4. Errol

Chapter 4

Errol

Ideally, I wouldn't have taken the money. I'd have had my own. It was $500—not a huge amount, but for me right now, it was more than I had. My savings had been wiped out when my roof sprung a leak, and I hadn't been able to replenish it yet. Honestly, my house was a money pit, and more days than not, I regretted taking it off my parents' hands. Sure, it was filled with memories, but so were my old school photo albums.

I don't know why Grams gave me that number, if it was one that Julian used to have, or maybe it was the wrong area code. He was technically my uncle, but it was in name only. He rarely came around when I was kid, and recently not at all. Come to think of it, I wasn't sure why she picked him to call in the first place.

Things were just getting so rough with her, I didn't know much of anything. Leaving her in a cell wasn't an option. She wasn't going to quote, "learn a lesson," like one of the cops suggested. If anything, she was going to get herself in more trouble. Grams always had a rebellious side. That was hardly new.

I went back inside, filled out an enormous amount of paperwork, paid the money, and then waited... and waited... and waited. I wasn't sure if this was the normal process or if they were just fed up with me and this whole fiasco.

But then the officer I talked to came out with someone I didn't recognize—someone in plain clothes, who introduced themselves as a social worker—that's when I knew what was happening. They were stalling in order to get me help.

Fuck. That was the last thing I needed. At least for now. There might come a time when I needed the help, and when it did, I'd seek it out. For now, I just needed to get her home and process the entire situation.

"I just wanted to give you some information on some resources for your grandmother. She doesn't seem quite of sound mind." She chose her words carefully. It wasn't her fault she was dragged into this, and her intentions seemed to be in the right place. I still wished she wasn't here.

"I think she's just tired," I said, though I didn't really believe that was the reason. Something was going on, but that wasn't it.

"There are also some resources for you." She tapped her finger on the folder she was holding, and I assumed those were some of said resources. "Are your parents around?"

"No, they're out of state," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I was not ready for any of this. At least I'd finished all my work last night, so when I had to call in, it was fine. I'd have the day to figure things out.

"If I say thank you and take this information and promise to follow up, can I take her home now?"

"Yes," she held out the folder, "but really do those things."

I agreed that I would, and fifteen minutes later, I was walking Grams out to the car. She kept wanting to talk, and I kept telling her to wait, saying it was "Car Talk"—something she'd used with my dad, and he'd used with me. I was always allowed to vent about anything I wanted, as soon as we got into the car. If a teacher was being awful, he wanted to hear it… once I got to the car, and now I was using it on my grandmother. What a weird circle life was turning out to be.

"We still didn't get the tea," was the first thing she said when I got in and buckled. Not an apology for mooning the cop or a thank-you for bailing her out. No. She wanted tea.

"No, we didn't. And I don't know if you're aware of this, but the pharmacy... they don't want you back." And I didn't blame them.

"Why? Just because I threw a little basket?"

I counted to five before responding.

"It wasn't little, Grams. It was full. And other things happened there too." I wasn't even sure all what and was very confident that I didn't want to.

"People don't have a sense of humor anymore," Grams grumbled. "Can we get the tea? I do need it to go with Matlock."

We stopped at the big box store on the way and grabbed some groceries for her as well. Normally, I'd have offered to pay, but I had just borrowed bail money and paying that back was top priority.

Once home, I put her purchases away and told her to grab a shower and put on her housecoat. For her, a housecoat signaled she wasn't going anywhere, and I needed her to stay put and rest.

We really needed to have a discussion about why she mooned the officer. It was one thing with the security guard—they apparently had a past of some sort, so I could sort of piece together why she might think that was acceptable. It wasn't, but Grams logic—yeah, I could see that. But there was no way, absolutely none, that the cop did anything to her. Who just goes and moons someone, especially someone with the ability to arrest you?

She agreed and padded into the bathroom while I put things away and made her some toast and tea. My hope was that she would have a light breakfast and then take a nap. She'd been up all night, and that wasn't good for her—for either of us.

When she came back into the kitchen, she opened a drawer and grabbed a few bottles. The thing was full of pill bottles—tons and tons of them. I knew she'd had a change in her medications lately, having driven her to pick some up, but she had a whole-ass pharmacy in there.

"When did you move those over there?" I asked, seeing that the junk drawer was no longer junk.

"It got to be too much for that little holder you gave me."

I'd given her a little lazy Susan that held quite a few bottles. It had been perfect because it made it easier for her to find the things she needed. Not any longer. When I got closer to the drawer to get a better look, I was in shock. She had a lot more prescriptions than before.

"Grams, why do you have all these?"

She picked them up one at a time and explained what they were, or at least which doctor gave them to her. I got lost only partway through and was amazed she was able to keep track of them all.

I tried to encourage her to consider a nap, but she insisted, "I'm feeling better now than I was. I'll sleep when I'm dead." She took a handful of pills and grabbed her tea and toast.

She might've been feeling better, but she sure wasn't acting better. And it wasn't even that she was acting poorly, not like last night. She just wasn't herself, and that worried me… too much.

"How about I get you a pill holder so you can at least organize them by the day and not have to do this every day?" I'd seen on TV that they even individually packed medications by the day for patients. I was going to need to look into that as well.

"Okay," she said. At least she was amenable to that.

I counted the bottles one more time as I put them away for her. I took one pill a day during allergy season and it felt like a lot. This was… there were no words.

We sat at the table as she ate her toast. She told me to hurry along to work—well, school, until I reminded her I had a job now. I lied and said I already had the day off. She didn't need to know that I was calling in sick for her. And then, instead of going to bed like I suggested, she went and watched Matlock. Only thankfully, watching didn't really happen, and she fell asleep in her recliner. She needed the sleep, and I needed some time to think—Think about how to help her. Think about whether I needed to be moving in here. Think about how I was going to get the money back to not-Julian.

And after that, I needed to get some rest myself.

I took out my phone and typed: Thanks . I went to hit send, backed it out, and just stared at the blank screen. There was so much more than thanks. Davien was so willing to help, so kind. And, yeah, he was hot. But it wasn't about that. It was... I didn't know. I couldn't put my finger on it.

Eventually, I thanked him and promised I'd pay him back, hitting send before I could change my mind. I wasn't sure when that would be, and I felt guilty about that. But there was nothing I could do about that, at least not today.

At least Grams seemed to be less erratic. So that was something.