Page 94 of Spurred On

“You okay?” Hanna asked, sidling up beside her and taking her hand.

“I’m good.” Sidney gave her a quick squeeze.

“You don’t mind it being just the two of us tonight?”

Something in Hanna’s tone caught her attention, something almost . . . apologetic, and Sidney gaped at her. “Of course I don’t mind. I love the idea. It’s been a long time since we’ve . . . had any time together.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve . . . missed you.”

It was clear the words were difficult for Hanna. Their relationship had never been an easy one. But somehow, it seemed easy now, for which Sidney was grateful. She loved her sister, and it was nice to have this comfort with her. It was as though they’d finally accepted each other’s differences and rather than quibbling about them, had embraced them.

They said farewell to the guys in a round of hugs, but the only hug Sidney was really aware of was Cody’s. When he whispered “sweet dreams” in her ear, it sent a shiver down her spine.

She pulled away and tipped her head to her side, unsure how to express what she wanted, needed from him. Finally she said, in a hopeful, chipper voice that utterly belied her dismal mood, she said, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

His expression went somber. “Do you . . . ah . . . want to?”

“Yes.” Very much.

His broad grin made her heart flippity-flop. “Then I will make that happen. Sleep well, Sidney,” he said, and he kissed her on the forehead.

As sweet and tender and freaking gentlemanly as that was, it wasn’t what she wanted. But everyone was there and watching, so she could hardly yank him into a blazing embrace.

Damn it all anyway.

The boys waited until Hanna started Logan’s truck before they all pulled out, and they followed them out of town, honking as Hanna turned into the drive of their home. The Stud Ranch was about twenty minutes more down that road. She and Hanna would probably be in bed by the time the guys started their poker game.

But they didn’t count on Lisa and Claire, who were both at the house waiting for them; they’d decided it was more fun to work together to take care of Mom. When they heard about the poker game, they both made faces and insisted they’d rather stay here, which resulted in something of a slumber party. They all got in their jammies and made ice cream sundaes and pillow forts in the living room and then they watched chick flicks.

The funny part was that even Mom participated, which was wonderful, because she rarely participated in anything anymore. But she loved the ice cream. She finished her bowl and dejectedly looked around for more.

Hanna chuckled. “Let me get you another,” she said.

They’d both learned long ago not to ask. There came a point when someone with Alzheimer’s no longer had the capability to answer questions about what they wanted. And the questions only confused them. Sidney and Hanna knew to present things as a statement—it’s time for a bath or bedtime or it’s chicken for dinner. Sidney knew it was easier for Mom to have someone bring her more dessert. If she didn’t want it, she wouldn’t eat it.

Apparently she did. It was delightful to watch the childlike glee with which her mother attacked the whipped cream and cherries on top, giggling and murmuring to herself.

She and Hanna exchanged a glance, and then a smile.

As difficult as it had been to lose their mother in this slow dreadful slide, there were, occasionally, moments like this. Moments they could cling to.

According to the support groups they’d attended, this phase of her disease would not last forever. She would become less and less responsive and eventually her physical condition would deteriorate to the point that she could no longer stay in her home. And eventually they would lose her.

It was heartbreaking, more than Sidney would bear to manage. So she’d dealt with her grief by ignoring it. By living in a dingy apartment over a Chinese restaurant and filling her days with busy work so she wouldn’t have to think about such things.

Most specifically what she’d lost. What she was still losing.

Now, sitting here with Hanna and their friends, specifically with Mom, she realized what an idiot she’d been. And a coward.

You couldn’t run from something like this. It followed you no matter where you went.

You couldn’t ignore it, because it was always there, hovering.

What she should have done was face it, head-on.

She should have made it a point to spend every possible second with her mother, soaking in the gifts of each moment, as rare and fleeting as they were. She should have focused on honoring who her mother was now rather than grieving for what she’d been.

She should have been here for her father, supporting him. Helping him—even though he was the type to insist he didn’t need any damn help.