The way he’s searching my face makes me wonder what he sees. Have I aged since he last saw me? Do I look as drained as I feel after my panic attack? “Do you have a support system at home?”
I think of Kieran. My anchor. Of my friends, who would do anything for me, but who I’ve kept at arm’s length when it comes to what I’ve been dealing with. Before I can answer, Mr. Lattimer leans forward a bit more and says gently, “Maybe a professional? Someone who’s trained to deal with the vast, complicated emotions you must be experiencing. A grief counselor even?”
My mouth opens and my lips move, but no words come out. I know he’s trying to help, and I also know he’s speaking from experience; he told me when we first met that his own mother had suffered from Alzheimer’s, and what a toll it had taken on his entire family. But I don’t want to talk about this. Being here is hard enough without exposing my wounded heart and talking about the ‘vast, complicated emotions’, as he so aptly put it.
“I’m learning to adjust to my new normal,” I say finally, attempting a smile.
He returns it with a smile that’s no more convincing than mine likely is. He nods in understanding, though, and sits back in his chair. “Well. Please know my door is always open if you want to talk or if you need help.”
“I appreciate that. And everything else you’re doing.”
When I leave Mr. Lattimer’s office a few minutes later, funding forms clutched in my hand, I’m not sure if I feel better or worse. If I’m honest, what I feel like doing is finding a nearby bed and crawling into it for a week. Since that’s not an option, I head to the elevator and ride it to the second floor, where I make my way to the nurse’s station. I talk to the head nurse, and like Mr. Lattimer did, she tells me how well Mom is doing.
When she gets called away by another nurse, my feet feel rooted to the floor. My stomach is in knots and my heart is racing again. Mom is down the hall. Just feet away. Every fiber of me aches to see her, even though I know she’s not the same person. ButbecauseI know that, because I know she wouldn’t recognize me, would it really be so bad? I could pretend to be someone who works here, pretend she’s not the woman who raised me. Go in with no hopes or expectations of her recognizing me. I could do that, right? If it meant seeing her for a minute, just to see with my own eyes she’s doing as well as Mr. Lattimer and the nurse said?
I’m halfway down the hall before I even realize I made the conscious decision to go. I cast a quick glance around for the nurse, but the only person in the hallway is a white-haired woman in a wheelchair who’s singing quietly to herself. The staff couldn’t technically stop me from seeing my mom, although I have a feeling they’d try.
The door to Mom’s room is open. I smile when I see how it’s flooded with sunshine. She must love that. Taking a deep breath, I step inside the room. She’s sitting in a wheelchair in front of the huge window that overlooks the back of the property. Her wide windowsill is covered with the knick knacks and framed pictures she brought from home. My heart stutters when I see a vase of fresh daffodils to one side.
As I approach the wheelchair, I realize she’s cradling something in her arms and murmuring to herself. “Mo—Celeste?” I say quietly, hoping not to startle her. She raises her head slowly, her eyes taking a few seconds to focus on me. For a minute, I think I’ve entered the wrong room until I realize the gray-haired lady in front of me is, in fact, my mom. Her face has lines that weren’t there before and it’s fuller, as is the rest of her. I suppose that’s from being wheelchair bound, and maybe from some of the medications she’s on. The nurse told me a few months ago that Mom’s legs kept giving out while she was walking, and after a particularly nasty fall they decided a wheelchair would be the best thing for her.
Mom smiles sweetly when she sees me and beckons me forward. “Look, look.” Even her voice is different—higher, thinner. We both peer at the bundle in her arms; it takes my brain a moment to compute the fact it’s a life-like baby doll swaddled in a pink crocheted blanket.Mybaby blanket—the one Mom made after I was born. “Look at this sweet little bundle of love. This is my baby girl. My Meredith.”
My knees start shaking again. I drop down to the floor beside her, clutching the arm of her wheelchair. She looks at me expectantly, so I peer at the doll, forcing a smile onto my face. “She’s lovely,” I croak.
“Sheislovely. And so good. Such a little love.” She raises the doll and kisses its face tenderly. “I chose her, you know. From the moment she was born, I felt like she was meant to be mine. I wanted her to be able to stay with her real mama, but she wasn’t able to take care of her, so I did everything I could to make her mine. Now it’s just us against the world. Me and my sweet little sunshine girl.”
Something in me breaks. There’s a pain in the center of my chest so sharp I feel like my heart has actually cracked open. Mom looks at me when I let out an involuntary gasp, and her eyes flood with sympathy and…recognition?
“I know you, don’t I?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes. Yes! It’s me, Mom. It’s Meredith.”
“Meredith.” She lets out a little giggle and looks back at the doll in her arms. “You have the same name as my baby girl. Isn’t that funny. You work here, right?”
Disappointment sinks like a boulder in my gut. I manage a choked ‘Mmhmm’, unable to open my mouth for fear I’ll start wailing. I remain on my knees beside her wheelchair, watching her coo and fuss over the ‘baby’. The baby she thinks is me, thirty years ago. Tears fill my eyes and I can’t hold them back. I’m just about to push to my feet when she looks at me again.
Her mild expression turns to one of confusion. “What’s the matter? Why are you crying? Who are you?” She jerks away from me, shielding the bundle in her arms. “Who are you? Get out of my room right now! Nurse.Nurse!”
I jump to my feet, trying to shush her and reassure her everything is okay. When she continues to holler for the nurse, I dash from her room, crashing directly into the head nurse.
She grips my arms to steady me. Sympathy floods her expression when she realizes what must have happened. “Oh, Meredith.”
I can’t stand the pity in her eyes. I can’t stand the way Mom is still yelling for the nurse, over and over until her voice is hoarse.
I wrench free from the nurse’s grasp and run. She calls after me, but I keep running. Everything around me blurs until all I’m aware of is my pumping legs, my gasping breaths, and the sharp ache in my heart.
*****
“Meredith? Mer?”
I startle awake. A nightmare. It was all a nightmare.
“Meredith? Are you in—” Kieran’s words cut off when he sees me lying on the bed. I try to push myself into a sitting position, but I feel as weak as a newborn kitten.Newborn.The image of my mother cradling the doll flashes into my mind, and a sob rips out of my throat.
Arms wrap around me and Kieran’s familiar scent floods my senses. I have no idea how I got back to the house or how much time has passed. I vaguely remember my phone ringing over and over again until I finally shut it off and put it…somewhere. The pillow under my head is soaked and my throat hurts from sobbing, but I can’t stop.
“Oh, love,” Kieran murmurs, holding me close and rocking me. For some reason, that makes me cry even harder. He doesn’t try to quiet me and he doesn’t say anything else. He just rocks me and kisses my forehead and cheeks until I fall asleep again.
