Page 81 of Clean Sweep
Without another word, I brushed past him and into the other room. The door closed behind him only a few seconds later.
AT 5:15 SHARP,the front door opened.
Landon hurried inside, then skidded to a stop. The anxiety in his expression dropped the moment he clapped eyes on Starla.
She sat upright on a different, gently-used couch the color of evergreen. Pillows propped behind her. A used coffee table held a cup of broth, one of tea, and a plate of soda crackers and toast. Starla’s pale expression had a little more color to it after a change in nausea medication and a long nap.
“Hey,” she murmured to Landon. She held out a steady hand with a little smile.
Landon rushed to her side and dropped to his knees in front of her. I faded back into the kitchen to give them a moment.
The swirling relief and fear in his expression tugged at my heart. What mother ever wanted to see heartfelt anguish on their child’s face?
A riot of emotions rolled around my body already. They worsened at the sight of his utter adoration. The painful love returned in her gaze. Landon looked as if he’d been through agony all day, waiting to get home.
In the interim between kicking Tanner out and Landon returning home, Starla and I had spoken in bursts. While Starla napped, I’d called a local friend and asked her to bring over some gently-used furniture, accepting basic descriptions as they told me about them. I ran to the Bed and Bath store to stock up on a few things. After the couch arrived and settled Starla onto it, she’d opened up.
Her whole story came out, from an unstable home and awkward family life that she hadn’t returned to since graduating high school, to the onset of symptoms. Her shock over the diagnosis as she spoke about it was still apparent in her tone.
“I don’t know what to think,” she’d murmured at one point, her brow heavy. “I’m afraid for what it might take to treat it, but more afraid of how it’ll affect Landon. I already feel like a burden to him . . .”
Now that all the information had been laid out, I didn’t know what to do with it. My simmering frustration with Tanner had abated a little.
He’d been heroically supportive considering all facets. The apartment. Cleaning. Stocking food. He’d also dropped off some clothes for Landon and checked in through text messages every couple of days. I couldn’t make sense of my gratitude for his help toward my son when it coupled with my irritation that he’d kept all those secrets.
Landon shuffled into the kitchen and broke apart my thoughts. He didn’t stop at the fridge the way I expected, he just walked right over to me and pulled me into his arms.
“I’m sorry.” His voice broke. “Tanner was right. I was being a proud idiot and didn’t want to take help. Didn’t want you to think badly of Starla or that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. I wanted to prove I could do this. That my career change and quick wedding weren’t related. I’m sorry, Mom. I don’t think I can do this alone.”
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him close. A muted cry followed, then calmed. He gripped me hard for almost a full minute before he finally pulled back. A quick swipe of his thumbs cleared the moisture from his cheeks.
I grabbed his wrists.
“I know how much you love her,” I said, “and I see how real it is. I trust you, Landon Miller. Now, please give me the same courtesy in the future?”
His nostrils flared as he nodded, blinking away the last of the emotion. His hands shook as he wiped his cheeks off again. A distressed, square table stood in the corner of the kitchen now, surrounded by four sturdy chairs. Next to it, a broom, a mop, a vacuum, and a few other necessities stood against the wall in a pile. He stared at all of it, nostrils flared.
“The furniture,” he said, his voice husky. He gestured to it, “Did you?”
“I did.”
“Thank you. We’ll—“
I held up a hand. “If you offer to pay me back, I will personally cut off your legs.”
He softened. “Thanks, Mom.”
“A few other little things will arrive tomorrow. A TV and recliner.” I gestured to a folding card table and two rickety chairs that looked like they’d been scrounged up near a garbage pile. “Please give those away?”
He laughed. “Of course.”
“Also, I spoke with the nurse from the clinic where Starla is being seen and got copies of all her appointment times. I will be up here to take her to her appointments. If I can’t, I will find someone to come and get her and take her home.”
He opened his mouth to protest, the refusal building in his eyes, but I cut him off with my sternest glare. His mouth closed.
“Consider it my wedding present, if you will,” I said in a conciliatory tone.
“Starla told me you refused the money that we have to pay for the wedding,” he said. “I think paying for all the catering, the decorations, the Frolicking Moose rental, and my tux is plenty of a wedding gift.”
