God, I’m a horrendous human being. This woman has loved and cared for a family who is not her own for decades, to the detriment of her own wellbeing in some phases of our family life. Now, she wants to find a little piece of solace for herself and all I can do is think about how this affects me.
Lord.
This is why I’m single.
This is why my life is so dysfunctional. The heart of an artist, the maturity of a child.
How on earth am I supposed to be my father’s sole caretaker and fix up this falling-down house? Not to mention earn some semblance of a living to keep us afloat.
“Marie, please. Please stay a little longer, I don’t think I can do this on my own. It’s been ages, and he’s much worse than last time I came home.”
She folds me into a hug. “If I don’t leave now, I never will.”
She’s right.
There’s never a good time to break the ties to the ones you love. Never.
“I guess,” I say, following with a long sigh.
“Anyway, you and this old house have unfinished business, missy.”
Um, okay . . . now I’m confused.
But she continues, “Well, actually, I should say you and your mom’s old studio have unfinished business.”
“Ah, that. I’m no Leticia Black, I’m afraid. My art is never going to support me. The universe has decided it’s better as just a hobby.”
She tilts her chin down with an incredulous look. “Not with that attitude, you’re not. You think your mother gave up when things were hard? She fought for her art, and the whole town got behind her. Think about the opportunity you have here. You now have time, space, and people to back you. Coming home was a good move for you, hon.”
I sit, stunned, lost in my head now reeling with possibilities, responsibilities, and this grand old house. All of which are now mine to do with what I can. It’s a heady feeling that comes with a weight I’m not used to bearing.
But one glance into the corridor at the beaming smile on my mother’s face as she holds one of her artworks in her grip, her overalls splattered with paint, has me willing to take the chance on myself. One last time.
Maybe I can do this?
A new start, with a fresh plan.
Hell, what do I have to lose?
Absolutely nothing.
Marie reappears midway into my deep musing, startling me with a vigorous handclap. “Right, so now that’s settled, I want to give you the rundown on a few things to help you start off on the right foot.”
She pulls a bulging folder from the top of the fridge and slaps it onto the counter.
One word adorns the spine.Hank.
She has a file on my father?
“This is all Dad’s stuff?” I ask. She spins it around to me and pushes it closer.
“Yes, mostly. Routines for each day of the week, to accommodate his hobbies and appointments. The meals I make that have been set by the naturopath and dietitian. His medication schedule. And the collection of recipes for the foods on the menu and a few he just loves that I didn’t have the heart to deprive him of, despite what the doctors say.”
I flip the front cover open and find a neatly set out contents page. This woman has this nailed.
“And you do all this, every single day?” I ask, utterly impressed but, at the same time, terrified.
“I don’t cook every single meal every day, just the assigned ones to make sure he gets all the nutrition to support his health.”
