Always the Last to Know(109)

Jules and I had been cleaning up after dinner. We’d eaten Caro’s delicious chicken and salsa verde casserole, and Dad had been settled in front of the TV with Pepper.

We sat, exchanging glances. Juliet looked spiffy as always in her chic, tailored clothes. I had paint on the back of my hand and wore stained leggings and a T-shirt with Bill Murray’s face on it. The fact that Oliver and the girls weren’t here struck me as ominous all of a sudden. So did the fact that Caro had stayed.

Shit.

“The news isn’t good,” Mom said. “I’m sorry.”

“What news? Dad’s news?” I asked. “How could it not be good? He’s been doing great!”

“Could you let her talk?” Juliet snapped.

“Yes! Fine! I’m just . . . Go ahead, Mom.”

She glanced at Caro, who gave her a little smile. “Well, girls, your dad’s not progressing, I’m sorry to say,” Mom said. “He’s had two more smaller strokes, and he’s likely to have more.”

I jerked back. “Okay, first of all, when were these other strokes?” I asked. “I think we’d notice. And secondly, he’s talking now! How can they say he’s not progressing?”

Caro covered my hand. “This is hard news, I know, honey.”

“No, it’s not! It’s just wrong news.”

“Calm down, Sadie,” Juliet muttered, and I wanted to bite her.

“He can say a few words, but there’s more weakness on his left side,” Mom went on. Juliet scootched her chair closer and put her arm around her. “So he’ll keep needing care. That’s the long and short of it. Our insurance will cover an aide for when I’m at work, and we’ll figure the rest out as we go along.”

“I think we should look into a nursing home,” Juliet said.

“No! Absolutely not!” I said.

“Mom does eighty-five percent of the work, Sadie. She’s seventy years old.”

“I’m not exactly dead yet,” Mom said.

“You’re getting worn out, Mom.”

“I just sent you two to a spa for a rest!” I said, knowing it was ridiculous.

“Two nights isn’t going to be enough, unless it’s two nights a week, Sadie,” Jules said. She looked at our mother. “I’m worried about you. Insurance would cover—”

“Would cover a shithole, Juliet!”

“Keep your voice down,” she said. “Oliver and I can help.”

“Juliet, you’re starting your own firm, honey. You keep your money. Sadie’s right. This is my responsibility, and with a little help from the visiting nurses and such, your father and I will be okay.”

I glared at my sister. She’d put Dad in a kennel if I let her.

“What?” she snapped. “I don’t see you making plans to stay here permanently. You want Dad cared for, maybe you have to do more than come over and paint and let your dog watch TV with him.”

“That’s not fair. I’ve done everything I can for him. God forbid you interrupt your perfect life—”

“That’s enough, girls,” Caro and Mom said in unison, then smiled at each other. I pressed my lips together and tried not to cry.

“The truth is, you’re both right,” Mom said. “I can’t see putting him into a nursing home when all he needs is . . . well, a keeper. And yes, I’m tired. It hasn’t been easy.”

“In sickness and in health,” I said.

“Exactly,” Mom said.

“Fuck you, Sadie,” Juliet said.

“Wow! Angry much, Jules? You know he’d take care of her if the situation were reversed.”

“You’re an idiot. And you don’t know the half of it.”

“Well, this has been wonderful,” Mom said. “Now, both of you get home. You’re upsetting me.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Jules said. “But if she knew . . .”

“If I knew what?”

“How hard it is for our mother,” Jules ground out. “Getting him in and out of bed, showered, shaved, dressed, making sure there’s enough food in the house, paying the bills, working more than a full-time job, checking in on him on her lunch hour or on the app—”

“Mom,” I interrupted. “I know how devoted you are. And I admire you for it. I really do.”

“Well, thanks, now, hon. It’s still time for you both to get on home. Sadie, your dog is curled up with your dad, why don’t you just leave her here tonight? Juliet, honey, I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow. Caro, want to stay for a glass of wine?”

My sister and I were dismissed. We went outside, giving each other plenty of space.

“How’s my car, by the way?” she asked.

“Oh, Jesus. It’s fine. Thank you for being so benevolent and generous, thou perfect human.”

“Good. You can keep it as long as you’re here. And if you wanted to move back forever and be Dad’s caregiver twenty-four seven, I’d give it to you.”

“Okay, I’m leaving now.”

“As you do.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. “Juliet, what do you expect me to say? I have a job and an apartment in the city. I have a second career as a painter, as much as you like to laugh at it. I know you’re used to being the important one in the family, but that doesn’t mean I can magically become a nurse and leave the life I built in the city. Dad and Mom are married. This is part of the territory. Would you want Oliver to stick you in a nursing home?”