by Laurèn Lee
"Hi, Carrie? Yes, would you mind watching Charlie tonight? I have a work thing."
"No problem, Amelia. Do you need me to pick him up from school?"
"That would be perfect! I'll call and let them know you'll be there to grab him instead of me. Thanks again!"
I gave Karen the thumbs up from my office, and she smiled gleefully.
At half after five, Karen and I rushed into the bar and out of the cold for the happy hour. Our rosy cheeks disappeared in the dim lighting of the establishment, and we saw the group of attorneys and a few paralegals gathered in the corner. Some I knew; some I wanted to meet, and most I couldn't put a name to.
Miniature chandeliers hung from the delicate ivory ceilings, and a saxophone player crooned in the corner. The windows were tinted so pedestrians couldn't leer inside. Most patrons were dressed in business suits and skirts, and even the waitstaff and bartenders wore bow ties. The air reeked of superiority and money.
"I'll get us something to drink. What would you like?" I asked Karen.
"Oh, I'll just have whatever you're having." She scurried off to jabber with her other work friends while I stood at the bar and waited to grab the bartender's attention. I had a crisp twenty dollar bill in my hand which, when it caught his eye, brought him right over to me.
"What can I get for you?"
"Two glasses of Pinot Grigio, please." The bartender, young and handsome, winked at me as he poured the wine into glasses.
"On the house." He smiled.
"Wow, thank you!" I left him the twenty on the bar, anyway. I believed in tipping graciously.
I joined Karen and the other attorneys in the group. Karen introduced me to the dozen or so lawyers, and all seemed happy to finally meet me. Then, Lucy appeared with a glass of red wine and a toothy, white smile upon her flawless face.
“Amelia, you made it,” she said.
“Mhmm. What are you drinking?” I asked awkwardly. Still confused about the nature of her relationship with William, my thoughts turned jumbled and blurry around her.
“The house red. It’s to die for,” she cooed.
I nodded and smiled politely before turning around to converse with another attorney, whom I recognized as being in my same practice. I felt Lucy’s eyes watching me, but I tried to ignore the anxiety rumbling in my belly.
Amelia Montgomery wasn’t the jealous type, so why was I feeling so envious of this woman? I was strong, intelligent, and a good mom—I shouldn’t doubt myself. I tried my best to push away the thoughts of Lucy and focus on my other colleagues. After all, we’d be working together, and Lucy and I might not ever collaborate on a case.
At about seven o’clock, my body jolted as I remembered there was one more piece of research I’d wanted to finish before the day’s end. Panic swept across my mind as I realized I needed to cut the evening short and return to the office.
“Amelia!” Karen whined. “Tonight was supposed to be about less work and more socializing!”
“I know, but I need to go back. I only have the sitter for a few more hours. I could use the extra time to work.”
“Don’t think this is your ‘get out of jail free card,’” Karen said, her eyes narrowed.
“Yes, Mom,” I teased.
After a quick goodbye to the other attorneys, I walked briskly back to the office and spent the new few hours in the firm’s library. Part of me wished I could let myself enjoy a few drinks with co-workers, but the other, louder part of me knew this is where I needed to be.
Chapter Twenty-Five
William
No one prepares you for having a parent with Alzheimer's. No one taught me how to react when my mother couldn't recognize me. There wasn't a course in school, or an FYI in a newsletter sent to my email account. I was all on my own. Uncle Jim returned home after I moved back in. As time wore on, he'd developed his own need for care: he'd fallen a few months back, and the injury required a hip replacement. Even though the recovery time wasn't very long, I knew I couldn't ask him to be the man of my house any longer. He did his part, and now it was time to do mine.
My days consisted of waking my mother around eight in the morning for breakfast. Every morning, I cooked eggs, toast, and bacon; it used to be her favorite. Most days, though, she refused to eat. Some days, she threw her tray at me, and on rare occasions, she hid it under her pillow. I couldn't trust her to eat a meal without causing some sort of trouble. Sometimes, I spoonfed her because she refused to use the utensils. Others, I watched her chew and swallow every bite. She also tended to hoard her pills. Her doctor prescribed a sedative for when her outbursts grew uncontrollable. A few times, though, I found a stash of the medicine under her pillow. I didn't know why she did this, and she probably didn't know why, either.
I saved a good amount of money while serving considering I didn't own a house, a car or have a family. But now that my mother was my main priority, most of the money I'd saved went to her care. The money my father left us went toward the mortgage and other bills; however, he didn't leave as much money for us as I presumed. I had no guesses as to where most of his money went, and I was afraid to dig into the matter in case something I found tarnished his memory. I couldn’t help but feel angry, though. All those hours he worked late, and what did he have to show for it? But, I embraced my new life and worked my damndest to take care of my mom.
Outside of caring for my mother, my entire life stood at a standstill. Hudson continued to serve, and while we stayed in communication, it wasn't quite the same after I left the military. I didn't have time to go out socialize, make new friends, or even find a woman. My days consisted of taking care of my mom from sun up to sun down and all the time in between.
