by Kimberly van Meter - A Sinclair Homecoming (The Sinclairs of Alaska)
“Wade, it’s Miranda...something terrible has happened and you need to come home right away.” Before he could launch a response, she said, “Mom’s in the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“She had a heart attack. The doctors were able to stabilize her but she’s already had surgery to have two stents put in. But it gets worse...because the first responders couldn’t get to her quickly, the heart muscle was damaged.”
“Why couldn’t the paramedics get to her?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. “Are the roads bad?”
“No, she was in that damn wreck of a house again and it was sheer dumb luck that she was able to call 911. But the paramedics could barely get inside the house and get to her.”
Wade remained silent for a moment as Trace’s conversation came back to him. He hadn’t actually believed his brother when he’d said their mom was a hoarder. Could it really be that bad? Surely not as bad as those people on that TLC show. But if the paramedics couldn’t get to her...the evidence seemed pretty damning. His gut ached as the realization hit that he couldn’t put off a trip home. “I’ll check the flights,” he said, the words slow to fall from his mouth. “Can you meet me at the airport?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, pausing to add, “we really needed you sooner. This is a worst-case scenario that I was hoping to avoid. I mean, there was no way of knowing that Mom was going to have a heart attack, but I had a feeling something bad was going to happen in that house with the way that it is.”
“Okay, I’m coming home,” Wade muttered, guilt causing irritation to leach into his tone. Did his sister have to pound it into his head that he should’ve taken her concerns more seriously? He got it. Move on. “I’ll text you my flight information as I get it.”
“Okay,” she said, bristling a little. “Don’t get pissy with me just because you’re inconvenienced. You were raised better than that. You’re the big brother. Time to act like it.”
Now his little sister was schooling him? The day just kept getting better and better. “That’s unnecessary. Are you finished?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Text me if Mom’s condition worsens. I will text you with my flight information. Bye.” He clicked off without waiting for Miranda’s response. He wasn’t about to trade words about his so-called lack of familial responsibility with either of his siblings. He had better things to do. He returned to the meeting with another brisk smile of apology and discussions continued around him but he had a hard time concentrating. He made appropriate responses but was glad when the meeting was over. After a few handshakes and exchanged pleasantries, Wade made a hasty exit straight to his office to book a flight.
* * *
MIRANDA TOSSED HER phone into her purse and tried to rein in her temper. Wade had balls the size of an elephant to be acting pissy with her after they’d tried and tried to get him to come home and help with their parents’ situation. Well, Mr. Big Shot, time to cancel that tee time because you’re needed at home. Tough titty. She didn’t feel bad for him one iota.
Jeremiah entered the room just as she’d emitted a short growl of frustration and he frowned. “Everything okay?”
“No, everything is not okay. They are far from okay,” she muttered, then skewed her gaze to her fiancé with apology. “I’m sorry. My brothers tend to bring out the worst in me. That was Wade. He’s booking a flight...finally. It took a major catastrophe for him to board a damn plane, though, and that pisses me off. I’ve been dealing with Mom and Dad mostly on my own until Trace got involved, and now Wade is throwing a hissy fit—in his own controlled way—because we need him here. It drives me nuts that he manages to make me feel like the whiny nag because I need his help.”
“So your brother hasn’t been home since Simone died?” Jeremiah asked, making sure he had the facts straight about the family history. At Miranda’s nod, he sighed. “Well, I know a thing or two about running away from pain. Chances are if someone had forced my hand into returning to Wyoming before I was ready, I’d be less than social, too.”
Miranda cast Jeremiah a look of warning. “You’re not allowed to be on his side, just so you know. He’s wrong, and I’m right—drill that into your head and you won’t find yourself sleeping alone.”
“You’re such a bossy broad,” Jeremiah said, pulling her into his arms with a chuckle. “If I didn’t know how much you enjoy my company at night, I’d take that threat with more seriousness. But before you get your panties twisted in a knot, know that I’m on your side—that goes without saying. However, your family has been through the ringer...and everyone deals with their pain differently. Cut him some slack. He might not be happy about it, but at least he’s boarding that plane. Right?”
She grudgingly agreed, hearing the wisdom in Jeremiah’s perspective. “Simone’s been gone eight years. It’s time everyone puts her to rest.”
“Wise words from the woman who up until a few months ago was still drowning her pain in booze and men.”
“Ouch. If being on my side means you don’t pull your punches, don’t be on my side,” Miranda grumbled against his chest. She took a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of being snuggled against the man she loved and then said, “Well, I guess you’re right. Maybe we’ll get lucky and whatever Wade needs to heal will come to him. Mamu says that the ancestors bring us what we need, when we need it.”
“And do you believe that?” Jeremiah asked as Miranda pulled away.
“Maybe. It seems to have worked out that way for me and Trace. Maybe it’ll be that way with Wade, too. Although, he’s the most rigid out of all of us, so even if what he needed was standing right in front of him with a big neon sign, he’d probably refuse to see it.”
“He has that Sinclair stubbornness in spades, huh?”
“Oh, yeah...my older brother could write a book on how to be a stubborn jackass.”
