Mothered (73)

They looked real, even as Grace saw through them to the walls, the furniture. A sandy-haired man was on his knees, dressed in rugged work pants and boots. He had a sparkling smile, which he bestowed on the little girl and little boy who ran into his open arms. Beside him stood a woman in a simple dress and heels. A housewife from another era, she dried her hands on an apron as she admired her wonderful, handsome man.

The suitcases slipped from Grace’s hands and clattered to the floor.

Her mother jerked awake with a snort. The ghosts winked out of existence.

Grace gasped, certain of what she’d seen: something impossible. Could that have been Paul No-Last-Name and the woman he married, at least as feared by Jackie? The children he went on to have—the family he went home to every day? It was her mother’s worst nightmare, that the love of her life would finally settle down. With someone other than Jackie.

“What’s going on?” she mumbled, struggling to sit up, her eyes only half open.

“Were you dreaming?” Grace asked in a state of shock. “Were you having a nightmare?”

She was tempted to flee the room, run straight out of the house and never come back. How could she have just seen her mother’s dream? What was wrong with her—them? But the magnitude of the vision kept her rooted where she was. Paul No-Last-Name might, for Jackie, feel like something that could never be adequately resolved. But Grace felt the closing of a drafty door that she hadn’t realized she’d left ajar. Had she just seen her father’s face?

Jackie, not awake enough to communicate, rolled herself off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Grace felt an urgency, a desperate need to make a decision right now. In that instant, she decided her mother had to go. The ghosts and everything else would leave the house with her.

Grace hauled her mother’s largest suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. A whiff emerged, masculine, and she imagined Robert packing his toiletries, his aftershave. Her mother’s things didn’t have to travel far, so Grace didn’t worry about being tidy. She picked a dresser drawer at random and gathered up half its contents.

“What are you doing?” Jackie shuffled back in.

“Time to go.” Grace packed like a robot—lift, swivel, dump, lift, swivel, dump.

“Grace—”

“I did what you asked. Thought about it. Now it’s time for you—”

Jackie crawled onto the bed. She collapsed across it sideways, as the suitcase took up the lower half of the mattress.

“No no no,” Grace whispered, freezing in place, clutching a pile of Jackie’s wrinkle-proof casual shirts. Now that she was forced to focus on her mother, she didn’t need to ask what was wrong; it was obvious. Her mother looked like she’d been visited in the night by a vampire. Weak. Pale. The life drained right out of her. She lay on her side, eyes closed.

With waning zeal, Grace dropped the shirts into the suitcase. “Mom?”

When Jackie didn’t answer, Grace hoisted the suitcase onto the floor. She got on her knees beside her mother. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No. Just tired.”

She felt her mother’s forehead with the back of her hand but couldn’t tell if she had a fever. “Are you breathing okay.”

Jackie gave a little nod. “Just tired.”

Grace got off the bed and helped her slither into a more comfortable position, head on the pillow. In spite of having barely slept, Grace felt wide awake. She stood there staring at her mother, unsure what to do. Obviously, in this condition, Grace couldn’t drop her off at a hotel. In normal times it might have been prudent to seek a medical assessment, but now she really wasn’t sure. The news made it sound like every hospital was understaffed and overwhelmed. If her mother didn’t have the virus, they probably wouldn’t even keep her there.

“Fuck.”

Jackie was fast asleep, and her breathing sounded rhythmic and normal. Lots of people rode out the virus—and everything else, these days—at home. Grace wasn’t sure of her mother’s symptoms, so she couldn’t even call a doctor and ask for advice. She decided to wait and see. When Jackie woke up, Grace could ask her more questions and then determine what to do.

At least, in such a weakened state, her mother no longer posed a physical threat.

Before leaving the room, Grace considered the suitcase, now shoved against the closet door. If she put everything away, Jackie might not even remember that Grace had barged in and started packing her things. But she’s not staying. At least not for long. Hospital or hotel. One way or the other, Jackie would soon be spending her nights elsewhere. Grace left the suitcase where it was.

She went downstairs and got some ice water to leave by her mother’s bedside. How familiar it felt, bringing the water, leaving the bedroom door open so she could hear if the bedridden occupant called out in need.

From the doorway, Grace looked at her mother’s sleeping form. Spiders skittered across Grace’s shoulders and down her spine, and she pulled at her shirt, scratched her back as if they were real. If she watched her mother long enough, would another diorama appear? Phantoms from her mother’s slumber? Grace shuddered again and scurried downstairs, half hoping she’d never have to step foot in Jackie’s room again.





47


It had been a good idea to take her own temperature—she still didn’t feel well—but the battery in her thermometer was dead. Grace sat on the couch with her laptop and a strong sense of déjà vu; it seemed like all she did anymore was get online and order stuff from Amazon. Vile, money-grubbing corporation or not, the bastards had everything. She selected one of those trendy thermometers that you held in front of your forehead and added backup batteries to her cart just in case. While she was at it, she scrolled through her options for reasonably priced disposable masks. And after finding the right cat litter, she indulged in a sixty-four-ounce jar of Jelly Bellies, never mind the expense.