19. Calista

19

CALISTA

I t's been a long time since I snuck out of a man's bedroom in the dark. There was one time when a dating app swipe led to dinner, and too much alcohol led to a one-night stand that was less than stellar.

I'd hoped nobody would witness my embarrassment, but there was some lady in a black car outside Mrs. Williams's house putting something in the trunk of her car, and I had to do the neighborly thing and smile and wave as I passed her.

But I woke up in Ti's arms, and after the initial feeling of warmth and comfort, embarrassment crept in. There's a rush of heat to my cheeks, even as I think about it.

I could barely look Dr. Jacobs in the eye when she knocked on Mom's front door.

It had taken ten minutes to convince Mom to talk to her at all. Then, another twenty for her to be honest in the answers to the doctor's questions. But Dr. Jacobs had been sympathetic and suggested we needed more tests to see what's going on. She was reluctant to proffer a diagnosis, as she'd explained many conditions could bring on the symptoms Mom is experiencing.

It had been an education. I learned dementia was an umbrella term, not a condition. Dr. Jacobs explained there are many types, from Alzheimer's to Lewy body. And there were dementia symptoms linked to other diseases like Huntington's and Parkinson's and Korsakoff syndrome.

Dr. Jacobs also backed Mom up that it was very unlikely her wrist was broken, given the mobility and limited pain she had.

Thankfully, she agreed to take Mom as a patient and push for a swift diagnosis.

I can't imagine what would have happened if I didn't have money. I wouldn't have been able to fly home, I wouldn't have been able to clean her house like we have or get Dr. Jacobs to make a house call or find a caregiver to live with Mom.

But the whole time Jacobs had been speaking, I could still feel Ti's hands on my body, the way his breath had felt against my skin. And I had to hide my face at one point as I'd flamed up at the thought of how I'd nearly died during that second orgasm.

Even now, I can feel the ripple of sensation it brought to my body, and I clench my thighs.

Which is highly inappropriate as I'm mid-interview with a candidate Becca narrowed down to be a live-in carer for Mom.

"You come with fantastic recommendations," I say, looking down at the resume Melanie Dixon presented me when she entered the small meeting room I hired for the day.

Melanie sits upright on the edge of the chair. She's in her mid-forties, has a wealth of experience, and a kind and patient manner. "Thank you. I worked for the Gifford family for the last ten years. First, working with Mrs. Gifford, who had cancer, and then, with Mr. Gifford as his dementia progressed. The references from the Gifford family are attached."

Words pop out at me. Exceptional. Caring. Friendship.

"It must be hard to do the work you do. The end of it means the…death of someone you know, perhaps more intimately than their family."

Melanie smiles. "I started work in hospitals, dealing with patients at the end of their lives or dealing with the emotional complexities that come from terminal illness. Everything in those scenarios is incredibly sterile and violating. The testing, the treatments. I always thought there was a better way to help someone figure out how to live while they were dying. Not that this is the situation with your mom. With her, I think many of the techniques I use will actually improve things."

My phone vibrates on the table in front of me, and out of habit, I glance down at it. I only catch the first few words before I turn my phone off.

One day you'll regret being born, bitch because…

I swallow deeply and try to relax the immediate tightening through my whole body. "Sorry. Can you give me an example of that?"

Melanie places her coffee cup on the table. "Of course. There are a number of things patients can do to help manage the progression of dementia. For example, with me assisting her making her meals and ensuring she eats, we can work to make sure she manages her blood sugar, controls her blood pressure, and maintains a healthy weight, which will reduce the overall strain on her body. I can help her take regular exercise to ensure she's heart-strong to deal with the testing and medication she may end up using. We can come up with hobbies and daily activities to make sure she stays mentally active. Things like puzzles, counted-cross stitch, and crosswords are proven to help with strengthening mental acuity. I'll make sure she has a daily program, and we can work with her doctor to make sure nutrition or medication guidelines are adhered to."

These are all the things Dr. Jacobs suggested as helpful, even without diagnosis. There is no delete button with dementia. If that is the path Mom is on, we can't take her off it. But it is possible to slow things down. And I find myself craving that so badly for the purely selfish reason of trying to extend the time I have to salvage what I can of our relationship. "That all sounds really helpful. Would you be open to sharing that plan with me on a weekly basis, one week ahead, just while we find our feet working together?"

"Of course. And I'll happily send you a report at the end of each week to let you know what we accomplished, any positives, and any changes I think you or her medical team should be aware of. Are you local? Will you be around?"

Shame ripples through me before I answer. It's cold and fills me with discomfort. "Unfortunately, I own and run a large company in California. In the immediate term, I can't change that. I'm not even sure if I can in the long-term."

Melanie's eyes fill with understanding, and I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse. "It's hard, isn't it? Trying to split yourself into pieces to take care of every part of your life."

Her words give me the comfort that she is the right pick and will understand why I'm not there. I arranged the interviews in an office because I didn't want strangers knowing Mom's address, given she is in a vulnerable position. "I'd love for you to come to the house and meet Mom, get a feel for what you'll be working with. I'll be honest with you; Mom and I have been estranged for a long time. When I returned home recently, I found her very deteriorated. And she'd been hoarding. I've gutted the house with her. We've hired professional cleaners to come in and do a two-day intensive clean now that we've gotten rid of much of the junk."

Melanie leans forward. "May I put my hand on your knee?"

"Umm…sure."

She does what she said. "Calista. It's okay."

"What?"

