“She was probably scared and confused.”

  He nodded. “We figured.”

  When he didn’t say anything else, she asked, “What happens next?”

  “I need to tell you the truth, so I hope you can bear with me.”

  “Go ahead, Doctor.” This felt like déjà vu. Here she was again in a hospital room talking to a doctor while her loved one lay helplessly in the hospital bed.

  “Your mother’s vitals are not good. It’s very touch-and-go at the moment.”

  “But she’s only sixty-eight. There has to be something you can do. Some medicine she can be put on.”

  He looked over at Vivian as if disbelieving what Alexis just said.

  “Sixty-eight!” Alexis shouted. Steadying her voice as she calmed down, she apologized. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I know she looks older. My mom has had a hard life.” Alexis had thought that one day things might turn around for her mother. Maybe a cure would be found, and they could all live a normal life. She just thought there would be more time.

  “I understand,” he told her. “Let’s just get through the night, and then we can see what else we can do for her.”

  Get through the night? Alexis let those words roll through her mind as she leaned back in the recliner. Her mother had a seizure due to a brain aneurysm and now they had to hope that she would get through the night. She called Michael and informed him that she would be staying at the hospital with her mother. The nurse brought a blanket and pillow for her comfort.

  “Well, this is life,” she told herself as she pulled the wrapper off the sandwich and ate it. Wrapping the blanket around herself, she leaned back in the recliner, closed her eyes, and fell asleep. Not too much later, she was awakened by singing. It was her mother singing about flying away.

  Taking her seat out of the reclining position, Alexis was horrified at the song her mother sang. “Mom, I’ve never heard you sing that. Where’d you hear a song like that?”

  Vivian smiled at some distant memory. “My mama was a songbird. Did I ever tell you that?”

  Alexis shook her head. “No, Mom, you never did.”

  “She used to sing in the choir. On Sunday mornings I would be so happy to sit in the front row on the church pew and hear her beautiful voice. ‘I’ll Fly Away’ was one of her favorite songs.”

  “I’ve never heard that song before. I’d rather you sing something about staying right here.”

  Vivian glanced around the room. A look of sadness furrowed the lines in her forehead even more. “Where are my grandkids? Why do you keep them away from me?”

  “I don’t keep them away from you.” That wasn’t exactly true, but Alexis felt the need to defend herself. “I just brought them to see you on your birthday. Remember?”

  “Birthdays and Christmas,” Vivian mumbled and turned to look out the window.

  The sadness in her mother’s voice broke her. Vivian had been so excited about being a grandmother. When Ethan and Ella were first born, she would have them around her mother all the time. Vivian gushed over her grandbabies, but as they got older, Alexis limited the visits to twice a year because she feared that her mother’s erratic behavior would frighten the children. “You got me. I’m here. And I’m spending the night with you. Isn’t that good enough?”

  Still looking out the window, Vivian said, “I know you wanted a good life. I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy, but I’ve been on the outside looking in all these years. I just wish I could have been a part of your life too.”

  What had she done? Tears welled in her eyes. She put a hand on her mother’s arm. “You have been with me every day of my life, Mom. I haven’t forgotten you, nor will I ever. How could I forget how much fun we used to have?”

  “Or how much pain I caused you. That’s why you hid me away in all those awful places. You were tired of me.”

  Her mother was right. She had let her go for the promise of something better. Michael loved her, but he hated the thought of the world knowing he had a mother-in-law with mental issues. So she gave in and sent her mother away, effectively tearing her away from her grandchildren, just as Alexis had been taken away from the Coopers when she was five years old.

  When she had asked her mom why they moved away from her grandmother and why she couldn’t see Granny anymore, her mother had mumbled gobbly-goop, gibberish. Something like, “They want you to go to Hollywood, but you’re not ready.” Her mother could make believe that she was some fabulous actress, but when it came to Alexis, she’d said, “Oh no, you’re not ready to be an actress.” It just didn’t make sense.

  It was hard to understand her mother and hard to love her mother at times, because she had to take the flaws and all. She had tried to do the right thing by putting her mother in only the best nursing homes. Vivian needed looking after, and those people could handle it better than Alexis could. This is what she told herself, and until this very minute, she had believed it. Could it possibly be too late for her to make this right?

  “I’ll do better, Mom. I promise I won’t let you down again.”

  Chapter 20

  “You’re looking good,” Trish said to her son as she stepped out onto the back patio. Jon-Jon was seated in his wheelchair while Dwayne used the clippers to cut Jon-Jon’s hair.

  “I felt good enough to get out of bed today,” he told her.

  Two weeks had passed since Alexis Marshall came to their home. Jon-Jon had the surgery eight days ago and was now wheeling himself around the house like it was nothing. “You gettin’ all them matted-up knots cut out of your hair because Marquita’s in the house?”

  Jon-Jon hid his face in his hands. “Dad, get your wife.”

  Lining up the back of Jon-Jon’s head, Dwayne said, “Come on, Trish. Don’t embarrass the boy.”

  Trish sat down on the lounge chair. “I didn’t come out here to give Jon-Jon a hard time. I wanted to talk to both of you.”

