It was a little after nine now, and I walked through the hospital and out the door, stepping into the cool, refreshing air. I stopped right outside the ER entrance and closed my eyes, pressing my face to the sky. I could have stood there all night. Could have fallen asleep right there as exhaustion climbed over me and settled deep into my bones. Tiny, light droplets of rain began to fall, and I let them fall on my face for a moment. Then, with another sigh, I took my cell phone out of my pocket and started towards my car so I could go back to my childhood home and pretend to sleep.
“Hey, sugar,” Remington said on the first ring. “How’s Mama?”
“She’s out of surgery,” I told him. “Alive, but tired. She’s making me go to her house tonight to sleep.”
“You’ll need the rest too, boo,” said Remington. “Take advantage.”
I nodded to myself, sliding into the driver’s side of the car and slamming the door behind me. It was cold, too cold, and I fumbled for the keys in my pocket to stick them in the ignition, turning the heat on full blast.
“The doctor said they didn’t get all of the cancer,” I told Rem. “She still has to do chemo and maybe radiation.”
“Did the surgery help at all?” Rem asked.
“Yes. They significantly shrunk the mass, which should mean that chemo and radiation could be successful now.”
“So, she’ll be okay?”
“If they can get the rest of it.”
“I’m so sorry, boo,” Remington said, and I could almost see him shaking his head a tad bit dramatically on the other end of the line.
“It’s okay.” I took a deep breath and snapped my seatbelt into place. I didn’t go anywhere but instead rested the back of my head against the seat, closing my eyes. “She’ll get through this. She’s strong.”
“Oh baby, I know,” said Rem. “I knew the moment I met your mother that she’s the reason you are who you are. Now, I need you to go back to your mom’s place and sleep. Love you, sugar.”
“Bye, Rem.”
Tossing the cell phone aside, I put the car into drive and made my way downtown. I passed by all the familiar little shops and diners, then turned left on Cedar and headed for the house on the hill, the one I grew up in. I pulled the car into the little gravel driveway and killed the engine, reaching for my phone and keys, popping the trunk so I could get my travel bag out of the back. I stopped in front of the little house and stared at it for a moment as the memories bombarded me. Christmases. Birthdays. Thanksgivings. My father’s abandonment. My first heartbreak.
Yes, this house was a lot, and yet somehow it was nothing at all.
Stepping up to the porch that looked like it could have used a replacement years ago, I jammed my spare key into the lock and twisted. The porch light was off, which made seeing anything difficult as I fumbled with the key, shoving against the door until my muscles hurt and my head threatened a migraine. When I was eight, my mother asked my father when he’d get around to fixing that godforsaken door. Two years later, he walked out on usandthe broken door.
After a moment the door finally gave, and I almost tripped and stumbled over the welcome mat my mother had laid right inside. I managed to catch myself on the decoration stand, but not before knocking my funny bone into the side of the door.
“God fucking dammit,” I mumbled with a painful cringe, holding my aching side. With a groan, I straightened up, feeling my way against the wall for the light switch I knew was hidden. I clicked it on, and the room was bathed in light. I looked around with a grimace. Not only had the place not really changed at all since I’d graduated, but now it was worse, as I could see my mother hadn’t had the energy to clean in a while. Laundry piled up near the laundry room door. A blanket was on the sofa, and so was a pillow. Newspapers littered the floor, and in the dining room on the table were bills. Medical bills. Hospital bills. Credit card notices.
Shaking my head, I went to the fridge for something that might help me get through this nightmare. My mother always had, for as long as I could remember, kept a bottle of whisky handy for emergencies. As I abandoned the fridge—there was nothing in there anyway aside from an old thing of butter and eggs that were probably rotting from the inside out—and opened the freezer instead, she did not disappoint.
Uncapping the bottle, I rummaged for a clean glass in the cupboard—there weren’t any—and settled on a coffee mug instead, pouring a shot of the amber booze and shooting it down. It burned, and for a second, I thought I might hurl. I poured another and drank, then lifted the mug in my hand to pretend to cheer the house.
“Welcome home, Peyton,” I said aloud. “This place has really missed you.”
I got to work cleaning the house, taking small sips of booze in between each chore to keep me going. Just as I’d started the third load of laundry, my phone buzzed, and I glanced at the text message that had just come through.
Peyton, it’s Jake. Rem gave me your #. How are you?
I giggled in spite of myself, sliding into a chair in the kitchen to focus on the words in front of me. If Rem was here, I would have shouted at him, but I actually didn’t mind Jake reaching out right now. I kind of needed the company.
Texting back a quick reply, I hit send, a small flush rising to my skin.
Oh, he did, did he? :-)
A moment later, my phone buzzed again.
Can I call you? I want to hear your voice.
I took a deep breath and waved my hands in the air to dry off the sweat that was starting on my palms, then took a couple of deep breaths. I was just about to text him back when the phone rang, and his number popped up.