"I hear what you're not saying. I hear a daughter who, for whatever reason, hasn't had contact with a parent. And a daughter who is now trying her absolute hardest to do her best for her mother. I would love to visit your mom with you."

I swallow, then suck the inside of my cheek between my teeth and clamp down hard. The pain staves off the tears.

"When would work for you?" I ask.

"There's no time like the present. My car is just around the corner, and I can follow you there."

It takes fifteen minutes for us to reach the house. When I get there, Mom is sitting on the sofa, watching another reality TV judge show. Something to do with a woman wanting money from some guy who persuaded her to take out a car loan for him, then split with her and disappeared with the car.

"Hey, Mom," I say.

"Shh," she replies.

"Mom, we have?—"

"It's okay," Melanie says. "I can sit with her until the end of her show."

So, we do. The three of us. An odd assortment of individuals thrown together. I actually find some escapist peace in watching the dickhead guy get lumbered with having to pay the woman back.

As soon as the titles appear on the screen, I grab the remote and turn it off. "Mom, this is Melanie. She's going to be living here with you to help you out, like we talked about."

My mom's brow furrows. "We talked about this? I don't remember."

I recall what the doctor said. None of this is her fault. All I can do is respond with patience. "That must be confusing for you, Mom. I'm so sorry. Let me try again. The doctor said this morning that there's a way to help manage some of the symptoms you are experiencing with effort. Good meals, mental stimulation, physical exercise."

Mom looks at me. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because I live in California." I withhold the word remember from the end of the sentence. Apparently, that isn't overly helpful to someone who is confused.

She falls silent after that.

Melanie fills the void. "Hey, Barb. It's so good to meet you."

She waits until Mom looks at her.

"And you," Mom says finally.

"You have a lovely home," Melanie says. It's a lie. I see what Melanie sees. It's clean, a little shabby, and I'm terrified it will scare Melanie off. Thankfully, it no longer smells stale in here. And it's warm rather than the frigid cold it was when I arrived.

But it's still got the lingering energy of a neglected and abused home.

"It needs some paint," Mom says finally.

"What color?" Melanie asks.

"I like yellow," Mom replies.

How did I not know that? You think there would be some fairly basic things you would know about your family. Their date of birth. The color of their eyes. Foods they dislike and love. Their favorite colors.

I have no idea about the last two things.

"Oh, a sunshine color. It would look good in a room like this. We could paint it together."

Both Mom and I look at Melanie.

"I love DIY, and I'm saving for my own home someday so I can do as much as I want. It would take nothing to get some paint and some supplies to do it right."

I should give Melanie a budget, or maybe even a credit card, to use to buy anything Mom needs. I turn my phone back on and start a list of things required to help Melanie settle. "That's such a good idea."

"Hmm," Mom says. "Can we put the television back on? I'm missing my show."

Melanie smiles. "That would be fine with me."

I do as Mom asked and tip my head to the upstairs. Melanie follows, and I show her Mom's room first, and then the spare room. "This would be yours. I've got a new mattress for the bed being delivered this afternoon. If you like DIY, feel free to do whatever to the room to make it yours. It's not a massive room, but if you'd prefer some extra furniture, like a soft chair or something, I could give you a budget and you can get it yourself."

"Thank you. An armchair for that corner over there and perhaps some bookshelves would be absolutely perfect. I have a lot of romance books, and I'd love a spot to put them. They're my escape." Melanie steps up to the window and takes a look out over the long yard. "I think we could have some fun out there in the summer."

"You'll take the job?" I ask.

Melanie nods. "I'd love to take it. Does she always watch television?"

"As far as I've noticed since I arrived, yes."

"Then we'll work to enrich her day. It might take time and some adjustment, but we'll get there. She'll be in safe hands. I'd be fine if you wanted to put cameras anywhere outside my own personal space if that would make you feel more comfortable."

I think of Vex and smile. "I know someone who could do that. But are you sure it's not too invasive?"

"Elder abuse is a thing. You're trusting me with your mom from a long distance away. If you start criticizing the way I butter the toast, we might have words," she says, a broad smile on her face. "But I completely understand the need for you to see I'm treating your mom fairly and kindly."

"Honestly, I'll just be looking for reassurance Mom's eating and moving and not hoarding anymore."

Melanie walks over to me. "You know, she won't stop hoarding just because you've cleaned the house."

I sigh. "I know. But I'm kind of hoping she'll try."

"I'll work with her. But you might want to speak with a psychologist about working with her too. I'll try to figure out a way to work with her to make different decisions about what she wants to keep."

"Thank you so much, Melanie. I've got such a good feeling about you."

I walk her to the door and we discuss a few extra logistics, like when she can start, which I'm thrilled to find is right away. I offer her a key to the house, and she makes plans to move her things in today and be here for when the mattress is delivered.

It makes me homeless, but I know a place I can stay if I can just be brave enough to make that choice.

Ti will let me and, hopefully, be happy about it.

But I'm already getting the ache of parting. There is no way he is going to leave the Outlaws or his family. And I can't up and move an entire company.

I feel like Melanie is the perfect solution to my worries about my mom.

But Ti. Vex…

There is no one I can hire to heal a broken heart.

I glance down at my phone in my hand, but don't open the text message I received. I don't want to know what the rest of the message said.

A piece of me thinks I should perhaps start distancing myself now. But if the danger I'm facing is real, I'll feel better being away from Mom. And to be real, there isn't a man I would trust more with my safety than Ti after what he told me.

After all, he gave up the life he had planned to keep me safe all those years ago.

But maybe I'm wrong to use him, in the event he has to do it all over again.