  Dwayne’s eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Yeah, what you know good, Trish the Dish?”

  Smiling, Trish got that butterfly flutter in her belly. Dwayne used to call her Trish the Dish when they first started dating. She hadn’t heard that phrase from him in years. “I wanted to know what the two of you thought about me going back to work?”

  Dwayne turned off the clippers and stared to her.

  Trish held up a hand. “I know how you feel about it. So, I guess I’m really trying to get Jon-Jon’s thoughts on this.”

  Wiping hair from his shirt as he looked at Trish, Jon-Jon said, “I know I’ve been bratty about everything that has happened since my accident, but I wasn’t lying about being in pain.”

  “How is your pain level now?” Trish asked, concern etched on her face.

  “It’s getting better, Mom, so I want you to go to work and not worry about me so much.”

  “You hear him, Dwayne? Sounds like he’s trying to grow up on us.”

  “He better,” Dwayne said. “Babies don’t raise themselves, and no son of mine is going to shirk his duties as a father.” Dwayne turned the clippers back on and started shaving more off the top.

  “Speaking of that, Dad. I know you want us to have our day in court, but I don’t think it’s right that you and Mom have to buy the things my kid needs, so I called Mrs. Marshall’s attorney and agreed to arbitration.”

  Trish didn’t say anything. This was a moment between father and son. Jon-Jon was showing his independence by making this decision without talking to his father first. It was the right decision in her mind. Still, she held her breath, waiting to see if Dwayne was about to go off.

  To her surprise, Dwayne calmly said, “You made a decision that was yours to make, and you made it for the right reason. I’m proud of you.”

  Trish went back in the house, sat down at the kitchen table with her laptop, and filled out an application for a teaching job at the local community college.

  Marquita came out of her room, humming some song Trish didn’t recognize. She was reading something on her cell phone as she took a bottle out of the fridge. She turned and saw Trish sitting at the table. “Oh, hey, I didn’t see you over there.”

  “You got your head stuck in the phone. I’m just glad you didn’t trip over one of the floor rugs.”

  Marquita glanced back at her phone. “I was looking at this customer service job I want to apply for, but I don’t have experience.”

  Trish wagged a finger at her. “Don’t get stuck on experience. Customer service jobs are usually entry level. I would apply if I were you. The worst they can say is no.”

  “Right.” Marquita nodded in agreement. She put Moochie’s bottle in the microwave, then sat down at the table with Trish and started filling out the application.

  * * *

  Within a few weeks of applying for the position at the community college, Trish had been hired. She was now working in the evening, helping kids study for their GED. She taught a two-hour class three nights a week, and Marquita sat with Jon-Jon while she was out.

  There were fifteen students in her class tonight. Trish stood and greeted each one as they entered her classroom. “Good evening, students. I hope you all had a good day and are energized, because we are about to dive into some world history that may cause your eyes to glaze over. This information will be on the GED test, so stay with me.”

  Trish was a math teacher. She had been assigned to this history class because the GED program already had a math teacher, and they desperately needed someone to teach history. She was just thankful they didn’t need a science teacher because she wouldn’t have been able to take the assignment. She had minored in history in college, so she could handle this.

  Teaching young adults was different than teaching fourth graders. She didn’t hear a whole lot of whining about doing the work. But she kept in mind that the people she now taught had previously given up on school. Each night as she planned her lesson, she did it with success in mind. She wanted each of the students who attended her class to see themselves succeeding, passing that GED test, and moving forward with life.

  “Our first quiz will be next week.” She passed out study sheets to each student. “If you review everything on these sheets and read the first two chapters in your American history book, you’ll be able to pass the quiz.”

  “I can’t remember none of this stuff no matter how hard I study,” Jerome said while pushing the paper away.

  Trish asked, “Have you ever tried index cards?”

  He gave her a blank stare.

  “What I’m suggesting is that you take notes on index cards and then study those cards over and over.”

  “That will take a lot of work. We do have jobs and family, you know,” Maria, the eighteen-year-old with two babies said.

  “I understand that.” Trish scanned the room, making sure to look at each student. Most of them were not complainers, but she wasn’t going to let two students discourage the rest of her class. “This GED process is about how bad do you want it. It won’t be easy, but you will have to find a study method that works for you so you can pass that test.”

  As she left the school that night, Trish stopped herself from feeling discouraged. She reminded herself that her students most likely felt discouraged every day. They needed someone to champion them. She decided to add each of them to her prayer list while continuing to show them best practices for passing that GED test.

  Her greatest joy from this assignment would be if one or two of her students reconnected with her in a few years to tell her that they went to college after getting their GED, and that they not only have a degree but also a good paying job.

  On her way out of the building, she noticed the community college course catalog for next semester was now available. She grabbed a copy for Jon-Jon. She wanted him to go back to college, even if he had to attend online classes at a community college.

  Right next to the course catalog was the college newspaper. On the front page of the newspaper was a story about how distracted driving had killed two of their students last week. Trish’s mind flashed back to the day she received the call about Jon-Jon’s accident. It was a gut-wrenching feeling that she didn’t want any other parent to deal with. The parents of the two teens received an even worse call than she had. “Lord, please send Your angels to these families,” she prayed. “Mend their hearts, for I know the parents’ hearts are surely broken.”

