Cry Love

by Eve Gaddy

  She refused to discuss any of it with Jonas. Or anyone else either, he suspected. Naomi had a large circle of friends, but he would bet money she downplayed her disability to them. As her disease progressed, she had become more reclusive, to the point that he wasn’t sure her friends realized just how bad her eyesight had become.

  He decided to address the ostensible problem first. “You know very well I would pay for the repair. Or buy you a damn new dishwasher. I’ve offered often enough.” In fact, he had tried to move Naomi into a brand-new house as well as cover her bills, but she wouldn’t hear of it.

  “I don’t need your charity, Jonas,” she said severely. “I need for you to come look at my dishwasher.”

  What was the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting the outcome to change? He’d had similar conversations with his mother often enough to know she wouldn’t budge until she got her way. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be there in an hour or so. Let me have some coffee and a shower.” He sure as hell wasn’t going back to sleep now.

  “Fine. I knew I could count on you. If you stay a while I’ll fix your favorite lunch.”

  “Deal.”

  As he hung up, he thought about Claire. He’d slept poorly, waking up worrying about her for what was left of the night. He wanted to talk to her, but if she was at work she was likely busy. He texted her instead, a simple question.

  You okay?

  K. Sore but ok. Call u later, she texted back.

  It would have to do.

  HOLY SHIT, WHAT the hell was going on?

  A fire engine and ambulance stood in front of Naomi’s house, lights flashing but sirens silent for the moment. Jonas parked and ran to the ambulance. He didn’t see any flames, but there was a definite odor of smoke in the air.

  “I’m Jonas Clark,” he told the EMT standing by the open back doors. Jonas looked inside and saw who he assumed was his mother, lying on the gurney. “My mother—”

  “You’re ‘my son, the doctor,’” the petite brunette interrupted. “Glad to see you. Your mother has been insisting we wait for you, but we really need to get her to the hospital.”

  “How bad is she?”

  “She has probable second-degree burns on her arm, and we’re treating her for smoke inhalation.” The woman smiled ruefully. “We had to fight her on the oxygen. She didn’t want it and kept taking off the mask, then when she finally agreed to use it, she wanted to wait for you.”

  Jonas took a deep breath. He’d been worried it was worse. Not that a fire and second-degree burns were good, but at least she hadn’t had a heart attack or serious burns. He was accustomed to emergencies but not those involving his mother. Somehow, it was different when it was someone you loved.

  “What happened?”

  “Kitchen fire. You’ll have to talk to the fire crew about details.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that. If I could speak to her for a moment, I’m sure I can convince her you need to get her to the hospital.”

  “Hey, Mom,” he said after climbing into the ambulance. “What’s this I hear about a fire?”

  Naomi wasn’t one for tears ordinarily, but he could see her fighting them as well as the telltale streaks down her cheeks indicating she’d lost that battle at least once. She attempted to pull herself together and pushed aside the oxygen mask. “I’m fine. I don’t know how it happened.” She coughed. “I turned my back and the next thing I knew, there was a fire on the stove and the smoke alarm was shrieking like heavy metal in a church choir.”

  He put the oxygen mask back on her. “You can tell me all about it after we get you to the hospital.”

  She pulled the mask aside again, “I don’t want—”

  He interrupted, firmly replacing the mask. “Don’t fight me, Mom. I’m worried about you. I thought . . . God, I didn’t know if you were still in there when I arrived. Please, let the paramedics do their job.”

  That shut her up, though she looked mutinous. He touched the plastic mask covering her mouth. “Leave that on. I’ll follow in my car as soon as I’ve talked to the fire chief.”

  Naomi clutched his hand and said behind the mask, “Promise.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be there as quick as I can.”

  He got out, pulling out his cell as he watched the ambulance leave. Claire answered on the first ring. “It’s Jonas.”

  “Hi. I was about to call you.”

  “My mother’s on her way to the hospital,” he said abruptly. “Can you watch out for her? Naomi Clark. I don’t know who else is there, but I’d like you to take care of her.”

  “Of course. What happened? How bad is she?”

  “Kitchen fire. Probable second-degree burns and smoke inhalation. I don’t think it’s serious, but . . .” he trailed off.

  “She’s your mother,” Claire finished for him. “I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He drew in a breath of relief. His mother would be in good, capable hands with Claire. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay.” She lowered her voice. “I put the word out I was in a fender bender and my air bag didn’t release.”

  Yeah, he didn’t think that would fly but saw no reason to say so. “How are the ribs?”

  “I’m pretty sore. But I’ll be all right.”

  She would, but she had to hurt. Probably barely able to move though she wouldn’t admit it.

  “My face looks like a Mack Truck hit me,” she added, “so don’t be surprised when you see me.”

  Damn her husband. “I’ll be in as soon as I can. I’ll see you then.”

  The firemen were wrapping up by the time he talked to them. “We arrived just as your mother had put out the fire,” the chief said. “It started on the stove top. Grease fire from the looks of it.” He glanced at the receding ambulance with a thoughtful look. “Any memory problems you’re aware of?”

