Page 56 of When the Smoke Clears

“Did you call Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“What did she say?”

“She said, ‘Tough cookie.’”

I pinch my bottom lip to hide my grin. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“I want you to call the main headquarters and find out what’s taking them so long to bring me my cookie.”

Main headquarters?

“Dad, you won’t die without a cookie.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not stuck in a jail like I am. You can buy a whole box of cookies.”

“Well, maybe I can arrange a cookie delivery. I don’t know yet. I’ll have to see what I can find.”

“Chocolate chip. No raisins. No oatmeal. No cranberries. No coconut. No nuts.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I got it. No promises.”

“Do you know my room number?”

“I do—”

“It’s thirteen. Unlucky number thirteen.”

“Thirteen. Got it. I’ll check back with you later.”

“Okay. I’ll just be here doing nothing. Waiting for a cookie.”

I close my eyes for a second and nod. Oh the guilt. I don’t want him to die, but I wouldn’t mind if he misplaced his phone. “Understood. I love you.”

He replies with a “Hmm” as if he’s not sure if I do.

Please be gone.

I turn to discover my prayer has gone unanswered.

Everleigh’s fingers fly across her computer’s keyboard. It’s as if I’m not here. And maybe I can lower to my hands and knees and crawl out of her office before she notices I’m gone.

“The best way to know if you’ve successfully raised good humans is to see how they take care of you when you become the child again.” She taps a key with her index finger three times, then rolls back in her chair and rests her hands on the arms.

I don’t know what to do with that pose because her hands are neither behind her nor folded in front.

“Your parents raised a good human,” she says.

“That’s interesting coming from the girl who thinks I crushed her heart eleven years ago.”

She returns a soft smile. “I’m not your mother. Perhaps how you treat me isn’t as important as how you treat her.”

“Did your parents raise you well?” I ask, casually taking a few steps closer to the door as if I can discreetly exit the stage when there’s a break in conversation—the end of an act.

“I don’t know.” A flash of something crosses her face. What? I’m not sure.

She quickly smiles through it. “It’s easy to think that you’ll rise to the occasion, but caring for older people is challenging. You can’t change a diaper, feed them, stick a pacifier in their mouth, and put them down for a nap while you get things done. The milestones aren’t exciting like a toddler walking or saying their first words. It’s reversed. It’s frustrating and sad. The guilt is unrelenting. There can be deep feelings of resentment and loneliness. Caregiver burnout. And other things you can’t anticipate. You’re not bringing a life into the world. You’re easing the transition into a life ending,” Everleigh says, lifting her gaze for a mere second before looking at her watch.