Page 12 of Jeremy
Myonly plans for the day were to clean up the house and call Agnes, since Ihaven’t heard from her in a few days, but by the time I get out of the shower,all I can feel is the urge to paint throbbing through my veins.
Ican’t forget the look on his face when he saw me in his bed and the need tocapture what I felt at that moment is overwhelming. One glance into my studioand I know that isn’t where I need to be. I gather all my supplies and set upon my back deck.
Laughterfrom Justus and Tucker rings in the distance, but it doesn’t really registerwith me. I’m in the zone. The place I go when I’m hurt, upset, or anxious. Theability to retreat there has saved my sanity countless times.
Theovercast day matches my mood perfectly. All the while I’m working, the feelingsof rejection and shame seep away, leaving me in a contented exhaustion. I’msurprised to look up from my work and see the sky has turned a deep purple. Asusual, I’ve been completely immersed in my art.
Steppingback, I look over the painting. It began as Jeremy’s face, but became twistedinto a portrait of despair and anger. Anyone who might see this would recognizehim right away, but I’m not sure they’d see the layers of his personalitybleeding through. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. Art doesn’tcare. It just shows the truth and damn the consequences.
Arumble of thunder sounds in the distance so I quickly move the canvas and allthe supplies back into my studio. It feels good to flip off the light switchand leave him there, in the dark.
I’vejust finished scrubbing the paint from my hands and arms when my phone rings. Irecognize Agnes’s number. “Melissa, is that you?” she asks before I can sayhello, and I know right away something is wrong.
“It’sme. Are you okay?”
“Well,I think I may have broken my ankle, and I can’t get a hold of my kids. I knowit’s late, but do you think you could run me to the Emergency Room?”
“Ofcourse! Is it just your ankle? Did you hit your head?” I grab my purse andkeys.
“No,just turned my ankle coming down the stairs and I can’t put any weight on it.It looks like a puffer fish.”
“Don’ttry to stand on it,” I warn. “I’m on my way.”
“Justuse your key, dear.”
IfI ever meet Agnes’s family, they aren’t going to like me one bit. She’s seventy-fiveyears old. She really shouldn’t be living alone, especially if she can’t evencount on them to answer their phones in an emergency.
WhenI let myself in, she’s sitting at the bottom of her stairs. “I’m sorry to dragyou out,” she begins, before I cut her off.
“Don’tbe silly. You’re hurt.” I wince when I pull up her pant leg and get a glance ather ankle. “Yeah, you need the hospital. Do you have an ice pack in thefreezer?”
“No,but I have a bag of frozen corn.”
Ihelp her out to my car and she holds the frozen corn on her ankle until we getto the emergency room. It’s a small hospital, and there aren’t a lot of peoplewaiting. We get taken back to a room pretty quickly, and they take Agnes tohave an x-ray.
Thedoctor returns with the results and sits across from us. “Well, Ms. Foster, itisn’t broken, but it is severely sprained. We’re going to put an air cast on itand give you some pain meds, but we need to discuss an underlying issue. Yourchart says you’ve been diagnosed with osteoporosis.”
“Yes,a few years ago,” she replies.
Herefers to the chart again. “Are you taking your prescribed medications, alongwith the Vitamin D and calcium supplements?”
“Iforget them from time to time,” she admits.
Thedoctor turns to me. “It’s very important your mother take her meds asprescribed. She was lucky not to break a bone this time, but if theosteoporosis goes untreated, she’s at a high risk for fractures.”
Agnesgrins at me, waiting for me to correct him, but I make a decision in thatmoment. “I’ll be sure that she does.”
Thedoctor scribbles on his pad, then tears off a few sheets. “Here is aprescription for painkillers. She needs to be checked by her doctor in a weekor so to make sure the ankle is healing properly.”
Aftermaking a few more notes on his chart, he leaves, and Agnes smiles at me. “I’dbe happy to have a daughter like you.”
“Well,consider me adopted, because you’re staying with me, at least until your ankleheals.”
Agnessits up and shakes her head. “Oh no, I’m not imposing on you like that.”
“It’snot an imposition.”
“Still,I don’t want—”