  “No. But she has problems with her vision and I suspect it’s been getting worse.” Naomi was still young for memory issues. She’d only just turned sixty, but Jonas knew better than the chief that didn’t necessarily mean anything when it came to diseases like Alzheimer’s. However, Jonas was certain that her vision was Naomi’s problem, not her memory. The woman remembered everything, sometimes too much.

  Jonas thanked the fire crew and made sure the kitchen windows were open and locked up. One of Naomi’s neighbors came over and promised to watch the house, but at this point he figured airing out the house took precedence over security. Besides, it was a low-crime neighborhood, for which he was thankful.

  Naomi wouldn’t like it, but they were going to have a serious talk about getting someone to help her. Daily. Although the fire was the worst, it was far from the first accident she’d had, and Jonas suspected her poor vision played a large part in all the recent accidents. God only knew how many she’d had that she’d never told him about. Naomi needed to make changes, whether she wanted to or not. She was independent to a fault and fiercely determined not to be a burden to her son. He appreciated that, but it did not make it easy to help her.

  Jonas didn’t look forward to the fight that was sure to come.

  “CLAIRE, WAIT UP,” Lanie called out.

  Great, she’d successfully avoided Lanie all morning. Would have been happy to continue to avoid her for a long time to come. “I’ve got a—”

  “Damn it, Claire,” Lanie interrupted, dragging her into an unoccupied cubicle. “You can’t avoid me forever. What happened to you? And don’t give me that bullshit story about a car accident that’s going around.” She gestured at Claire’s face. “I recognize what happened as well as any ER doc. That son-of-a-bitch Glenn did this, didn’t he?”

  “I’ve got a patient coming in. I don’t want to discuss my accident.”

 
Lanie studied her face closely. “Accident my ass. He hit you, didn’t he? The bastard beat you up. Why? Has he done it before?”

  “What part of ‘I don’t want to discuss this’ don’t you understand?”

  Lanie grimaced. “I know you’re mad at me. I don’t blame you. But I love you and I’m worried about you.”

  You should have thought about that six years ago when my husband hit on you and you chose not to tell me. Claire’s emotions, both toward Lanie and period, were incredibly tangled. No way did she want to get into any sort of dialogue right now. Especially not at work. “I can’t talk about it here. Just drop it.”

  But Lanie could never let anything go, so Claire wasn’t shocked when she continued as if Claire had never said anything.

  “I thought you understood my reasons for—” she hesitated then continued “—for doing what I did. For keeping quiet all this time. But clearly I was wrong. Are you ever going to forgive me?”

  Claire’s patience, what little there was left of it, snapped. “Everything isn’t about you, Lanie. I said drop it, goddamn it, and I meant it.”

  Lanie looked as if she’d been slapped. And right now Claire didn’t give a rat’s ass. She hurt like hell, she’d put in a call to a divorce lawyer and was waiting anxiously to hear back, and to top it off, she was in for a long, brutal day at work with no relief in sight. Lanie would either get over her hurt feelings, or she wouldn’t.

  Claire’s pager went off. Lanie left without a word. Claire popped more Advil and went to see Jonas’s mother.

  Chapter Twelve

  JONAS WAITED UNTIL after he’d taken his mother home and helped her get settled in to broach the subject he’d been concerned about, one he was sure Naomi would have avoided forever if she could. “Mom, we have to talk.”

  “What about?” Naomi asked suspiciously.

  She was propped up on the couch with pillows and the TV remote; a big glass of water stood on the coffee table. She looked exhausted and . . . damn it, she looked old. Older than he was accustomed to seeing her look, anyway. She’d always taken good care of herself and usually looked a good ten years younger than her true age. Well, she didn’t now. She looked every one of her sixty years. She had to be stressed to the max, though, so it was understandable she wouldn’t look as good as she normally did.

  “You can’t continue like you have been. You need help.”

  “Help? What kind of help?”

  “Help with daily living. More than I can give you.”

  “Daily living? Like I’m an old woman? I just turned sixty. In case you missed it, that’s not old these days. If you think you’re going to ship me off to some old folks home, think again, Jonas Clark.”

  Patience, he told himself. “I said you needed help, not to be in assisted living. And I want to talk to your ophthalmologist. Your vision is clearly getting worse, and he needs to examine you again.”

  “I knew you were going to say that! That fire had nothing to do with my vision. A grease fire can happen to anyone.”

  “You’ve never had one before, have you?”

  She didn’t answer but she looked guilty.

  Hell, he should have known. He’d suspected she was under-reporting her “accidents” and now he was sure of it. “This isn’t the first fire, is it? How many have you had?”

  “They were nothing,” she said, evading the answer. “Everyone has a kitchen fire now and then. Just a little stove top thing.”

  “Mom, you know that’s not true.”

  When she didn’t respond, he said, “You’re having more accidents by the day. You fell the other day, don’t think I’ve forgotten. You tripped over something you didn’t see. Which you wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t happened to be here when you did it. I don’t know how many times you’ve fallen that I haven’t heard about. You’re lucky you haven’t broken anything yet. And that doesn’t even address the cooking issue.”

