Tara grinned. “Tell him hello for me.”
“I sure will.”
***
After grabbing my phone and bag, I hurried out the back door so as not to have to run into Miles again. Once I was in the safety of my car, I finally exhaled the anxious breath I felt I’d been holding since escaping my office.
As I pulled out of my parking spot, my phone rang. When I glanced at the time on the dash, I smiled to myself. If there was one thing my mother was, it was punctual. Every afternoon at 5:15, she called me. Since the office closed at five, she liked to think those added fifteen minutes were enough for me to get my shit together and get to the car.
I tapped the button on the steering wheel to answer the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?”
“Good. Two new clients had promising sessions,” I related.
“That’s wonderful. Are you heading to Samuel’s?”
“It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?” I replied.
It had probably been close to two years now since Sammy and I had our standing Wednesday night dinners at the group home where he lived. Sammy and I both shared an independent streak, and even though our parents wanted to keep him home with them always, he wouldn’t have it.
Mom laughed. “Is he still on a pasta kick?
“Absolutely.”
“He’s getting really good at his lasagna.”
“I know. It’s as good as yours.”
“Make sure to tell him that. It’ll make his day.”
Chuckling, I replied, “There’s no false modesty in the Whitfield house, is there?”
“None.”
At the lull of the conversation, I nibbled on my bottom lip before asking the question that never got easier. “How’s Dad?”
At Mom’s hesitation, my chest clenched. Two years ago, my dad’s occasional forgetfulness and balance issues had been formally diagnosed as Lewy Body Dementia. He had good days and bad days. The bad days were especially hard on Mom and in turn me since she needed me both physically and emotionally.
All my life I’d been called an “old soul”. As the only girl wedged between two brothers with varying challenges, I was known as my parents’ blessing. The one who made straight A’s, never got into one peep of trouble, and volunteered in the church’s nursery and soup kitchen. I strived for perfection and killed myself to please everyone around me, especially my parents.
How many times had I heard, “Hollis and Kathy sure have their hands full. Thank God they have sweet Sarah to help carry their burden.”
I fucking hated that backhanded compliment. I hated the pity and judgment of how people viewed my older brother, Silas’s, hard to treat mental illness that later became schizophrenia, and Sammy’s high-functioning Down Syndrome.
I didn’t even know there was a name for what I experienced growing up until I got to college. But it was all spelled out for me in my Psych 101 book. I realized I was The Glass Child aka The Invisible Child.
Mom’s voice brought me back to the present. “It’s been a tough day.”
My fingers gripped my steering wheel tighter. “Do I need to come over?”
“No, no. I don’t want to disappoint Sammy.”
“But if you need me–”
“I’m fine, Sarah. I promise.”
“I can always come by after dinner to help.”
