Mothered (41)

“You know, I’m thinking that after I’ve served my time I might look into being a delivery driver.”

“Like DoorDash or something?”

“Exactly. That’s where it’s at now, everyone with money wants everything on their doorstep.”

“That’s a good thought.” Finally he let Coco clean the bowl. She pushed it across the table with her nose as she licked it. “But just until you can find a salon worthy of your skill.”

“Of course. Have you ever considered . . .” She hesitated to ask the question because she knew Miguel had never voiced wanting to start his own salon and bringing it up now would make it sound like she wanted him to help solve her future employment problem. Before she could find a tactful approach—merely inquisitive—Miguel started coughing.

At first Grace thought the audio on her laptop had gone wonky—a delay, an echo—because she heard the coughing in stereo. Then she realized that Jackie was coughing too, audible through Grace’s closed bedroom door.

“Are you okay?” Grace’s headache threatened to come back, a throbbing alarm against the inside of her skull.

Miguel took a sip of water. “Yeah, just feel a little tight in my chest.”

“Shit Miguel, that’s a symptom!”

“It’s nothing—”

“It’s not nothing.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it.” They gazed at each other on their screens. Intense. Worried. “I feel fine.”

Grace glanced toward her door. “I think I should check on my mom. Please call me if you feel even a little bit sick, okay? Call if you need anything, promise?”

“Promise.”

They waved and exchanged air-kisses and closed their laptops.



She found Jackie on the sofa, snuggling a blanket and absorbed in a black-and-white sitcom. Grace had hurried down because she was concerned, but seeing her mother comfortable on the couch—exactly where Grace wanted to be, sulking over her horrible life—brought a sting of annoyance. The TV show was perky and ridiculous, about a housewife who could twitch her nose and alter the space-time continuum.

“I heard you coughing. Are you all right?” Grace hoped she sounded urgent and not short tempered.

“Fine, hon. Some water went down the wrong way.”

Grace nodded and passed through the room. When she reached the kitchen she exhaled, a great gust that depleted her lungs and had her leaning on the counter for support. Stress was getting to her. What if Miguel was sick? What if Grace was infected, the virus readying its war on her body? And Jackie’s too? She started pacing, frantic.

What if they were all going to get it eventually, even all the doctors and nurses? And delivery drivers! What if the hospitals filled up or there weren’t enough supplies? What about the people all over the world, cogs in the supply chain? How many holes—absent workers—could the system take before it stopped running?

It wasn’t a joking cliché anymore: she was going to lose her mind. She was spending less and less time with her damsels because her aliases were running out of reasonable advice—because Grace was running out of rational things to tell herself. Without the escape of cyberspace, she needed somewhere real to go, but where? As tempting as it was to hop in the car and start driving, it seemed wrong to abandon her mother. Grace marched back into the living room.

“Hey. I need to get out. Feeling a little claustrophobic. Do you want to go to the park? Take a little walk?”

Jackie grinned, putting the TV on mute. “It would be nice to get out for a while. Funny how it doesn’t seem so necessary when you can do it whenever you want. But as soon as they say, ‘Stay home!’ then you think of all the things you can’t do.”

“Schenley Park is really close.”

Jackie swung her feet off the sofa and bent down to massage her ankle. “That sounds lovely, but I’m not sure how much walking I can do. Still a little tender sometimes.”

Some of the trails in the park were uneven or steep. It wouldn’t be the safest place to take her mother—all the more so for how crowded it might be if everyone had the same idea. Another possibility came to mind: Allegheny Cemetery had lots of paved paths. It was pleasant there this time of year, green and lush, almost like a park—if one overlooked the headstones and mausoleums. It was also where Hope was buried.

Maybe she was overdue for a visit to her sister’s grave. Perhaps it would put an end to the nightmares.

“We could go to the cemetery,” Grace said softly.

Jackie’s head jerked up, and she met Grace’s eyes. “If you want to.” She sounded cautious. “It would be nice.”

“Okay, it’s a plan. Let me just run upstairs and—”

“Grab my walking shoes from the closet?” Jackie asked as Grace headed for the stairs. “They’re on the floor, on top of some boxes.”

“Sure.” Grace knew exactly where they were, having snooped in her mother’s room. The prospect of an outing put a bounce in her step.





26


If Grace had been thinking of taking up walking as a new form of exercise, she soon realized she’d have to do it without her mother. She hadn’t parked far from Hope’s grave, so Jackie could enjoy at least a short stroll, but to stay at her side Grace had to move in slow motion. It wasn’t at all obvious why Jackie needed special shoes to perambulate at their current pace, though the trip to her closet had reminded Grace that she hadn’t solved the mystery of the little locked box.