“Pete?” she asks, calling me by my dad’s name… my dead dad.
I shake my head. “C’mon, Mom. That’s not funny.”
Her stare remains on me for the span of a heartbeat, and then she straightens with a smile. “Parker!” Mom hurries toward me, her arms wide for a hug. “What are you doing here?”
The lump in my throat makes it impossible to answer so I simply wrap her in my arms and kiss the top of her head. When she steps back, I could almost convince myself that I imagined the last few minutes.
As I turn onto the street I grew up on, I give myself a mental shake. Holding onto memories—good or bad—has never done me any favors. Pulling into the driveway, a sense of dread washes over me. If Mom is having a bad enough day that the nurse quit, this isn’t going to be pretty.
After parking, I head inside, bracing myself for what’s to come. As soon as I cross the threshold, fury slams through me like a Mack truck. The living room is in shambles. I take in the scene, narrowing my eyes on the broken lamp and shattered picture frames before my gaze lands on a sight that will forever be emblazoned on my brain: my mom cowered in the corner like a child.
Jesus.
As slowly as I can, I cross the room and squat in front of her. It takes her a moment to realize she’s not alone, and when she does, her eyes widen in fear.
“Who are you?” she asks, her voice frighteningly tiny.
“Hi, Mom,” I say quietly. “It’s me, Parker.”
She shakes her head and then glances around frantically. “Where’s my son? I want my son.”
I try to reach for her hands, but she yanks them away. Sighing, mentally count to five. “I’m your son, Mom. Remember?”
“She wanted me to leave. I didn’t want to leave.”
“Who, Mom?”
Since returning to Marble Falls after my mom’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis, I’ve learned a few things. For example, if I repeatedly call her ‘mom’, even when she doesn’t recognize me, the repetition may trigger her mind to remember. So, I say it every chance I get.
“That horrible woman. I told her I had to stay here until my boy gets home from school, but she wouldn’t listen.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. But I’m here.”
Her eyes find mine, and I can tell the second clarity returns. Her fear diminishes, and she smiles. “Parker, what are you doing here?” She scans the room. “What happened here? It’s a mess.”
I rise to my full height and reach out a hand to help her to her feet. “You don’t remember what happened?”
“Of course, I know what happened?” she snaps. “You and your friends made a mess. I suggest you clean it up if you still want to go to that dance this weekend.”
And… she’s gone.
CHAPTER 2
EMBER
What. The. Hell?
“Why don’t you go home?”
I shake my head, ignoring the tears that threaten to spill out onto my cheeks. As a home health nurse specializing in caring for the elderly, I’m no stranger to death and dying, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. My patients are everything to me, and I’d been with Mrs. Franklin longer than most.
“I’m fine,” I insist, not looking at Harold. As the mortician, he and I have stood over numerous bodies together, and he’s always trying to look out for me. “I’m all she had, and Mrs. Franklin deserves to not be left alone.”
He gives a curt nod, refocusing on preparing the body to be transported to the funeral home.“Usual arrangements?”
Harold and I have an agreement. He gets my business, and I get a discount. “Yeah.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when everything’s ready.”
