Chapter 6-1
401 Words
6
The aftershocks of Evie’s non-endorsement hit as soon as she walked into her parents’ house the next morning. She always stopped in before work to kiss her mother and see what help her father needed that day.
“Good morning, Mama.” She crouched next to her mother’s recliner, where she spent most of her time since her diagnosis. Molly McGraw offered her a crooked but still radiant smile, set off by her white cotton-candy fluff of hair. The Parkinson’s had been like a slow-moving earthquake in their lives. They’d adjusted to it in stages—special retrofitted shower, portable wheelchair, adaptive silverware, bars next to the toilet. The changes still came, making “normal” a moving target.
“Well, well, you look like the same daughter, despite what the town is saying.” Her father walked in carrying a glass of water and a handful of pills. Everyone in town still called him the Dean even though he’d retired several years ago. Even Evie had gotten into that habit. Evie raised the recliner so her mother could take the medication more easily.
“Still me.”
“I don’t understand, Evie. You’ve known Brad your whole life.”
Exactly, she wanted to say. I know him. But she’d never said one word to her parents about that night and didn’t want to start now. “I can’t talk about it right now. I have to get to work. Do you want me to do the grocery shopping or would you rather have me watch Mom while you take a break?”
Luckily, the Dean was a McGraw, and didn’t like difficult conversations any more than she did. “You take care of the shopping. All this talk is bad for my digestion.”
Ouch. Now she was giving her father gastrointestinal issues as well. The guilt…the guilt… “Text me a grocery list.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll stop by the store after work.”
“Jim White’s been calling me. I don’t know quite what to say to him.”
“Tell him I’ve lost my marbles,” she snapped. “I’m sure that’s what he thinks anyway. Have I lost my marbles, Mama?”
She made a whirling-finger “crazy” sign next to her temple. Her mother’s lips lifted in an expression of delight.
“Don’t do that,” the Dean said sternly. “She’s upset enough as it is. She slept very badly last night. Stress isn’t good for her.”
“Sorry.” More guilt. She rested her cheek on the top of her mother’s head. Her soft hair felt like comfort itself. The Parkinson’s had progressed shockingly fast and she didn’t speak much anymore. Talking exhausted her. Honestly, Evie didn’t think something like Brad’s endorsement would even register on her mother’s list of worries.
But arguing with the Dean wasn’t an option. They were McGraws, after all. Confrontation was not part of their DNA.
- Writer