I talked to a girl I met online. We emailed every day, but she grew annoyed when I couldn't meet up in person. I explained to her about my mother having Alzheimer's, but I couldn't ask her to wait around forever. We stopped talking after a few months, and the loneliness crept back in.
One morning, when I woke my mom up for breakfast, she peered at me differently than usual.
"William? Is that you?"
My heart leaped out of my chest.
Was she lucid?
"Mom? Do you know who I am?"
She studied me carefully. "What's going on? Something doesn't feel right."
The doctors told me this was possible, that on a random day, at a random time, she could become herself again. But there was no way to tell how long it would last.
I sat down beside her on the bed and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I've missed you, Mom."
"Missed me? Where have you been? When did you get back from your tour?"
"This is going to be hard to hear, but I have to tell you something."
"What is it, sweetie?" The familiar twinkle in her eyes shattered me. I wanted to bottle up this moment to keep until the day I died.
"Mom, you have Alzheimer's. I left the service to take care of you. This is the first time you've recognized me in a very long time."
Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she sobbed on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Son. I never wanted to put you through this. I love you."
"I love you, too. I'm here for you, okay?"
"Are you married? Do you have kids? I feel like I'm missing out on your entire life." She wept.
"No. I'm not married, and I don’t have kids."
"Are you seeing anyone?" Hope hung on her words.
I looked at her sorrowfully.
"You don't have time to meet a nice girl, do you?"
"I like taking care of you. I don't mind."
She nodded, understanding her role in my life. For eighteen years, she took care of me, and now that I was all grown up, I took care of her.
"You shouldn't have to live like this," she croaked between sobs.
"It's my choice, Mom!"
"You should put me in a home."
"Never. I'm here for you."
Then, she whispered, "I miss your father, but I suppose if I don't know who I am, I can't miss hi
m while I'm sick. Right?"
I nodded.
"Maybe there is a silver lining in this whole thing."
For the next two hours, we caught up. I told her a few war stories, and we reminisced about my father, too. It felt like I had my mom back, but I knew it was temporary, and so I cherished every single second. Once the sun began to set, though, a pang of confusion struck her, and I knew it was time... Time to say goodbye.
"Where am I?" she asked suddenly.
"Mom, you're home. You're safe."
"William? What's going on? Who are you?"
"It's me, Mom."
She reached out and cupped my face in her hands. "Why are you here?"
I nodded as a tear fell down my cheek and landed on her hand.
"I want to sleep, William, but I feel antsy. May I have my medicine?"
I unlocked her nightstand and pulled out the medicine bottle. I glanced around and realized her glass of water stood empty on her dresser. I stood to refill the glass.
"I'll be right back, Mom. Will you be okay for a minute?"
"Yes, dear." She waved me off.
I returned a few minutes later with a fresh glass of ice-cold water. However, my mom had already fallen asleep.
She must have been more tired than she thought. Probably from the excitement of remembering.
That night, I lay in bed and contemplated my life. I missed my dad; I missed Spence, and I missed Hudson. I missed the life I hadn't lived yet, and I missed being a soldier. I felt as though time was passing me by, and I couldn't catch up. My life felt like a speeding train disappearing down the tracks and out of view. Would I ever be in control of my life again?
The following morning, my alarm woke me at seven in the morning. I realized my mom slept through the night without waking up. Most nights, she woke up once or twice, confused and angry. Last night, though, she didn't.
I went to her room, and she lay there, motionless.
"Mom, it's time to wake up. You've been sleeping a long time."
She didn't move. Her chest didn't rise. Her skin appeared blue and lifeless. Dread flooded my entire body as I knelt beside her. She wanted peace. She didn't want to be a burden to me anymore. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the pill bottle still on the nightstand; I never put it away. When I picked it up, it was empty. Not one single pill remained.
My father died, Spence died, and now my mother was another body to add to the list of the deceased. I'd never felt so alone in my life.
You know the saying, "Money doesn't grow on trees?” Well, it's true. My mother's funeral cost thousands upon thousands of dollars, which drained my checking account. Then, I received a handful of medical bills in the mail for my mother's treatment and appointments, which took hold of my savings account. Not only did I feel as though I was spiritually drowning, but now I was overwhelmed with bill after bill after bill.
The job market was tough in New York, too. I couldn't find a job anywhere, not even McDonald's. Oh, and I tried everywhere, believe me. I even went as far as to beg the local schools for a janitorial position. None were hiring. In a few short months, I went from being a badass soldier to a jobless orphan. I had held the world at my fingertips, and now the world crushed me with its unforgiving wrath.
If my father's passing was the worst day of my life, and my mother's and Spence's deaths followed closely, the next worst day came when I checked the mail on a sweltering August morning. The letter from our bank advised our mortgage was in default, and I had thirty days to leave before the bank foreclosed on the house. When I finished reading the letter, I broke out in hysterical laughter. I laughed so hard I cried and then continued until my belly hurt. Was this my life now?
I could have called Uncle Jimmy and asked for the money, but he’d done enough to help me and my family. I couldn’t put the burden of a loan on his shoulders, too.
