“Thank you, Mrs. Nicker.” My voice quivers when I speak, and my hands tremble. I should be relieved that I found my mother. Instead, I’m breaking inside because I’m losing more and more of her every day.
“Hattie, it’s a beautiful day out. Were you just out for a walk, or were you heading some place?” I ask.
Mom’s face lights up.
“Oh, I was going… I was on my way to…” Mom’s brow furrows, and she focuses her gaze upward. She looks like she’s thinking or looking for the answer in the clouds.
“Somewhere…” She bites her lower lip, and I hurt for her when I see she can tell something’s wrong but can’t figure it out. “My garden.”
I smile at her and try to mask my sadness. Mom’s gardens were stunning, and I’ve tried to keep them up, but failed. She doesn’t recognize that this pretty patch of flowers isn’t hers. That’s okay, though. If it pleases her, I’m happy.
“Well, that sounds like a lovely afternoon.”
I sit and stay there for several minutes talking with Mrs. Nicker. I’m hoping it allows my mother to acclimate to my presence before I attempt to convince her to come home with me. When Mom gets distracted looking at a pair of bumblebees on the coneflowers, Mrs. Nicker pats my hand that’s resting on my knee.
“Sweetheart, do you have any more help lined up? Isn’t this the third episode this month when your mom has wandered out of the house?”
“It is. I don’t know what to do. She doesn’t qualify for any assistance, and it costs more to hire someone than I can make at work. I feel horrible. My exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep. That’s when she got out. I thought I had everything secure. What kind of daughter does that?”
Mrs. Nicker opens her mouth to speak, but I stand, ready to leave, not to talk more about this.
“Hattie, do you want to take a walk with me? I have some ice cream at my house if you’d like to come visit.”
Mom glances over at Mrs. Nicker, as if she needs assurance that I’m trustworthy.
“You should go with Delaney. She has the best ice cream.”
I smile, bend, and kiss her cheek, then whisper a thank-you. After promising I’ll look into getting more help, my mother and I walk home.
I make a mental note to schedule an appointment with Mom’s neurologist. Her dementia symptoms are rapidly worsening. I didn’t expect her decline to happen so quickly, and I’m not prepared for it.
I’m nearly bankrupt—physically, emotionally, and financially. That’s a problem. Mom never asked me to, but in my heart, I promised her I would take care of her at home. Every day brings more fear that I may fail to keep my vow.
Chapter Two
Present day
Harrison
The incessant buzzing of people making small talk surrounds me, and I hate it. Don’t they know you’re supposed to come to bars to drink alone like a pathetic lump on a log? It might not be so grating if everyone spoke at considerate volumes, but several groups behave as if they’re speaking to the entire bar.
I peer into my glass of whiskey. The amber liquid is my only salvation this evening. Normally, I enjoy a drink once or twice a week, sometimes more, such as this weekend. I despise attending large events with oceans of chatty people I don’t know. The first two glasses of the top-shelf liquor I drank tonight only took the edge off the discomfort I’m experiencing in this conference hell.
I’m not necessarily an introvert, but the circle of people close to me is small, and I prefer it that way. Immediate family, a few others, and that’s it. That’s how I keep tabs on everything and everyone. It’s how I protect the people I love and make surethey’re safe. I can’t pay attention to the important details if I’m spread too thin.
Usually, my brother Henry attends these conferences. He couldn’t come this year because he and his daughters had only just moved in with his fiancée, Tillie, a few days ago. I get it. They need time to settle in as a family, and his leaving now would have been a dick move.
There’s a reason Henry typically represents our company at these events instead of me. He’s the charmer—a real Mr. Personality—when it’s needed. Not me. There’s a running joke among my four brothers that I have a resting bitch face. The problem is, I also have an active son of a bitch face when I’m annoyed or angry. Unfortunately, that’s often the case.
This National Building and Renovation Conference, held within driving distance of our small town, is a great opportunity to learn what’s new in the field, network, and market our businesses. My brothers and I collectively own a successful construction and restoration company with a branch that focuses on luxury log homes. This has been very lucrative for us. The hinge we invented and patented didn’t hurt our financial status, either. It fits in the palm of my hand but has made each of us multi-millionaires. It’s almost comical that such a creation has brought us so much wealth.
The income from that has been great, and I’m thankful it’s there, but having a lot of money also comes with its downside. The worst is that there are people who will go to tremendous lengths to take advantage of you. I should know. A sour taste fills my mouth as unwanted memories flood my mind.
Still, if the conference had required taking a flight to attend, I would have refused. Distance equals more time away from home. Home is where I want to be. It’s orderly and quiet. Henry could have sent Holden if it had been further. He thrives on chaos and activities like this. The more people, the better,especially if they’re female. Even better when he’ll never see them again.
I’ve been sitting here for about an hour and a half, and I’m eager to close out my tab and head up to my suite for the night, where I can add to my drink tally in private. Even though I assume I give off ‘Don’t approach’ vibes, two different women have already invaded my peace and tried to strike up a conversation. One of them outright offered me her room key. I shut down both with barely a glance.
The convention ends tomorrow after a last session immediately following breakfast. Though tempted to drive home tonight, I have the offering on legal considerations in the business in the morning. As our company’s attorney, I should be there. Still, I can drink away my ghosts just as easily in my suite, so when he looks my way, I signal the bartender with a subtle hand gesture, and he nods.
