Chapter 6 - A Different Kind of Day
By nine, breakfast had happened.
Nobody starved.
The cabin survived.
Susan made scrambled eggs and toast.
The eggs were dry.
The toast was burned around the edges.
She couldn’t find the butter.
Or the frying pan.
Or the spatula.
Even though she had watched Mom use all of them every weekend for two months.
Three times, Mom tried to stand.
Three times, I said,
“Sit down.”
And each time, she sat.
She hated every second of it.
After breakfast, Susan stood and walked toward the deck.
Her dirty plate remained on the table.
Pure habit.
Daniel looked at the plate.
Then at her.
“Mom.”
Susan stopped.
She followed his eyes.
Then returned.
Picked up the plate.
Carried it to the sink.
Set it down harder than necessary.
And walked outside.
I thought I would feel victorious.
I didn’t.
Mostly, I felt exhausted.
And Mom looked miserable.
She sat at the table staring at the dishes as though someone had tied her hands together.
By lunch, I realized Susan wasn’t the only person struggling.
Mom followed me around the kitchen while I cooked.
“You cut those tomatoes too thick.”
“They’ll survive.”
“I can make the dressing.”
“I’ve got it.”
“The good salad bowl is underneath. Not that one. That one is for chips.”
“Mom.”
“You should spin the lettuce first or it’ll—”
“Mom.”
She stopped.
And then she asked something I’ve never forgotten.
“What am I supposed to do?”
Not,
Can I help?
Not,
Do you need anything?
What am I supposed to do?
Like she genuinely didn’t know who she was if nobody needed something from her.
“Go sit on the deck.”
“And do what?”
“Whatever you want.”
She looked completely lost.
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Then go figure it out.”
Twenty minutes later, she came downstairs wearing gardening jeans and an old T-shirt.
She carried a mystery novel I had given her for Christmas.
She had never opened it.
Mom went outside.
Sat in a plastic chair beside the flower boxes.
Opened the book.
And spent about forty-five minutes reading the same page.
Later that afternoon, I went upstairs to grab a sweater.
As I passed the guest room, I heard Susan talking to Richard.
“This is exactly what I was trying to prevent.”
I stopped.
Richard said something too quietly to hear.
Then Susan said,
“She told me herself, Richard. She said it’s getting harder. Cleaning. Shopping. Driving. Everything. And now everyone is treating her like she can’t handle her own house.”
I knocked.
The room went silent.
Susan opened the door.
“What are you talking about?”
She stared at me.
“Excuse me?”
“You said my mother told you this place was becoming too difficult. What did she tell you?”
Susan looked at Richard.
Then back at me.
May you like
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