Not wanting to spend the next thirty days waiting for my home to be taken away from me, I sold what I could and packed up the rest of my belongings, which were minimal. I kept family photo albums, my mother's jewelry, and a few other random keepsakes.
For a few months, I crashed with various friends from school. However, this wasn’t a permanent solution. Without a job, I couldn’t afford an apartment, and without an apartment, I couldn’t find a job. During the interviews I’d been afforded, the hiring managers asked about my permanent address since I’d left it blank on my applications. Once I told them my situation, I never heard back. It was a revolving door of rejections. It didn’t take long to run out of friends to stay with. It didn’t take long to realize I only had one option left: to live on the streets.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Amelia
As the weeks passed, my hours at work only increased. William and I saw less and less of each other, which tore through me every time I saw him in the halls of the office. I wanted to stay and chat, but I had work to do. Our firm had been hired to represent a large European corporation wanting to extend their business to America. It took myself and a handful of other attorneys to manage the matter.
Another noticeable change in my life came by way of my son and his increased temper tantrums. It seemed as though every other day he defied me or caused some sort of trouble, whether at home or school. Charlie’s teacher wrote me a less than pleasant email about my son’s behavior in class. She said he’d grown rude and disruptive during school hours. Bewilderment coursed through my mind: this wasn’t my son; this wasn’t how I raised Charlie to act. I even had to confiscate the iPad until Charlie cleaned up his act. Sure, I realized he was a kid, but he knew better.
One particular work night, I arrived home past midnight. Carrie, the babysitter, startled as I opened the door. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. “Hi, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Sorry I’m so late, Carrie.” I didn’t bother coming up with an excuse; it was the same reason I always had: I got distracted at work and lost track of time.
I handed her a generous stack of bills and ordered a Lyft to take her home.
“How was he tonight?”
“He was a tad emotional,” she said awkwardly.
“Emotional?”
“He had trouble falling asleep. He was crying and calling out for you.”
Her words formed a metaphorical knife, piercing my heart. “Oh,” was all I managed to say.
“Goodnight,” Carrie said and left as her ride pulled up outside.
“Night, Carrie.”
My baby boy cried for me? Could this be the source of all the bad behavior he’d developed recently? Was he just vying for my attention, whether it was good attention or bad? I remembered being Charlie’s age and wondering why my father worked so far away. I’d wondered why he worked so late and rarely came home. Was I turning into my father? Would Charlie grow up to have a borderline unhealthy work ethic like me and my father before me?
Dizziness invaded my mind, and I needed a glass of wine, STAT.
I opened a bottle of Riesling and glanced at the calendar on our refrigerator. Tomorrow, Charlie’s school was putting on their annual play. This year’s production was Peter Pan. Charlie rehearsed endlessly for a part, which shocked me to my core. I never knew he was interested in theatre, but then again, there seemed to be a lot of clues I’d missed in my home as of late. Charlie got the leading part and was cast as Peter Pan.
I put a note in my phone about the play so I wouldn’t miss it. My plan was simple: I’d only stay a little bit after work hours, then I’d head immediately to Charlie’s school for the play at six o’clock in the evening. Karen offered to pick Charlie’s costume up at the dry cleaners and bring it to him at school. I wouldn’t have the time to do so myself.
“You’re a lifesaver, Karen!”
“It’s not a problem at all, dear. I’m excited to see Charlie!”
Karen didn’t have any grandchildren of her own, and I sensed her excitement at having a new child in her life to dote upon. Karen morphed into much more than my secretary since I’d started w
orking at the firm; she was like a mother, too. Which meant she was like a grandmother to Charlie.
That night, I fell asleep at my desk with a case file on my chest. I slept for a few hours before my phone alarm woke up me, making me jolt straight into the air at its incessant beeping.
Charlie trotted out of his room, fully clothed and ready for school. “Morning, champ.”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Tonight's the big night! Are you ready?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I’m kind of nervous.” He fidgeted with his shirt.
“You’ll be great, I already know it,” I said, my face aglow.
“What if I forget a line?”
“Then just improvise!”
“Okay, if you say so.” Charlie bit his lip anxiously.
I stood and walked over to my son, kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair. “I believe in you, kid.”
He smiled and wrapped his tiny, yet strong arms around my waist.
“You’re coming, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! You kiddin’ me?”
“William is coming, too,” he said matter-of-factly.
“He is?”
“Yeah, I invited him.”
Damn, I never thought of inviting William myself. Probably because we hadn’t had the time to catch up recently.
“How did you invite him?” I quizzed my darling son.
“Well, I looked up the number to the halfway house and called him.”
“You did?” I asked incredulously.
“Yeah, Mom. It was easy.”
“You’re too smart!”
He shrugged and poured himself a bowl of cereal.
“I’m going to take a quick shower, get dressed and then we can go, okay?”
Charlie stuck up his thumbs and winked at me. I couldn’t help but giggle to myself. It was the best morning we’d had in over a week. Maybe things would turn around now? I sure hoped so. It’s possible the stress of the play caused Charlie to act out, at least it seemed to be the case.
