polished herself rose up to meet her face.

12

Abrunette nursing assistant smiled prettily at Nico as she led him through the Life Homes Nursing Home. Obvious distractions had delayed the first of his planned daily visits to his mother by a few days, but he was eager to see her today. After the previous night’s debacle with Ginny, he was grateful for any distraction. He needed time to regroup and regain his emotional footings, but that was darn near impossible when his mind kept replaying the sight of her electric eyes and taut body. He needed a brain surgeon or a hypnotist to perform a Ginnyectomy, but, short of that, he needed to re-ground himself. His mother had always been the best person in the world for that job.

The hallways were wide, carpeted, and clean. The facility itself was arranged into “households” of eight residents per section, each with private rooms and shared, home-like living and dining areas. Essential oil diffusers released the day’s scents, which were apparently lavender and vanilla. All in all, it was the best long-term care money could buy.

“How’s my mom been doing?” he said to the nurse as they neared his mother’s household.

The woman lowered her eyes slightly but did not slow her pace. “She can still walk and sit perfectly fine on her own, which is good considering how long she’s had the diagnosis. I sometimes think there’s more going on with her mentally than she’s able to show us.”

“I’m hoping she’ll recognize me. She didn’t last time.”

They reached his mother’s door. The nurse knocked lightly before cracking it a few inches and motioning for him to enter. “It’s always good to hope,” she said, but her smile seemed sad. She turned and walked away.

His mother sat in one of two tall chairs facing a window. The view overlooked a flower garden where birds and butterflies flitted, but his mother’s eyes were motionless. Nico couldn’t help smiling at the chairs. The matched and regal pair of orange and cream floral wingbacks had sat in the living room of their Picard Street home for as long as Nico could remember. To him, the chairs had been thrones—one for his mother and the other for his Aunt Celia. They represented the nicest furniture by far that the little family had owned, and no little boys were ever allowed to put their grubby bottoms on them. Still pristine, Celia’s had been reunited with his mother’s chair in her long-term care room upon his aunt’s passing.

“Hi, Mom,” he said as he took a seat on Celia’s throne and angled himself toward her. “It’s good to see you.”

His mother swiveled her head his way in cartoonishly slow motion. Once so vibrant, so ever-alert for her offspring’s half-truths, her green eyes were misted now and sunken, the loose skin of their lids draped over them in a final curtain call. He searched her eyes for signs of recognition.

“Is it Tuesday already?” she said. Her weakening lungs barely dimmed her powerful voice.

He lifted her hand and cradled it in both of his. The skin was papery and loose, but her hand was warm. He borrowed strength from that. “Mom, it’s me, Nico, your eldest son.”

His chest clenched, and he allowed himself a breath, trying to calm the panic and pain.

Please recognize me. Please, please just recognize me.

She looked back at him, and for a moment seemed to be searching his face. There might as well have been a computer program “loading” message revolving on her forehead. Nico held his breath, willing her memories of him to click in, but the glimmer in her eyes extinguished, and she turned her gaze back toward the window. “I don’t want my hair done today.”

Reversing his steps through the facility an hour later, defeat and shame enveloped him in a cloud so thick it felt like a too-tight scarf he couldn’t loosen. The last time he’d visited, he’d been certain she almost recognized him. Now, it had been twice in a row. Had he really lost her forever? Would all his future visits be like this one, sitting in near total silence as if they were strangers? He missed her advice. He missed her all-knowing smile and her sardonic wit. He missed her strength. It seemed impossible that any disease, even Alzheimer’s, could snuff out the human firecracker his mother had been.

Just as he reached the exit, the pretty nurse came up to him. “Any luck?”

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