“That’s saying something because you and Trace... Well, I’d say you’re both pretty stubborn.”
“Only when people don’t agree that our way is the best way,” she quipped half joking. When Jeremiah’s mouth lifted in a wry grin she conceded, “All right, I see your point but don’t push your luck. No one likes to be reminded of their shortcomings. Shall I list a few of your less than desirable personality traits?”
“Point taken.” He grinned. “Now, are we going to eat lunch or go straight to afternoon delight? Your tirade against your brother has eaten into our lunch breaks. I’m not sure we have time for both.”
Miranda grabbed Jeremiah by the tie and began leading him to the bedroom. “I wasn’t that hungry, anyway. C’mon, you big, sexy man o’mine. Let’s see how well you perform under pressure.”
“Baby, I eat pressure for lunch. I’m an administrator, remember?”
She laughed and they disappeared behind their bedroom door.
And for the next thirty minutes, Miranda’s thoughts were blissfully free of any member of her damn family.
* * *
MORGAN WAS BUSY studying her case notes for her next client when her secretary, Remy, came into her office with a scandalized expression on his face. With Remy, she never knew if he was simply being theatrical or if there was something truly scandalous to share. At any rate, Remy was entertaining at the very least. And he was family so she’d long since given up trying to change him. Not that she would if she could. Remy kept her sane around a bunch of crazies, as he put it.
“Girlfriend, you are not going to believe what file just crossed my desk for processing.” Without waiting for Morgan to guess, Remy said, “You remember those poor Sinclairs? You know the family whose girl was killed all those years ago by some psycho? Well, seems the mama has gone and had a heart attack and now Adult Protective Services is involved. They want a full evaluation of her mental status, if you know what I mean.”
Morgan frowned and
accepted the file from Remy. “Why would APS need an eval after a heart attack? What am I missing here?”
“Check out the pics in the file,” Remy said.
Morgan opened the file and pulled aside the intake paperwork to see the enclosed pictures. She stared in shock. “Oh, my...word...” Her gaze returned to Remy. “She’s a hoarder?”
“Either that or she’s auditioning for world’s worst housekeeper,” Remy quipped.
“Oh, dear...that poor family,” Morgan said under her breath as she went through the pictures. Clutter of all sorts, from brand-new items to trash, littered every available space in the modest home and choked the halls. She returned to the intake paperwork. “It says here the paramedics couldn’t get to her because of the mess. It’s a wonder she was able to call 911. This is just awful. That family has been through so much already.”
“Oh, and it gets worse,” Remy said, delighted to have some relevant gossip. “On the day that APS booted her from the house and condemned it, police arrested the father for marijuana cultivation. He’s been in jail for weeks. Wouldn’t let anyone post bail. That’s a weird thing. Why would anyone want to sit it out in jail?”
“Maybe he felt more in control there,” Morgan answered, though her attention was on the Sinclair mom.
“How does being locked up make you feel more in control?” Remy asked. “I would say that’s the opposite of being in control when someone else is telling you when to eat, when to sleep and when to go outside.”
Morgan paused in her reading to answer her inquisitive cousin. “Well, if he has a substance-abuse problem and he doesn’t think he has the willpower to stay clean, being in jail takes care of that problem, doesn’t it?” Remy recognized the rhetorical nature of her question and shrugged.
“I suppose.”
“Well, at any rate, the father’s problems aren’t my concern. Adult Protective Services wants me to evaluate the mom so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make time to do it tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to keep your lip zipped about confidential cases, right?”
“Honey, now you’re just being rude. Of course I don’t talk about your crazies to anyone else.”
“Please don’t call them that. It’s insulting.”
“Oh, fine. You’re in a mood today. Is it time for Aunt Flo to visit?” But Remy didn’t stick around for an answer and sashayed from the room. That man drove her nuts at times but out of anyone in her family, Remy was the one who knew her secrets and never whispered them to a soul. For that, she was forever grateful.
Shaking off the odd vibe of her wandering thoughts, she shoved the file into her satchel to read at home tonight. In the meantime, her next client was scheduled in ten minutes and she still hadn’t finished going over her notes. Time to get to work.
CHAPTER THREE
THE TENSION BETWEEN Wade and his brother, Trace, was like a living, breathing thing, wedging itself in the open space as they traversed the sanitized halls of South Peninsula Hospital to their mother’s recovery room.
“Whatever you do, don’t go making promises that she can move back home,” Trace said. “Until Adult Protective Services says the house is fit for human habitation, she can’t move back, and trust me, it’s going to take a whole lot of cleaning to put that house back together again.”
“Fine. What’s this about Dad refusing bail?”
“He doesn’t want to come home, I guess,” Trace answered with a shrug. “But he’s not my concern. He can sit in that jail all he wants. Better for him, anyway. We have bigger problems and Dad’s booming drug business isn’t one of them.”