  Naomi looked away. After a long moment she said, “You don’t understand. I’ve already had to quit work. Now you’re telling me I can’t live alone. I feel like an old horse who’s been put out to pasture. Useless.”

  “I think I do understand, at least to a degree. This condition is robbing you of your independence. You hate it, I get that.” He reached out and put his hand over hers. “You took care of me when I was young. I’d never have made it to college or medical school without you.”

  She sniffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Jonas. I only did what a mother is supposed to do. Mothers take care of their children. Period.”

  Not all mothers, he thought. “You did a hell of a lot more than simply your duty. Let me help you now. Please. If you have someone here to assist you, then you can do a lot more and still maintain your independence.”

  “I don’t know.” But she didn’t sound as adamantly against the idea as she’d been at first.

  “There are new treatments for macular degeneration every day. But I need to be able to talk to your doctor. To be sure we’re doing everything possible to help or even stop the disease. Does he even know your son is a doctor?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t want him talking to you and not to me. Talking over my head like I’m a child or something. I can take care of myself. Besides, you’ve been in Boston. How were you supposed to bother with my problems?”

  “It’s not a bother. And this is my fault. I should have been more insistent about talking to your doctor. But that changes now. All right?”

  “All right. I guess you’re right. It’s silly of me not to talk to you about medical issues.”

  He should have been talking to her doctor long before now, but Naomi hadn’t wanted to “burden” him. Until he’d moved back, he hadn’t realized how bad things really were. His fault. He should have pushed for more information. But he was as unaccustomed as his mother was to having her depend on him. She had pushed him to succeed, pushed him to do what was best for his career and had never admitted to needing his help in the past. But that had all changed with her diagnosis.

  Naomi struggled with tears. “I don’t want a stranger living with me.”

  He’d rarely seen his mother cry. She took stoic to the extreme. “I know and I don’t think that’s necessary.” Not yet, anyway. “We can start out with someone to come in and help with meals. Not cook for you,” he said when she protested. “Help you cook. And you need a driver.” Naomi hadn’t driven for the last year or so, and it was getting harder and harder for her to get around. “I don’t want you taking the bus everywhere. It’s ridiculous. There’s no reason for it when I can help you out. You still have a car. Maybe we can find a college student you like to drive and do whatever else you need help with around home.”

  “But they don’t have to live with me?”

  “I don’t see why you’d need live-in help. We’ll work it out, Mom. And I’m paying for it, so don’t argue.”

  She looked stubborn, but she had to agree. No way could she afford the kind of help Jonas felt she needed.

  “You’re a good son. I’m just used to being the one to help.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “Everyone always came to me for help, from the time I was a teenager. Especially my family.”

  Her family. As he looked at his mother, her image shimmered. He heard his mother’s voice, but she sounded different. . . .

  “Calvin, I’m worried about you. You’re asking for a world of hurt bein’ involved with a white girl.”

  “Jonas, is something wrong?” His mother had gotten up and was standing in front of him, concern in her eyes and voice.

  Jesus. He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the last of the illusion. What in the hell had happened here?

  Calvin. He’d heard Naomi talking to Calvin. Her cousin. Her dead cousin. So why had Jonas heard it? Furthermore, why had it seemed as if the comment was addressed to
him?

  When he was young, he remembered hearing Naomi speak of a cousin she’d lost. So was all this his imagination running away with him?

  Except he didn’t have much of an imagination. But he knew one thing now. The boy he’d been dreaming about was Calvin, his cousin who’d been dead for forty years.

  “Jonas?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You looked so strange. And you wouldn’t answer me when I talked to you. What in the world happened?”

  “Sit down, Mom. I’m fine. I was thinking about the best way to find someone to help you,” he lied.

  She sat back down on the couch. “I thought you just didn’t want to answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “You really didn’t hear me, did you? I asked you what’s going on between you and Dr. Westbrook.”

  Great. Just what he needed. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”

  “I may have vision problems but I’m not blind yet. That woman was beaten, never mind her saying she had a car accident. I know what a man’s fist does to a woman’s face. I’ve seen it before.”

  “Even if that were true, why would it have anything to do with me?”

  “I heard someone ask her about her husband’s father. She’s married, isn’t she?”

  Jonas shrugged, which he supposed was answer enough.

  “I saw the two of you together. You care about her, Jonas. She cares about you too. Her husband beat her, didn’t he? Was it because of you?”

  “Mom, you’re reading way too much into the situation. You’re also jumping to conclusions about something you can’t possibly know anything about.”

  “I don’t think so. Are you involved with that woman, Jonas?”

  Lie, he told himself. “We’re . . . friends,” he heard himself say. “That’s all. She’s having some marital problems.” Yeah, her husband was an abusive asshole who she was divorcing. And while he wasn’t sleeping with Claire—yet—he was sure as hell involved with her.

  “Friends, my Aunt Fanny. It’s not a good idea. Mixed relationships just bring heartbreak to everyone.”