I put the car in park and undo my seatbelt, emitting a silent breath as I do. Harper looks around, confused as she reads the sign written across the brick, Pemberly-looking building in front of us.
“A nursing home?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say, and she looks over at me. “My mother, I don’t know if you remember meeting my mother–”
“I do. She was lovely.”
I nod. “She’s…she lives here now.”
“I had no idea,” she says, looking back at the building. It’s a beautiful building for a nursing home, but it leaves my stomach hollow every time I pull into the parking lot.
“No one does,” I tell her. “Not even Jaylen.”
“Why?” she asks. Her voice is full of genuine empathy and love that it’s causing a ball to form in the back of my throat. I swallow it back. “You could have told him if things weren’t all right. You could have told either of us.”
“I guess I don’t like talking about it. Hell, I don’t even like admitting that this is what it’s come to. But ever since my father passed away, she’s kind of just…”
“Part of her went with him,” she whispers.
Fuck. Yeah.
“She’s still lovely,” I say in an attempt to salvage the conversation. “She’s just…her memory doesn’t work so well anymore. Don’t feel bad if she doesn’t recognize you.”
Harper nods, and we get out of the car, and I guide her through the lobby. She smiles at residents and nurses, pretty much everyone we pass. As we approach Mom’s room, I take Harper’s hand.
We walk inside and find her sitting by the window, assembling a puzzle.
“Hello Mom,” I say, and she turns to look at us.
“Oh. Asher. I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she beams.
“I thought I’d stop by and check on you,” I say.
“Oh, I’m fine. I’m always fine. You’re just like your father. You fret too much,” she says with a wave of her hand.
“Mom, this is Harper. I don’t know if you remember–”
“Of course, I remember Harper! Good Lord, boy, I might be old, but I’m not dead. Not yet anyway. Harper, honey, how are you?”
“Hello, Mrs. Levine,” Harper smiles, approaching the table. A nurse, who is emptying the trash in the private bathroom in Mom’s room, turns and smiles at me.
“Today is a good day,” she says, and I’m glad for it. Yesterday was not a good day.
“Come, sit. I have room for both of you. Harper, you can sit next to me. Maybe you can help me figure out where the piece is to this damned puzzle,” she says, and Harper giggles.
“I can certainly try.”
“Asher, you grab the chair from the corner. Come on, everyone get cozy,” she insists, and I smile. I like when Mom is salty. Salty Mom is a familiar mom. Salty Mom makes me feel like Mom might be around a bit longer.
“I’ve been trying to find this piece for a while,” she goes on. “But my eyes aren’t what they used to be. Hell, nothing is what it used to be. I’m falling apart, it seems.”
“Well, you look perfectly lovely to me,” Harper says. “Now, let’s see if we can’t find the piece.”
“It’s a beak,” she says, picking up the front of the box to show us the picture. The puzzle, when it’s done, will be a large golden bird cage with three yellow canaries in it.
“This is going to be beautiful when it’s done,” Harper says. “I just love birds.”
“Do you?” she asks abruptly, as Mom often does. “Or are you just saying that to appease an old woman? A lot of people don’t like birds at all.”
