“I don’t feel very hungry,” she said with a weak smile that was both pitiful and hopeful. “Would you consider assisting me to bed?”
I opened my mouth to argue with her, to insist she eat something, anything, but then closed it. I was here to support her, not belittle her.
“Yeah, Mom, of course,” I said instead, and turned to wheel her out of the kitchen. While my mother’s bedroom was upstairs next to mine, she insisted on resting in the den that night; no stair climbing needed. So that’s where I took her. Helping her dress into something appropriate for sleep, I helped my mother climb into the guest bed and under the covers.
“You changed the bedding,” she said, her eyes lighting up briefly with satisfaction. “I haven’t had the energy.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I said, resisting the urge to add,that’s why you should have told me about this ages ago, as soon as you thought something might be wrong.
“Peyton,” Mom said, as I straightened up to leave. She caught my hand in hers before I could turn. “Are you going to be okay here? What about your home? What about your job?”
“Actually, Mom, while you rest, I’m going to call the PT clinic here in town and see if they happen to have any openings.” I squeezed her hand, fearing that just that squeeze alone might cause her unseen physical pain. What if I crushed her? Broke her?
“Oh, goodness, that’s wonderful,” Mom whispered, nodding her head. She didn’t look like my mother right then. She looked like my grandmother, a woman my mom had always refused to allow into our lives for reasons she had explained to me ages ago. But my grandmother had been a tired, angry, frail, sick woman. Not my mother though. No, not her.
“I love you,” I said, clicking off her bedroom light. “Get some sleep. When you wake up, I need you to try to eat.”
She waved me away like she’d always done, and I went to the living room to draw the curtains. Normally, the sun made me happy, especially on a fall day in Washington, but today it felt out of place somehow. A fraud in a world that seemed to be slowly collapsing around us.
I sat down on my mother’s couch and draped the now clean throw over my legs, digging out my phone to check for any messages from Dr. Hudson. I had voicemail from Rem and a text from my boss in Denver, asking how my mom was doing, and to take all the time I needed. I ignored both of these and pulled up Google on my phone, typing in the search for the physical therapy office here in Eagle River. The phone number popped up and I pressed call, holding my breath as the line rang. It was a long shot, a fat chance, but I didn’t have any choice if I wanted to be here for her.
“Eagle River Therapy, to whom may I direct your call?”
“Your supervisor or hiring manager, please.”
A beat of silence and then, “Please hold.”
Again, the phone rang, and another woman picked up. “This is Maggie.”
“Hi, Maggie,” I said, pulling the throw up beneath my chin for comfort. “My name is Peyton Blake and I wanted to ask if you were currently hiring.” I paused, then added, “I’ll take any position at this point.”
Maggie laughed on the other end of the phone, startling me. I hadn’t said anything funny as far as I knew.
“We haven’t hired a new person in over two years,” she said, and my heart dropped into my stomach. “But the first time some random girl calls me up to ask, you just so happen to be in luck.”
“Really?” I sat up straighter, surprised at this big revelation. It was tough to get a job in a small town like Eagle River, and even tougher to get one in your preferred field.
“We had an employee go into early labor two days ago,” Maggie said, lowering her voice as if whispering office gossip. “We’ve had to reschedule patients because it’s put us so far behind.”
“What open position do you have?” I asked, and as I’d told Maggie, I didn’t even care what it was. A receptionist job was better than no job at all. “Oh, and I have references, of course. And a resume.”
“Peyton,” Maggie said. “Right?”
“Yes.”
“I know this is short notice, but do you have time to come in for an interview this afternoon before we close? I would say … an hour, maybe?”
“An hour?” I looked at my watch, mentally doing the math to see how long it would take to shower, get ready, and be over there in time.
“I’ll be there,” I said, knowing I couldn’t possibly say anything else.
“Awesome!” She sounded genuinely excited. “Bring a resume, will you?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” With a smile, I hung up the phone and went to my laptop to print off my resume on my mother’s hundred-year-old printer. I tip-toed to my old bedroom to change into something moderately professional, and then went to the bathroom to apply some mascara and lip color. If I didn’t get this job, I had no idea if I’d have this luck again.
I peeked my head into the den before I left, finding my mom sleeping soundly almost entirely under the covers. I scribbled a note for her and left it on the end table in the room, telling her that I’d be home soon, and I’d bring dinner, and to try not to move around so much without me here. I knew she wouldn’t take that advice, but at least I tried.
The drive from my mother’s house to the clinic wasn’t far at all. The clinic was next to the hospital, in a glass building that had an air of both professionalism and a friendly, family environment. I walked in, resume in hand.