Wade exhaled in irritation. Trace wasn’t one to exaggerate but surely it couldn’t be as bad as everyone was making it out to be. Seemed everyone was running around being Chicken Little. So the house was a mess. They’d clean it and set things to right. Shouldn’t be a case for so much hand-wringing. He checked his watch. “After we see Mom, drop me off at the house and I’ll pick up Mom’s car to use while I’m here. No sense renting a car when there’s one sitting in the driveway.”
“Fine. But don’t try to go into the house at night.”
“And why is that?” he asked, irritated. “Is the boogeyman going to jump out from underneath the sofa?”
“No, smart-ass, you might trip and cause an avalanche and then we’ll have two family members in the hospital. I know you don’t believe me but you will when you see the house.”
Trace was right; Wade didn’t believe him. The house couldn’t be that bad. He grew up in that house. There was no way his mother had turned into the kind of person who hoarded to a dangerous level. The idea—well, the idea was too much for him to imagine or accept.
“Just so I know...am I going to get the cold shoulder the entire time I’m here?” he asked Trace.
“Depends. Are you going to start being part of the solution or part of the problem?”
“What are you talking about? I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Because our mother had a heart attack. Tell me if she hadn’t, that you would be here like we asked you to be.”
He couldn’t rightly say that and Trace knew it. “Some of us have lives that we can’t just drop because something is going on at home.”
“Don’t start acting like your job is superior to everyone else’s. We all have personal lives that are being disrupted by the current situation. You haven’t cornered the market on being inconvenienced.”
“That’s a pretty big glass house you’re standing in, don’t you think?” Wade said. “Seems to me you’re being a bit of a hypocrite.”
“I’ve already made amends and apologies for my actions. How about you? Besides, me and Miranda are square. I can’t say the same for you. I was a dick for leaving her holding the bag with our parents and I own that. It’s time for you to pony up, too.”
“Don’t lecture me, little brother. I’m in no mood.”
“Well, step up and I won’t have to. Did it occur to you that I need my big brother? Yeah...well, I was counting on your support. Imagine my surprise when I was flatly denied. Didn’t feel good.”
“Are you finished crying? Jeez, Trace, when did you turn into such a girl?”
“Screw you, Wade. When did you turn into such a prick?”
A nurse shushed them with a warning look when their voices threatened to get louder. Trace buttoned up but looked filled with the need to say a whole lot more. Thank God for small favors. Wade’s head was splitting from a long flight seated next to a crying kid and he was ready for a beer and bed. “Can we just get this over with? It’s been a long day.”
Trace nodded and they walked into their mother’s room. Wade stared. Wires and tubes flowed in and out of his mother, while electronics monitored her every function. A bubble of fear rose in his throat at the realization that his mother could’ve truly died. Intellectually, he knew that as he grew older, so did his parents but in his mind, his parents were the same as they ever were. He was wrong.
“Mama.” The word slipped from his mouth in a worried whisper, echoing the shock of seeing her so diminished and frail.
Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on her sons. It took a moment for her to realize it was her oldest son before a wan but happy smile followed. “W-Wade?” She lifted her hand and motioned for him to come closer.
Wade forced a smile past his frozen lips and approached her bedside to hold her hand gingerly. “Hey there, Mama...what kind of trouble are you up to that I had to come all the way home?” he teased as he bent to kiss her cheek.
“My beautiful boy is home,” Jennelle murmured, tears leaking from her eyes. “It’s been too long, son.”
The mild admonishment landed like a pair of cement boots and he had to force himself not to get defensive. “Not from choice, Mama,” he lied. “But I’m here now so let’s focus on
that, okay?”
She smiled and weakly squeezed his hand. “Absolutely. My boy is home. That’s all that matters.”
In spite of being irritated as hell at Trace, he winced at their mother’s exclusion of her other son. She must be pissed because she wouldn’t even glance Trace’s way. And if there was any confusion as to just how she felt, Jennelle clarified by saying to Trace, “You can go, now. I’d like to speak with the one child who hasn’t betrayed me.”
“Ahhh, c’mon, Mom,” Trace groaned, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Don’t start that crap again.”
She closed her eyes. “Make him go away, Wade.”
Wade sighed, caught in a bad spot. He looked to Trace, beseeching him to give them a few minutes, and Trace muttered something unflattering under his breath but ducked out.
Once they were alone, Wade said, “Mama, aren’t you being a bit harsh? You know Trace and Miranda are worried about you.”
“Judases, the both of them,” Jennelle said. “Kicked me out of my own home. Never thought I’d see the day when my own flesh and blood turned on me like that.” A tear appeared at the corner of her eye, and Wade wiped it away gently. She smiled gratefully. “I know you’d never do something like that. You and Simone were always the ones who were on my side. No matter what.”
He bit his tongue. He loved his mother dearly but she had a habit of being manipulative when it served her. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “Mama, tell me about what Adult Protective Services said. I don’t understand how they could kick you from your home if there wasn’t cause.”
She withdrew her hand and shook her head, bewildered. “I don’t know. It had to be Miranda’s influence. She’s so tight with those government types. She’s been on a crusade to oust me from my home for months and she finally accomplished it!” Jennelle gasped, wincing with pain, and Wade knew he’d have to see for himself what was going on.
