“Mom has made some meals for the two of you,” David said when Jackson walked him back out to his car. “But if you’d rather not have company today….”
“No, it’s fine.” Jackson glanced back toward the house, his arms crossed over his chest, his hands gripping his biceps so tight his knuckles were white. The defensive posture was hard for David to see. “I know she’d like to see your mom, and frankly whatever she’s made would have to be better than anything I could manage.”
David looked at the house. “I feel like I’m abandoning you for some reason.”
Jackson’s tight posture relaxed slightly. “You aren’t. Go on. I’ll see you later.”
David wanted to kiss him, but the next-door neighbor came out at that moment to mow his lawn, so he touched Jackson’s arm briefly in passing before he climbed into his car.
WHEN DAVID and his mother arrived at Shirley’s small house, a sporty black Audi with a white racing stripe sat parked at the curb. David studied it for a moment as he pulled into the driveway and hoped the expensive little car didn’t belong to Travis.
His mother got out of the car and walked onto the porch. Even though it was cool outside, the door to the house was open to the screen. David stood at her shoulder and glanced into the dim living room. Shirley Henry hadn’t moved from her chair. There was a knitted afghan over her legs, and the television was on but her eyes were closed. Jackson was nowhere to be seen.
David was reaching in his pocket for his phone to call him when Beverley reached out and tapped firmly on the screen door.
Shirley lifted her head and looked around. “Hello?”
“Hello, hon,” David’s mother called. “It’s Beverley Snyder. May I come in?”
“Oh, Beverley.” Shirley looked as if she was going to try to stand and Beverley was through the screen door so fast David was stunned. She went to her friend and put her hand on her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare get out of that chair,” she scolded gently, but there was underlying steel in the tone. “Your son would have my head if you fell again because you were trying to open the door.” Beverley bent, taking one of Shirley’s hands. “How are you, hon?”
Shirley looked up at her, and her lost expression was heartbreaking. “I hit my head.”
“So I heard. Does it hurt?”
Shirley’s trembling hand went to the bandage above her eyes. “I have a bit of a headache.”
“I imagine you do. Honey, where is Jackson?”
Shirley blinked. “I think he’s talking to… someone.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not sure who….”
There were voices coming from another part of the house as David let the screen shut behind him. They weren’t loud; he doubted they’d disturbed Shirley while she napped. But they were loud enough he could hear them clearly.
“You can’t be here for even a few hours a day?” Jackson sounded exasperated.
“I have the girls, Jackson. Besides, this is why you came home, isn’t it?” Her voice was waspish and David didn’t like it.
“I have to work, Mickey,” Jackson shot back. So this was the sister.
“Why? Live off the money Daddy left. You don’t have to work. And if you think you do, you could always hire someone to be here with Mom during the day. It’s inconvenient for me right now.”
“The money is Mom’s, Mickey, not mine. I won’t touch it.” Jackson sounded tired when David wanted him to be angry. David was angry for him.
“Well, that’s stupid. He left it for her care. If you want to be a martyr, that’s on you. I’ll come by if I can, but I can’t make any promises.”
The voices were getting closer, and moments later a slender woman with longish dark hair came out of the hall. If she was surprised to find people in her mother’s living room, she didn’t show it. All but muscling his mother aside, she went to Shirley and grasped one of her hands, bending forward to speak to her.
“I’ll see you sometime this week, Mama.” She spoke so loudly that Shirley flinched at the noise.
David studied the woman dispassionately, comparing her to her brothers. He supposed she was pretty in a manufactured way. Expensive haircut, french manicure, pricey jeans, and a short, fitted leather jacket. She actually reminded him a bit of Juanita but her face held none of the other woman’s humor or warmth. “I have a busy schedule with the girls, but I’ll try to get by.”
“I’d love to see the girls.” Shirley sighed wistfully.
“Oh, Mom, I can’t bring them here while you have that big bandage on your head. It would scare them.”
Shirley’s hand drifted to her head and David saw the way it was shaking. He wanted to go to her and hold it, just so she wouldn’t look so very frail.
“Of course.” Shirley dropped her hand to her lap.
“Michelle,” Beverley said. David recognized the tone of voice and glanced at Jackson. He had his arms crossed defensively as he stood not far from David, his gaze on the floor. David wondered if he ought to give him some sort of warning about what was coming but couldn’t catch his eye without being obvious about it. He stifled a sigh as his mother went on. “Dear, how old are your girls now?”
Michelle straightened, turning to look at David’s mother. “They’re eight and ten. Have we met?”
“I’m Beverley Snyder. This is my son, David.” She gestured and Michelle glanced at him without interest. “Your mom and I became friends at the garden club. I met you at your father’s memorial.”
“Oh.” Michelle dismissed Beverley too, and David saw her bristle. Beth might be more outspoken than his mother, but Beverley was no slouch when she was irritated. This should prove interesting.
“You know, Michelle,” Beverley went on, lifting her chin, “there really isn’t any need to shield children when they’re the age of your girls.”
