Page 58 of Hold Still

She moves her toe across the carpet, making circles, and then brings her other foot to join it. Our slow trek across the room takes twenty minutes. When we reach the threshold of her bedroom, her footsteps pick up to their normal speed and soon she’s tucked in for the night.

Entering my own bedroom, I wrap my arms around my middle. Tears overflow their banks. The doctors told me spatial perception can be distorted due to her dementia. At least she was inside the house and unharmed. This scary episode, along with the sexual tension from Ozzy, plus our earlier “discussion” about his ex-wife, slam into me all at once.

I miss Daddy.

After allowing myself five minutes to cry, I put my emotions away. No more time for self-pity. And no more late nights. Mom has to be my number one priority. I slip off my high heels and change into my nightshirt. After washing all of the makeup off my face, I collapse into my bed. What a shitty day.

MY ALARM GOESoff at seven-thirty. I pry open my eyes and turn over. The sound of someone in the kitchen brings me out of bed. Tossing on a robe, I go into the kitchen to find out who Mom is this morning.

Mom chirps, “Good morning, McKenna. Did you sleep well?”

At least she’s back. Score one. Forcing a smile, I lie, “I slept okay.”

She hands me a coffee. “Great! I was going to make waffles this morning for Daddy and me. Do you want any?”

My heart plummets. I don’t have the strength to keep up the charade. “Mom, Daddy’s been gone for years now.”

She stops her puttering and looks at me, her head tilted. “Oh. Right. How silly of me.” She plays with her sleeves.

I sip the coffee but my stomach roils. She doesn’t remember—she’s covering. Classic signs of her disease. “It’s okay, Mom. Go ahead and make yourself some.” I hold up my mug. “Just coffee for me today.”

Mom looks at me. “Are you trying to lose weight?”

A swarm of bees run up my spine. I know I’ve gained weight lately, but I don’t appreciate having it pointed out to me. Even if Mom doesn’t know everything she’s saying anymore. “I’m not hungry.”

Shrugging, she says, “Suit yourself.” She takes out the waffle maker and I return to my bedroom. Can’t I catch a break?

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I survey my nude body with a critical eye. Shoulders drooping, I trudge upstairs and hop onto the treadmill. Halfway through the cycle—sweat-soaked and panting for scraps of air—I shut it off. I’m done for today. Tomorrow, I should be able to do a little more. If I care enough.

Before I shower, I check my phone. One missed text, from Ozzy.

Can you come over to my place today? I’d like to do something fun with you.

At the word “fun,” all of my thoughts freeze. I should stay away, but I can’t. After everything that happened with Mom last night and this morning, I deserve what he’s been offering. The sex will be good. He’ll make me forget. Ignoring my head pleading me not to go, I text that I’ll be there.

As I tuck a shirt into my capris—my last-ditch effort to fend off Ozzy—Elaine arrives for her shift. I put on red lipstick to match my newly dyed hair and grab my purse. Elaine and Mom talk about going for a walk to the park, which would be good for her—maybe getting out of the house would help clear her head. With a word of warning about Mom’s status, I head out, laptop in hand.

Driving toward Ozzy’s house, I turn on the radio and give myself permission to allow Elaine to provide Mom with the comfort she needs. She’s trained to do so. And my therapist convinced me I’m not a failure because I simply don’t have the skillset.

I search for a release valve from my emotions surrounding Mom’s condition, and consider what Ozzy’s been offering. Maybe I need to run a pro/con list?

PROs—he’s great in bed, creative, funny, fun, intense, sexy, hot. Oh my God! I need to move on to the…

CONs—he doesn’t do serious relationships (neither do I), he’s a player, he’ll leave Vegas at the end of the year when his residency at the Jade expires

The “pros” have it.

As I’m feeling confident with my decision, the DJ comes over the radio, saying, “Here’s Ozzy Martinez with ‘Hit the Streets,’ his first Top Ten smash. Word has it he debuted a new song last night in concert at the Jade, which is good news for fans. Can’t wait to hear it! If you were at the concert, call in now and let us know your thoughts.”

‘Hit the Streets’ starts to play as my mind goes back to last night. To memories of Ozzy sitting on the side of the stage, singing his new song with only his guitar. It was … magical. Pride wells up in me. He created it all by himself, from start to finish. I even had a tiny role in helping him with it.

The song ends and the DJ comes back on. “So, here we have Dana, who was at Ozzy Martinez’s concert last night. Tell us about his new song, Dana.”

A new voice comes over the radio. She gushes, “It was awesome. He sat down on the edge of the stage with his feet dangling. Just him and his guitar and he sang ‘Take Me.’ It was hot! I wanted to crawl over all the other audience members and do him right then and there!” Both she and the DJ start laughing.

Well, there you have it. I put my blinker on to turn into his driveway and shut off the radio. When I shift into park, I relax my head against the cushioned headrest. Before I can get out of my car, Ozzy bounds out of the front door and jogs down the steps, helmets in his hand. I step out as he approaches, arm extended.

“Here you go. Put this on. We’re going out.” His eyes shine.

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