“Mom,” she scolds.
“Oh hush, Catherine, she can take it.”
Catherine, her daughter. I’d never met her before, but I recognize the name, and some similar features to Rose. That leaves the other woman, who I now notice is wearing scrubs. My heart jolts again.
“What happened?” I demand.
“Nothing you need to worry about, these two were just leaving,” Rose answers, then picks up her book, pretending to read.
Catherine lets out a long, clearly tired sigh. She’s obviously not accustomed to dealing with her mothers stubbornness—at least not anymore.
“No, we weren’t. Hi, Ivy. We were just talking about you.” She smiles placatingly at me, and a funny feeling starts to settle in my stomach.
The woman in scrubs stands silently in the corner, looking down at her feet, doing a great job at minding her own business. I look over at Rose to see her lips flattened and head shaking. I’ve never seen her look so solemn.
Catherine continues without a response from me. “The evening you left town, my mother had a fall.”
I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. I look over at Rose—she looks angry, but there's something else there too, she’s embarrassed.
“She was able to get to a phone and call an ambulance, which took her to the hospital, where they called me.” She’s recalling the events in a calm, even tone. As if trying to soothe a wild animal. It does not make me feel any better. It makes dread settle even more so.
“She broke her hip, and had emergency surgery.”
No.
I feel nauseous. I should’ve been here. But how could I? I had to work. My mind spins as I try to absorb Catherine’s words. Maybe I can take a few days off to take care of Rose. I’ll call Wes and see if Maggie and Buck aren’t busy, they can watch Delilah while I care for Rose.
I walk over to the chair beside Rose’s, and perch on the edge of the cushion. I rest my hand on top of hers, and attempt an even tone. “I’m so sorry,” I force out.
“Don’t you dare apologize. It’s my ancient bones, not you, girl.” She pats my hand back, and I look at Catherine.
Straightening up, I muster all of my confidence and start trying to come up with an action plan. “Alright. How long is recovery? I may be able to take some time off to help–”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Rose hisses, real anger in her voice.
I turn to her, real anger in mine as well. “I will not leave you to care for yourself, whether you like it or not.”
We’re locked in a staredown, neither of us willing to back down.
“Actually that’s not necessary. I’ve hired a live-in nurse, who will care for her,” Catherine cuts in.
“I never agreed to that, and you know it,” Rose replies, looking at her daughter now, voice going wobbly.
Actually, a live-in nurse would be great, and exactly what she needs. The weight that would take off my shoulders, knowing she has someone around the clock, would be massive. I distantly hear them argue as I think it through in my head.
Rose’s house is a two bedroom, but the guest room is essentially filled with boxes, and keepsakes that I think used to fill the apartment I stay in. Come to think of it, I don’t think there’s even a bed in there. Her guest room is definitely not livable.
Oh.Shit.
Now I understand the soothing voice, and Rose’s rage. My hearing comes back online, only to find Catherine and Rose still arguing.
“I do not have any room for a nurse. I need all those things in the guest room, and Ivy stays above the garage. I will be fine,Catherine,” Rose says shakily. She’s being totally unreasonable. We all know she can’t care for herself just after having surgery.
I realize what’s happening now. The puzzle pieces are all slipping together. I need to not live here. The nurse needs to take my apartment so Rose can have proper care.
Okay. Deep breaths. In for four, hold for four, out for four.
“I can’t take any time off work, Mom,” Catherine continues. “Would you rather, we pack you up and you come live with me for the few months to a year your recovery will take?” Catherine asks sarcastically, clearly knowing her mother would rather die right here and now, than stay in someone else's house, being tended to.