Michelle blinked. David wondered if anyone besides Jackson ever told Mickey what they actually thought.
“I beg your pardon?” If voices could cause frostbite, hers would have.
Beverley wasn’t dissuaded. “You simply tell them Grandma fell and hit her head. It might do your mother a world of good to see her grandchildren, don’t you think? You could manage that, couldn’t you? Unless something has changed recently and you’ve gone back to work?”
Beverley eyed her expectantly. For her part, Michelle looked as if Beverley had slapped her.
“I’ll… see what I can do. But I need to go now. Good-bye, Mom.” She squeezed her hand and backed away, and David realized it wasn’t the little girls who would have a problem with the heavy bandage. Jackson told him about how his sister handled illness; David could see it happening right then in the tidy living room.
Michelle left quickly and Jackson followed her. David and his mother exchanged a long look.
“I’ll start bringing in the food.”
“That would be good.” Beverley leaned over her friend, asking softly when she’d had her last pain pill.
David walked out, determined to go to the car and mind his own business. But the moment he was out of the door, he knew it would be impossible.
Jackson stood in the street, speaking stridently to his sister through the open window of her sporty car. David couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but he didn’t need to. He popped the hatch and began to unload, one eye on the little drama taking place in the street. He was nearly to the door with a casserole when the little car jerked from the curb with a short screech of tires and sped away. Jackson stood watching her leave, and the exhaustion and disappointment on his face made David want to take him in his arms and whisper soothing words of comfort.
Was that what Jackson had been doing all his life? Taking the hits from his family, forcing himself to accept their failings? Jackson saw David waiting just steps from the porch and came to him, taking one of the dishes without a word. David didn’t offer any either.
The kitchen in the little house was small and quaint, and fortunately there wasn’t much in the refrigerator. Da
vid placed the dishes inside.
“Is there more that needs to be brought in?” Jackson asked.
David huffed out a wry chuckle. “Yes, there’s more. You won’t need to go to the store for a week.”
“Are you serious?”
“So very serious.”
“Good God.” Jackson stared when they arrived back at the full car. “What was she cooking for?”
“The invasion of Normandy.” David lifted the Crock-Pot and held it out. When Jackson would have taken it, David held on and waited for him to look up. He was haggard. He also looked sad. “What can I do?” David’s voice dropped to a whisper.
Jackson swallowed and another of those long, pregnant pauses dragged out. “You’re doing it,” he finally answered. “You’re here.”
“JACKSON, DEAR,” Beverley said two hours later. “Would you like for me to help your mother get ready for bed?”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” he said quickly. “I can do it.”
Beverley gave him a level look. It wasn’t unkind, but it was purposeful. “Have you had to help your mother in the bathroom or to change her clothes before?”
He hesitated. “No, ma’am.”
“Then I doubt it would make her any more comfortable than it would make you. Allow me to do this, all right?”
Jackson looked at Shirley, who was dozing in her chair. “Okay. Thank you.”
Beverley pushed herself to her feet. “Now, where is that walker?”
The walker was fetched and placed before the chair, and Beverley woke Shirley gently. “We need to get you into bed, hon. Up you go.” Shirley began to grumble about the “damned walker,” but Beverley wouldn’t hear it. “So, you want Jackson to have to carry you around, is that it? Because that’s the alternative, Shirley. With the walker you can at least do this part on your own.”
That line of reasoning did the trick. Beverley put her hand under her arm, and with the walker moved close, Shirley was able to leverage herself to her feet. Jackson hovered nearby, but she did it on her own. They started slowly for the hall and Beverley shot Jackson a stern look.
“Go eat.”
Jackson didn’t move until the bathroom door opened and closed. David pushed to his feet.
“Have you eaten anything at all today?”
Jackson paused. “No.”
David sighed. “Come on, then. You either do it on your own, or she’ll sit here and watch every bite.”
“Dude, your mom is pushy.”
David’s laugh was wry. “I noticed.”
They went into the kitchen and Jackson’s steps were dragging. Hoping the soup would help, David got down a bowl and filled it with soup.
“Aren’t you having any?”
He was so close behind David that he startled a little. He turned his head and found Jackson’s face inches from his.
“Mom made it for you.”
“And there’s enough for the neighborhood.” He leaned over David’s shoulder, looking into the pot. “It smells phenomenal. What is it?”
“Italian wedding soup. It tastes as good as it smells.”
Jackson pressed his hard body against David from his shoulder blades to his knees. “Eat with me, okay?” he whispered against David’s ear. “So I don’t have to eat alone?”
With him standing so close, David thought he’d agree to anything. “Okay.”
They sat across from each other at the tiny kitchen table, eating the rich, flavorful soup and taking rolls from an open Tupperware bowl between them. The soft golden light from the fixture created the illusion of privacy, an oasis of warmth cut off from the cold, dark night outside the windows. They didn’t talk much, but the homey feel made David long for more of this in his life.
