Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Really?”
“Really.” He grabs a tissue from the box. “Your mother had a sixth sense about those kinds of things. Remember when she predicted that the mailman’s wife would have a boy?” He smiles wide, his eyes doing that far off look like he’s remembering the day. “Well, she had that boy.”
I grab a tissue and sit back in my chair, blotting the tears from my eyes. “I wonder what Mom would think now.”
“She’d want you to risk everything and take the leap. She’d want you to be happy.”
I shake my head. “Fear makes you believe things that make it impossible to think clearly.”
My father leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Greer, I think life might surprise you if you give it a chance.”
“Who is this man? And what have you done with my father?” I say with a tiny laugh.
“I’ve been seeing a shrink, and she’s helping me deal with the death of your mother. For so many years, I had so much anger. I hated life. I hated it so much, and now I see it’s all been a lie. When your mother died I felt like a part of me died that day too.”
I nod. “You’re right. I have felt so much guilt about Mom’s ‘suicide’, thinking it was my fault.”
“No,” my father says with regret in his eyes. “I never knew you felt guilty for it. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
I smile. “Well, you can be here for me now. If I put everything on the line and Roman rejects me, I’ll need you to help me pick up the pieces.”
“I’ll be here.” His eyes never waver from mine. “I’ll always be here.”
TWENTY-TWO
ROMAN
I ease my SUV into a parking spot outside the Magnolia Ridge Nursing Home, a place I'd rather not visit. Stepping out, I prepare myself mentally for the impending encounter.
I suck in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, my gaze fixed on the weathered facade of the building, its bricks weathered and its windows oversized. It's a sight that causes a mix of emotions.
In the early stages of my mother's dementia, my father attempted to shield her condition, masking her symptoms beneath a veneer of normalcy. But as her condition progressed, the façade shattered. Reluctantly, he made the difficult decision to relocate her to this nursing home, where she has resided ever since.
As I move toward the entrance of the home, a weight settles in my chest. Anxiety grips me like a vice, and I wish Greer were here to help me through this impending panic attack. I can do this.
Breathe.
Fucking breathe.
Maybe I should head back to Greer’s father’s house. I suck in a deep breath and before I turn around to head back to my SUV in the lot, I spot my father’s tall frame in the neatly landscaped courtyard near the entrance. I can do this.
“Hi, Dad,” I say once I’m close enough.
He smiles and extends his hand for me to shake. “Hey, Roman. I’m glad you dropped by today. Your mother’s been buzzing since she saw the news about you and Greer.”
Shit.
“Oh, right,” I mumble, rubbing at the back of my neck. How will I tell my mother that all the nonsense in the paper has been a giant hoax?
She’d never understand.
“Come on, she’s about to take her daily walk. If you want, you can go with her.”
“Uh, sure.” I can go for a walk with my mother.
We step inside, and I shadow my father as he strides past the front desk with an air of familiarity. It's evident that he’s here daily. Nurses greet him with friendly waves as we walk the corridors, engaging in brief exchanges of pleasantries.
We proceed down a spacious corridor and eventually arrive at a room located towards the end. My mother occupies the bed, her figure facing away from me as she gazes out of the window. “Walter, is that you?”
“Yes, Catherine,” my father says. “I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”
My mother turns around, her gaze locks onto mine, and in this fleeting moment, I’m met with a void—a chilling absence of recognition that sends a shiver down my spine. My heart lurches in my chest as I reel in disbelief. How could this be? Oh my god. The realization hits me like a thunderbolt—she doesn't recognize me.
Her own son.
I know this is common for patients with dementia, but it’s unsettling to see it firsthand. To see your mother look at you without a spark of recognition. Then, in a moment of clarity, something in her demeanor changes and she smiles, the memory of me floating back to her consciousness.
“Roman,” she says in a sweet voice. “How are you?”
I take a tentative step closer. “Hi, Mom.”
“Catherine, do you want to go for your daily walk with Roman?” my father asks. “You can show him the petunias you like.”