  Two lives lost because someone decided to text rather than pay attention while driving. She took a copy of that newspaper with her as well.

  Alexis Marshall seemed like a nice lady. Trish was thankful that she had given them the money for Jon-Jon’s surgery. Piece by piece, she had been letting go of the anger she had felt about the situation. What Alexis did was wrong and people needed to understand how harmful distracted driving was. How many more people have to die or be injured before these drivers start understanding general responsibility?

  When she arrived home and went into Jon-Jon’s room, Trish was shocked to see Marquita holding Jon-Jon’s resistance bands on one end, and Jon-Jon holding the other end of the bands as he pulled himself forward.

  “Come on, boy. You can do it,” Marquita encouraged.

  “I ain’t nobody’s boy,” Jon-Jon said as he pulled himself up again.

  “You aren’t anyone’s boy,” Trish corrected.

  Jon-Jon fell back against his pillow. He was sweating, so he leaned over to his nightstand, grabbed a tissue, and wiped his forehead. “Mom, you’re a math teacher, not an English teacher.”

  “According to my night school principal, I’m a history teacher, and history teachers correct grammar on papers all the time.”

  “Whatever.” He smiled at his mother.

  “How’s your back feeling?”

  “Still doing good,” Jon-Jon said.

  Marquita added, “He didn’t even want his pain medicine. He said it made him too groggy.”

  “Well, well, now. Look who’s using his resistance bands.” Trish smiled at her son. “I don’t even want to know how it happened. I’m just glad that it did. I’m going to get out of the way and let you two carry on.”

  “He’s almost done,” Marquita said.

  Trish glanced around the room. “Where’s Marcus?”

  “Sleep, in Marquita’s room,” Jon-Jon told her.

  Trish handed Jon-Jon the course catalog for the community college. “The catalog for next semester is out. Since classes don’t start for two more months, I thought you might want to sign up. They even have online classes.”

  “Okay, Mama. I’ll look into it.” He then went back to stretching with his bands.

  Trish left them to it, and she went to her bedroom. She still had the school newspaper in her hand. She showed it to Dwayne. “Look at this. How many more people have to die from distracted driving like this?”

  Dwayne read the article. “Makes my stomach turn.”

  Trish clinched her fist and boxed the air. “I’m thankful for the surgery, but this makes me wish Jon-Jon hadn’t agreed to arbitration. If we could have gone to court, maybe a light would have been shone on this whole business of using cell phones while driving. North Carolina has laws against texting and driving, but people are still doing it.”

  “I used to do it all the time,” Dwayne admitted. “But when that officer told us that Alexis had dropped her phone and was reaching for it when the accident occurred . . . now I just can’t.”

  “It’s wrong, and it’s selfish, but you hardly hear anything about it on the news. Even when they show car accidents, they never come right out and say what the driver was doing before the accident.”

  “I wonder why that is,” Dwayne said.

  “I don’t know, but something has to be done to change it.”

  “Well, before you get on your soapbox about that—”

  “My soapbox?” Trish interrupted. “I’m not on a soapbox, Dwayne. Our son’s whole life has changed because Alexis had to pick up her cell phone while driving. Now you tell me that’s right?”

  “I’m not saying it’s right, Trish, but we can’t stop people from driving recklessly.”

  “See, you say we can’t, but I say we can.” Her eyes brightened with excitement. “I’m going to do something about this, Dwayne. Look at the Mothers Against Drunk Driving organization. It didn’t just materialize from nothing. Some woman started it after some drunk driver hit her child.

  “I get it, Trish, but right now, I just want you to relax.” He opened the bathroom door and waved her forward.

  Trish’s hand went to her mouth. She swung around with furrowed eyebrows. “You did this . . . for me?”

  “Who else?” Her bathtub was filled with bubbles and red rose petals. “I put some Epson salt in there for you too. Why don’t you get in and soak your body for a little while?”

  She hadn’t soaked in the tub since her mom gave her a break and sat with Jon-Jon. Taking time out for herself hadn’t been at the top of her list for so long, Trish almost felt like she was doing something wrong to even think about getting in that tub.

  She shook that feeling off. Jon-Jon was fine. It was okay to take a little time for herself. She got in the tub, leaned her head back, and listened to the soft music playing in their bedroom. She stayed in the tub until she felt sleep trying to overtake her. As she got out, toweled off, and slid on a nightgown, the music changed.

  As she entered the bedroom, “I Found Love,” a love song by BeBe Winans, was playing. Trish’s hand went to her heart. She and Dwayne used to snuggle up together and listen to the song all the time. “You still remember our song?” Astonishment lingered in her voice.

  He took her hand and pulled her into his arms. “I could never forget our song.” His head lowered, and he kissed her.

  Trish had forgiven Dwayne. She knew she had. Still, there were some mornings when she got out of bed that something gnawed at her, not letting her fully commit to the forgiveness she wanted to give. She didn’t know what the issue was, but it was there. So each time that little nagging feeling reared its head, Trish took a moment to pray about it.