He and Trevor had never really made dinner at home; they ate out a lot because their schedules conflicted and it was easier. The closest they got to meals at home was ordering in and eating in front of the massive television. He couldn’t think a single time they’d shared a meal at the ridiculously expensive chrome and glass dining set in the condo’s kitchen. David had always wanted this: dinner at a kitchen table, the way it had been for him growing up. He stared down into his soup. His whole body ached to have this with Jackson, every day, all the time.
He startled when a large, warm hand covered his on the top of the ugly Formica. He looked up into weary blue eyes.
“What’s the matter?” Jackson’s voice was worn but gentle. The sound slid down David’s spine like a caress and his cock twitched. This was so not the time, not with his mom down the hall.
“Nothing,” he answered quickly.
One of Jackson’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Try again.” His calloused thumb moved over David’s knuckles.
“I’m… concerned about your mom,” David improvised.
“So am I. But you looked… sad.”
“No, really, I’m fine.” Jackson didn’t look convinced, but Beverley bustled into the room at that moment. She got a glass of ice water and ignored the hands held on the table, pulling out a chair and settling in.
“She’s already asleep,” she said before Jackson could ask. “Poor thing is worn out. A hospital is no place to rest. I think that’s why her hands were trembling so. That and the terrible blow to the head.”
“That’s what the ER doc said.” Jackson pushed his empty bowl aside. “We should expect the trauma to her head to increase the MS symptoms for a few days.”
“I thought that must be the case.” Beverley pursed her lips, her hands wrapped around the glass. “Forgive me, Jackson, but I couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with your sister earlier.”
Jackson didn’t react other than a tightening at the corners of his mouth. David linked their fingers, and Jackson’s were warm and solid between his.
“I took care of David’s father,” Beverley said. “I speak from experience when I say I know how difficult being a full-time caregiver is. I have a thought, if you don’t mind me speaking my mind.”
Jackson’s face relaxed into a tired, resigned smile. “No offense, Beverley, but I doubt I could stop you.”
“You’ve got that right,” David murmured, squeezing his hand. The small smile Jackson sent him was all the reward he needed.
“Hush, you,” Beverley said to David. When she returned her attention to Jackson, her voice was soft but insistent. “When you told your sister you have to work, you’re right. You can’t give up your livelihood in order to take care of your mother. I know you’re worried about her, but I’m hoping you’ll allow me to help you.”
“You’ve already helped so much. I mean all the food….”
Beverley made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “The food is easy, honey. It’s the other stuff that’s hard. Getting her up and dressed, keeping track of the meds, making sure she’s steady on her feet. And making sure she uses that damned walker whether she wants to or not. This level of care is very consuming.”
Jackson released David’s hand with a squeeze, then flattened his palms on the old tabletop, his fingers tense. The tips were white where he pressed them into the surface. “I can do all of that.” He sounded faintly defensive, but David knew his mother wasn’t deterred.
“Of course you can,” she said. “But while you’re doing it, you can’t do anything else. Believe me, I know. I’m not doing anything else right now other than futzing about in my garden. I’m not trying to build a business, and I don’t have clients. I can take care of your mom during the daytime, and that way you can keep working.”
Jackson’s fingers pushed harder into the tabletop, and David wondered if he even knew it.
“I can’t let you do that,” Jackson finally murmured. “Not without paying you.”
A steely light entered his mother’s eyes. “Jackson, I’ve grown quite fond of you and clearly David has too”—David knew his face and ears were probably bright red—“but you’re about to offend me.”
“Beverley, the offer is lovely and I know my
mom is comfortable with you, but….”
“But what?”
He didn’t say anything for another of his long, thoughtful pauses.
“I’m supposed to take care of her,” he said at last. “It’s why I’m here. It’s why I came back.”
Beverley reached across the table and gently laid her hand on his arm. “Jackson, honey, is it what your mom would want?”
Jackson’s Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.
“I happen to know she wasn’t happy about you moving home. Don’t misunderstand,” she said quickly when he stiffened. “She loves having you here, but she hates that you felt pressured into doing it.”
“She told you that?”
Beverley nodded. “Shirley’s a proud person. And for the next few weeks, she won’t be able to bathe without help. Right now she can’t even go to the toilet by herself. You’re her baby, honey. Having you take care of her at this level is going to prove embarrassing to you both. Would you want her helping you into the tub?”
Jackson stared at the tabletop for long seconds. “No.”
An awkward silence settled over the kitchen. “How about this,” Beverley said finally. “I have things that need to be done around my house. We could do an exchange of services. I’ll take care of Shirley for you for the next few weeks, and you can do my repairs for me.”
“What repairs, Mom?” David asked, frowning. “You haven’t said anything to me….” She gave him a cross look and kicked his shin under the table. “Ouch. That hurt.”
Jackson actually managed a small smile.
She huffed. “Honestly, David. I don’t tell you everything. And not to offend you, sweetheart, but you’re not the handiest person I’ve ever met.”
It was true, but hearing it said like that was kind of embarrassing. Especially in front of Jackson. But when he glanced at him, Jackson was looking back at him with a fond, soft expression on his face.
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