Page 89 of Of Desire And Deception

When I pulled into the driveway of the home I grew up in, I sighed and cut the engine, gripping the steering wheel for several minutes before finally climbing out and walking to the door. The little flower basket knocker reminded me of happier times, and I tapped out the secret pattern my father had created. It had been one way that he taught me stranger danger. Only family and close friends knew the secret knock. I didn’t open the door for anybody else.

I could hear muffled footsteps crossing the hardwood floors, then the three locks turning before my mother opened the door a crack. Her sunken blue eyes widened when she caught sight of me.

“Remi!” She flung the door open and nearly knocked me over as she threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. She wore a ragged t-shirt and sweats that used to be my father’s, her body frail underneath. “Did you call?”

“No, sorry,” I said, my nose wrinkling at the clinging stench of alcohol on her dark, tangled hair. We used to look alike, but now she was nearly unrecognizable as my mother.

She stepped back, wobbling slightly as she led me inside. “I thought you couldn’t get time off work.”

“I’m done at the Bureau,” I blurted.

My arm shot out to catch my mother as she whirled around and lost her balance. “You quit?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted, helping steady her. The lie I was about to tell tasted sour on my tongue. “I… married a person of interest in an investigation. That didn’t sit well with my boss.”

“When I told you I didn’t want you to end up like your father, I didn’t mean you should resort to crime.”

She didn't even notice the part about me getting married. I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t commit any crimes, Mom. After all the times you told me I was making a mistake with my career, I thought you’d be relieved to hear it was over.”

She burped, covering her mouth. “You’re a smart girl. You could do so many things.”

“I guess I’ll be looking at my options,” I said flatly.

My mother stumbled to the kitchen, where alcohol bottles lined the back of the counter. Before my father died, she would have had fresh baked goods in containers where the alcohol now stood. She poured whiskey into a tumbler and tossed back the entire drink. It was barely noon.

She held up the bottle. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.” I shook my head and turned away so she wouldn’t see the look of disgust on my face.

I stared out the back window at the overgrown yard I’d played in as a child, the tops of long grass and weeds poking up out of the snow. All of my dad’s life insurance went to fund my mother’s alcohol habit. Things like yard maintenance and housekeeping were no longer a priority.

She’d left me alone in the kitchen, so I opened the cupboards and refrigerator. There was enough for her to survive on, at least. The freezer was full of ice cream and microwave dinners. She had a stash of candy bars in a drawer that used to hold baking utensils. I searched the other drawers, finding everything in disarray. It didn’t take long to organize things, but who knew how long it would stay that way.

When I entered the living room, I found my mother curled up in my father’s old recliner, one of his sweatshirts covering her legs. She had a bag of chips tucked beside her and sipped on yet another glass of his favorite whiskey. Was that her second or third? The bottle looked emptier than it had in the kitchen.

“Mom.” I sat on the couch, leaning forward.

She looked at me, her eyes glazed with intoxication. “Oh, Remi. It’sho good of yous to c’me see me. How long’re you staying?”

“I can’t stay.” Seeing her like that was too much on top of everything else. I blinked the tears away. I’d tried to get her help before, to connect her with local programs, but she was too defensive and angry. My father took her soul when he died, and all that was left was a shell of a woman who barely resembled the mother I remembered. “I have to get back to Chicago, but I’ll try to visit again soon.”

The glass began to slip from her hand, and I caught it.

“Don’t!” She snatched it from my fingers and drank the rest, then set it on the side table and refilled it, but her eyelids drooped before she could drink more. “Make sure you lock’p on th’way out, Remi.”

“Of course.” I waited until she’d passed out, then walked around the house with a trash bag, cleaning up all the food wrappers and empty bottles. She was still opening the mail but left it in a haphazard pile on the dining table. None of the bills appeared to be overdue. I didn’t know what I’d do if she got into financial trouble.

My mother snored as I deep-cleaned everything, leaving it looking more like I remembered. I even ran some of her laundry without her stirring. Before I left, I leaned down and kissed the top of her head, wishing I could make things better for her.

My own life was utterly fucked. I couldn’t save her, too. On the way out the door, I grabbed a bottle of my dad’s whiskey and stopped by the store for some flowers. They would quickly freeze in the snow, but I still carried them into the cemetery with me and kicked the snow away from my father’s headstone before laying the white lilies on the ground. I crouched down, brushing the snow off the stone with my father’s name.

Beloved husband and father. Dedicated to his cause.

I didn’t stop the tears as they fell.

“What would you say if you were here?” I choked out. “I love him, you know. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. Is that how you felt about Mom? Like if you tried to stop, you might as well stop breathing?”

The cold stone didn’t answer, but tiny snowflakes drifted down from the silvery clouds in the sky. I didn’t know whether fate was real or if we had to create our destiny like Cosimo claimed. But if it were real, it felt like my father was sending me peace and quiet.

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