Sloan was just about to launch to Matty’s defence, when Matty’s palm landed on her thigh.
“It’s true, Mrs S. At it like rabbits. Frankly, I’m amazed you’ve managed any sleep.” She leaned against Sloan. “That sofa’s a lot more comfortable when there’s someone to share it with.”
Gloria huffed and turned to the window.
“You’d better make a good breakfast in the morning,” Matty whispered.
Sloan didn’t look at her, but the smirk at the corner of her mouth said everything.
***
Gloria shuffled into the house. Sloan stood at the bottom of the stairs and pushed the button to send the chair down. It whirred into life and slid effortlessly on the rails.
“Into bed, Mrs S. Get some sleep,” Matty suggested. “I’ll bring you up a glass of juice, okay?”
The older woman grumbled, but got herself seated in the chair under Sloan’s watchful gaze. She pressed the button on the arm, and the chair moved an inch before Sloan pressed the stop button on her remote.
“That’s why you fell out. Put the seatbelt on.”
Gloria glared at her. “I’m not a child.”
“You’re behaving like one,” Sloan retorted. She stepped up and found the end of one half of the belt. Gloria slapped her hands away.
“I can do it.”
Sloan took a deep breath but stepped back and continued to watch as Gloria reached across with her right hand and pulled the belt into place, lifting her useless left arm to rest on top and hold it.
Matty returned, carrying a small tray with three glasses—one juice, two waters. “Everything alright?” Matty asked with a tired smile.
“Mother is just adjusting her seatbelt,” Sloan said, irritation and frustration fighting to win out.
The chair began to move, this time with Gloria staring at Sloan. “Satisfied?” She pulled the cane over her lap like a jouster ready for a fight.
“Not really,” Sloan answered, slowly following the chair up the stairs. Matty waited a moment before taking a step.
At the top, Gloria unbuckled the belt and used the cane to lean on. This time, she didn’t slip as she shuffled her way forward onto her good foot.
Sloan appeared behind her. “Let me help you,” she said, quieter now, placing a guiding hand under Gloria’s elbow. Whether it was the drugs, exhaustion, or just giving up, Gloria allowed it.
Gloria’s bedroom was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp Sloan had switched on with a practised hand. The room smelled faintly of lavender and something older—powder, polish, the lingering trace of a life that had once been busy.
“Sit,” Sloan said, steering her to the edge of the bed.
“What else am I going to do? The Tango?” Gloria muttered, but she did it anyway, lowering herself with a wince she tried to hide behind a scowl.
Sloan crouched in front of her. “Shoes off first.”
Gloria lifted her cane like she might swat her. “Don’t start ordering me about.”
Sloan’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t rise to it. Being careful, she simply reached for Gloria’s foot and eased one shoe off, then the other. Gloria’s toes curled against the carpet.
Matty hovered in the doorway, tray still in her hands. Sloan glanced up at her. “Could you put that on the dresser?” she asked, voice softer than it had been downstairs.
Matty nodded and did as she was told, quiet as a shadow.
Sloan straightened and reached for the hem of Gloria’s dress. “Arm up.”
Gloria’s eyes flashed. “I’m not helpless.”
