4. Jessica

4

JESSICA

M ax played quietly on the floor at his grandmother's feet. I sat off to the side. I was there in case either of them needed anything, but out of the way. This was Mrs. Anderson's time with her grandson.

Max was always so sweet and careful with her. He might run and tackle his father or even slam a fierce hug around my legs, but he was always as delicate as a four-year-old could be with her.

Granted, she did remind him that her old bones couldn't take rough handling. She didn't look that old to me, but I didn't know what was going on inside, and it wasn't my place to ask.

Max got up and showed his grandmother the toy he had. It was a plastic dinosaur. She cooed over him and they did a little interacting, and Max went back to his spot on the floor with the other plastic dinosaurs. This was typical for all of their visits. Max loved dinosaurs and really enjoyed showing off each one. He didn't have a favorite. They were all his favorites.

"Max, Nana is getting tired. Should we watch a little show?" she asked.

Max looked up from playing with the plastic toys. He looked at her, and then looked at me. I nodded.

"Let's pick up the dinosaurs while your nana gets the show ready." I pushed to my feet and crossed to where the bucket for the plastic toys was and carried it back to where Max was gathering as many dinosaurs into his arms as possible.

Mrs. Anderson already had the TV on and was navigating to the streaming service that had Max's favorites. High-tech on-demand television was wonderful. I had grown up with cable, and I had thought that was pretty good. There was always something I could find to watch with cable, but Max was growing up being able to watch exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it.

"Put that one in here," I told Max.

He shook his head and held the last one close. "Mine."

"Okay, you can hold that while you watch your show. Let's go potty first." I didn't want him to have an emergency while sitting on his grandmother. She just couldn't move fast enough. "We'll be right back," I announced.

"I'll still be here," Mrs. Anderson said.

We stepped out into the hall and walked down to the bathroom. Mrs. Anderson had a private bathroom in her rooms, but it was packed full with medicines and items to help with her medical needs. Max was a curious boy, and all that stuff plus him was a very bad combination. I made that mistake only once.

We took care of business and carefully washed Max's hands. My arms reached around him as he stood on the step stool in front of me. My hands were over his, and I helped him to rub his hands together and get between his fingers. I sang the alphabet song, and he sang along. When I had started, he knew almost the entire alphabet, and now he was able to sing all the way through without mumbling. He still said elemenpee when we got to the L-M-N-O-P part. But that was all part of it.

"All done," he announced as soon as we sang, ‘and zee.'

"Yep, all done." I grabbed a hand towel and dried our hands off. "Are you ready to go back to Nana?"

He was more than ready and ran out of the bathroom and down the hall. He chucked along with his little arms pumping.

"Where do you think you're going?" Clara's disapproving voice rang through the hall.

"We're headed back to watch a show with Mrs. Anderson," I answered.

Max stood frozen in place. I wouldn't blame him if he started to cry. She wasn't friendly at all and didn't even try to be. Clara was like a spoiled lapdog or cat. She only liked one person—Mrs. Anderson—and she was aggressive and mean toward everyone else.

I took Max's hand and kept walking past Clara. We just needed to go three steps and then we would be at the door.

"I don't like him running around Mrs. Anderson," she snapped.

"He doesn't. He's very careful with his grandmother and is excited to get back to watching TV," I said. I didn't know why I was always justifying my actions, or Max's actions, to this woman. She had nothing to do with either of us, and her criticism was always unwarranted.

"I just saw him running. Besides, she's too tired," Clara said.

"She was fine when we left five minutes ago. And he was running to hurry back to her. Once we're inside, he will walk and be very careful, as he always is," I said with clipped tones. "Excuse us."

She was blocking the hall, and we just needed to get to the doorstep.

"Did he wash his hands?"

I closed my eyes and counted slowly before opening them again. "Really? What do you think? Of course we washed hands."

"I think you should do it again. He probably didn't do more than run some water over his fingers," Clara said.

"No, he is not going to wash his hands again. Max is learning to wash his hands for an appropriate amount of time, twenty seconds at the very least. With soap and hot water. Now, please let us get to the door. Mrs. Anderson is waiting for us." I picked Max up and brushed past Clara.

