Mothered (59)
Like a child, she threw herself on the bed and wailed. How could her mother do this to her? Grace had never, ever been as vile a person as her mother wanted her to believe. There was something wrong with Jackie. She’d permeated Grace’s house with her foul, festering sickness. Grace just wanted her life back—her job at Barbara’s, her coworkers and clients, the restaurants she loved, the easy reliability of her old routine, her days filled with people. And Miguel—at work, after work, his near-daily presence in her life. She was falling apart, and instead of helping her, her mother had swept in to pummel the broken pieces, reduce her to something too small to repair.
Except the bad luck had started before her mother’s arrival. The downward spiral began right before Grace moved into the house, with the start of the pandemic. Had she made a mistake, buying her own home? Had she set some curse in motion? She would sell it in an instant if it meant her life would rewind, go back to how it had been before the slow apocalypse started unraveling the world.
Little claws scratched at her door. Grace wiped her nose on the back of her hand and got up to open it a crack—just enough for Coco, half-boneless as cats were, to slip inside. Jackie’s door was closed; Grace hoped she was packing. She would enthusiastically help her mother get resettled at a senior-living place—in fact, Grace would make that a priority. Jackie’s internet skills probably weren’t good enough to do a thorough search, so it would be up to Grace to find something suitable. She’d set her job hunt aside until she found somewhere else for Jackie to live.
Coco leaped onto the bed, and Grace flopped down beside her. As she petted her, the cat closed her eyes and purred.
“You’re a good girl,” she whispered in the cat’s ear. “We’re both good girls, right?”
It wasn’t the same as having Miguel to talk to, but she was grateful for the cat’s indulgent presence. Stroking her soft fur had a tranquilizing effect. When this was all over, when Coco was home with Miguel and Grace had her life back, she’d find a cat to adopt. It was time. She wanted to share her love with someone. She drifted to sleep on images of living with Miguel, in a bigger house with a bigger yard, and a menagerie of rescued cats. They were so easy to love. And so easy to care for.
37
Grace stayed in her room the next morning. She let Coco in and out, per the cat’s desire, and made phone calls. Miguel’s oxygen mask had been replaced with a nasal cannula and he was up for a short chat. Grace tried to get Coco to meow for him, but the cat only stared at her or sniffed the phone. Had Miguel simply been on vacation Grace might have cracked a joke about kidnapping his baby and keeping Coco for herself. Instead she reassured him that the cat was a sweetheart and doing well but missed him. Miguel insisted he was “hanging in there,” but the wheezing as he breathed was worse than ever.
“I can try to come see you, after my two weeks are up,” she offered.
“Are you feeling okay? And your mom?”
She wanted to tell him about Evil Jackie and her terrible accusation. But that conversation needed more than a couple of minutes. And in truth, she was a little afraid to discuss it with him. Miguel didn’t yet have an opinion of her as a liar—and maybe someday she’d have to confess her shameful sins to him—but her mother made her feel like utter crap about herself. She couldn’t handle it if Miguel wondered, even for a second, if Jackie’s claim could possibly be true.
“We’re fine,” she told him. Miguel’s words started to slur as he drifted toward sleep and they said their goodbyes.
For the next few hours she called nursing homes and senior communities. Grace wasn’t sure if Jackie had enough money to afford assisted living, which was the ideal option, but it wasn’t covered by Medicare in Pennsylvania. It was probably a moot point for the time being anyway, as every place she called relayed the same information: all the apartment buildings were in lockdown and not currently accepting new residents. And no one thought her mother sounded ready for a nursing home. Grace was ready.
A couple of the places unhelpfully informed her that Pennsylvania was moving toward an age-in-place policy, where eldercare agencies visited “your loved one’s home” so they could live out the rest of their lives in the comfort of familiar surroundings. In their current situation, that sounded like the very definition of hell. There was no way Jackie was going to age in place in Grace’s home. The best she could do was put Jackie on a couple of waiting lists.
It wasn’t the quick resolution she had been hoping for, but the pandemic was taking a terrible toll on the elderly. Perhaps the buildings might reopen to new tenants sooner than anticipated if they found themselves with too many vacancies. You’re a bad, bad girl, Grace. Whatever. Empty apartments weren’t profitable. Capitalism didn’t work without people continually handing over their money.
Her stomach rumbled, a grouchy messenger that told her to stop acting like a spiteful teenager, starving in her room all day so she could avoid her mother. But she really didn’t want to see her. How could Grace look her in the face, or be civil to her, after Jackie had accused her of suffocating her sister?
Grace pressed her ear against her bedroom door, hoping to discern Jackie’s whereabouts. There were no sounds of her—no clattering noises from the kitchen, no mumbling voices from the television. She poked her head into the hallway. Jackie’s door was closed, but that was normal now, since she didn’t want Coco getting fur all over her bed.