13
Sleep didn’t come as easilyas it did the night before. Even watching the slowly revolving ceiling fan in my room couldn’t bore me to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.
I may be beyond the point of exhaustion. I didn’t realize there was such a thing.
It doesn’t seem like Mom is doing much better, judging by the sound of pans clanging around in the kitchen. She must be baking another batch of muffins.
I go through the motions of making myself presentable enough to leave the house before ambling down the stairs with the weight of my legs fighting against gravity.
I find Mom whisking, possibly murdering some batter in a metal bowl. "What are you making?" I ask, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
"I don’t even know," she says. "Eggs and sugar right now."
"At least put some vanilla in there too," I say, trying to add a little humor.
"I don’t want to go to sleep, because I don’t want to wake up to a phone call. I don’t want my phone to ring at all, and I’ve considered turning my phone off completely to avoid the inevitable. I have this internal battle tearing me apart, making me debate whether I want to be there when he takes his last breath or if it’s something I shouldn’t have to see. Then I realize how monstrous it would be if I was not there when—"
I take the metal bowl from the tight grip of her hand and the whisk from the other, carefully placing them down on the towel she has laid out on the counter. "We can’t control life or death," I tell her. "It won’t be a decision any of us get to make."
Mom runs her fingers through her messy hair. "Melody, I should have made him go back to the doctor sooner. There would have been time to treat him before his entire body became infected."
I shake my head and place my hands on her frail shoulders. "No, you can’t blame yourself. We all have a last day and it will happen whether or not we try to stop it. This is not something you could have prevented or controlled."
I don’t know where I’m finding the words to comfort her since I haven’t been able to comfort myself, but she needs me, and I must be strong for her.
She's looking me in the eyes, but I don't know if she's digesting my words or picturing her future without Dad like we have all been doing. "I want more time."
"I know.”
Mom takes another dish rag from the counter and wipes her hands off before tossing the rag into the sink. "I need to go shower and get to the hospital," she says.
"I’m going to stop by the shop, check-in, and head over too."
Mom glances down for a moment, intertwining her fingers to twist her wedding band from side to side. "I don’t want the business to close once he’s gone," she says. "It’s selfish of me, but—"
"I won’t let it, Mom."
"Me neither," she says. "I’ll do whatever I can."
I pull the string of Mom’s apron to loosen the tie, and I lift the material over her head. "I’ll clean this up."
Mom places her hand on my cheek and tries to smile. "I love you," she says.
"I love you," I reply.
As I’m scrubbing the bowl, the memory of last night’s ordeal fills my head. I should have stopped asking questions. Brett’s past is none of my business. I owe him an apology, which is the real reason I want to stop by the shop this morning. It’s not like I’ve been doing anything to help keep the business going. Eventually, I need to figure out how Icanstep in if I planto keep the family part of The Barrel House alive.
I don’t even have muffins to bring as an excuse today.
The kitchen is clean when I leave, and the ride is long enough to make me second guess my decision to stop at the shop. I couldmake things worse with Brett and Parker by apologizing.
I find an empty parking spot across the street from the firehouse and my gaze settles on the bakery sign dangling in the wind. I’m sure they have muffins.
There isn’t a line spilling out the door, which is reason enough to run inside. The small bistro tables are all occupied by local patrons, but I lack the desire to chit chat with old acquaintances, so I hold my sights firm on the lined parchment-paper trays behind the counter—all of them are filled with an assortment of pastries.
"Hey, Mel," I hear from behind.
I can’t avoid people in this small town.