She wasn't going to move, and I was done with this game.

"Max, we're all ready to start. Jessica, help him up onto my lap," Mrs. Anderson directed as soon as we walked into the room.

I lifted Max onto her lap. She adjusted her lap blanket, and they looked cozy and ready to enjoy the show. She hit Play . I stepped back and let them be. Her basket of crochet work was slightly to the side and behind her recliner. I fingered her project. The yarn was soft and had a variation in the colors, so as she worked with it, it created stripes. It was good to see that she was slowly making progress. The stripe was a different color.

About thirty or so minutes later, I heard my name.

"Jessica?" Mrs. Anderson asked. "Are you still here?"

I stood and stepped forward so she could see me. "Of course, do you need anything? Should I go get Clara?" That was one thing that was working in my favor. A few days after I started to bring Max for regular visits at roughly the same time every day, Clara decided she didn't need to be in the room. I preferred it that way. I think everyone did.

"No, she'll chastise me for having Max on my lap. I'm weak and my joints don't want to work, but it's not like he's going to break me. But I wanted to let you know I think he's asleep."

"I thought both of you had fallen asleep," I admitted. I know I had been close to falling asleep myself. "You need me to take him?"

"No, I like holding him. It's a bit easier when he's not squirming around."

"He does squirm," I agreed. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Jessica." She lifted her brows in anticipation.

"I don't mean to step on toes, but is Clara always so negative? I feel like she finds fault with everything about Max, and frankly, that's starting to really annoy me. I can handle the criticism she directs toward me. I don't like it, but I know that her opinion of me has no bearing on me. But Max is four. The critical words of adults when we are kids become the negative inner voices we have to deal with as we grow up." I hoped I was getting my point across tactfully.

"He's four. I doubt he'll remember," she said.

I shook my head. "I remember the bad stuff my grandmother said about and to me more than I remember my grandmother's kisses and hugs. I know those happened. I have pictures. But I don't have the memories. I remember her complaining about my hair"—I reached back and grabbed my ponytail. My hair was fluffy and borderline frizzy because I hadn't taken the time to finger train my curls or to straighten my hair in the morning—"and tried to teach me how to brush it because she didn't know what to do with my fluff. I was maybe five when we lost her. So, trust me, Max will remember her critical words."

"It's just how she is. It's tough love," Mrs. Anderson explained.

I nodded. My point wasn't being made. I pulled in a deep breath and tried again. "Clara doesn't use nice words when she is talking to Max. I'm trying to teach Max that people use nice words when talking to people. Do you think you could mention that?"

Mrs. Anderson shook her head. From the expression on her face, it looked like I might have caused her too much stress. I'd try talking to Mr. Anderson about it.

"Never mind that I even brought it up," I said. I leaned forward and scooped Max up. "I'll take this guy back to his room for a nap. Your son said he would stop by for a visit when he got home from his morning tee time. This way, you can have a bit of a rest before then."

"Thank you, dear. I do like how you are looking out for Max," she said. "A nap sounds like a good idea."

With Max collapsed against my shoulder, I carried him across the house to his room. It would have been infinitely easier if I could have tucked him in on the small couch in Mrs. Anderson's rooms, but Clara had put an end to that.

Fortunately, once Max fell asleep, he tended to stay out for at least an hour. I made sure he had his dog toy and took his shoes off after I got him in his bed. I lifted the side rail and clipped the baby monitor to my belt.

I didn't know when he fell asleep, so I wasn't certain how much time I had. I hit the bathroom and then crossed the entire house to the kitchen. I wanted a snack. I pushed through the double swing doors and paused. Mr. Anderson leaned against the counter, laughing at something and popping open a beer.

"Oh, good, Jessica. How is Max?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to answer but stopped when I saw who he was with. I closed my mouth and swallowed down the lump in my throat. Ryan.

"Max is asleep. Your mother is resting too."

"That's great. I'll check on her later."

I turned and left as fast as I could. I completely forgot about being hungry.