Mothered (86)

Truth. That’s what her mother believed was the path to salvation, or bliss. Grace nodded and knew the truth. She’d killed her mother.

Deep breath in. Out.

She’d killed her mother, but Miguel was doing better. If they moved him out of intensive care in the morning, she might even believe she’d done the right thing.

In the meanwhile, she went downstairs to deal with the mess.



She FaceTimed with Miguel the next afternoon.

“I’m so glad to see you, lovey. You look better.” She felt jubilant. Actions had consequences, and she was right.

“You look terrible, no offense.” His voice was hoarse. “You’re getting too thin.”

Grace shrugged. “I’m on the mend.” She nibbled a handful of Jackie’s blueberries.

They FaceTimed every day. Miguel was weak but holding steady. He asked after Jackie, and Grace decided this was not the moment for a tell-all. For now, her job was to take care of Coco—until Miguel was home and could do it himself. She had no illusions about the repercussions of her guilt, but Coco wouldn’t have anyone if Grace was hauled off to prison. She’d explain it all later, if she could. It was possible he’d never understand, never want to see her again, but for now he and Coco needed her and she wouldn’t let them down.

She made no effort to dispose of her mother’s body, but she didn’t want to look at it. Jackie inhabited a corner on the dining room floor, beneath the comforter from her bed. The smell got worse and worse, and Coco started acting more skittish. Grace might have suffered through the stench on her own, but after a week or so she asked Miguel if she and the cat could stay at his apartment for a few days.

“I just need a little break from my mother.”

“Sure,” he said, sitting up in his hospital bed. “Better do it now, ’cause I might be going home soon.”





55


Coco was happy to be back in familiar territory. She settled in as if she’d never been away, the interlude at Grace’s all but forgotten. Grace cleaned Miguel’s apartment. Laundered the bedding and towels. Ordered in groceries so he’d have everything he needed when he got home. They were counting the days. Their chats had gotten really short; they were both just waiting for Miguel’s release.

Finally, Grace got the call. She packed the few things she’d brought into her duffel bag. When it was time to say goodbye, she found Coco napping on her perch by the living room window.

“I might not see you again,” she whispered, cradling the cat in her arms. The cat blinked sleepy eyes at her. Grace kissed her head. “Give Miguel some cuddles, okay? I love you.”

Hesitating at the door, she looked at the apartment one last time. Perhaps Miguel wouldn’t notice the work she’d done to make his homecoming perfect, but that didn’t matter. This was what she’d want to come home to. Everything in its place. His fur baby looked out the window, waiting for him.



As she pulled her car into the hospital driveway, Miguel was already outside, sitting on a bench with his plastic bag of belongings. They waved madly at each other as she stopped at the curb. Before he got into the car, Grace slipped on a face mask.

“Lovey!” Miguel cried.

They embraced in the front seat, the long, tight hug of love and fear and relief.

“Ready to go home?”

“So ready.”

She saw him studying her as she checked the mirrors and drove away.

“I’m not contagious anymore,” he said. “If that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“No, I’m concerned I might have something. I think my mom had some weird—I don’t know, not the virus.”

He nodded, but she felt his gaze. “Are you okay, Grace? You look . . .”

What did she look like? Like a person with resolve? Or did he see something less noble.

She was glad for the face mask; it hid the way she pressed her lips together to keep from crying. A clock was winding down. She wasn’t sure what her future held.

“It’s been difficult, but . . . I’m optimistic. You and Coco are okay, that’s what matters.”

“You matter too. Still having those nightmares?”

A noise that was half sob, half laugh escaped before she could stop it. “No. They finally stopped. That’s one good thing. There’s just been a lot on my mind.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I’m so glad to get home, sleep in my own bed, see my baby girl. But . . . I don’t even want to think about what’s next. It could be a while before I can work again.”

“I love your cat—she’s the best.”

Grace needed a minute to figure out how to say what she’d been thinking about for days. She felt nervous in Miguel’s presence. There was so much he didn’t know, and she wasn’t ready to tell him. She kept her focus on the road so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “Listen, I might have to go away for a while—a little thing with my mom. I’ll tell you everything later, I promise, but you don’t need my whole saga right now.”

“Is your mom okay? What’s going on?”

“I have to accept . . . I have to take responsibility. But I’d like it if you lived in my house—if you want to. I used the last of my savings to pay the mortgage for the next few months. So, except for utilities, it would be free for a while. Then after . . . I don’t think it’s much different than your rent.”