Page 131 of My Skin Begs You Please

“Becauseyoulove him, Luke. What else could I feel for a young man who makes my boy’s heart melt?”

I gave her a hug, which was awkward and uncomfortable with both of us seated in the wooden kitchen chairs, but when she pulledback, she whispered, “Aw, now,” and wiped her fingers over my cheeks. I hadn’t realized a few tears had spilled.

“My sweetheart. I’m sorry I made you think you had to keep him from me.”

I had, hadn’t I? I’d believed she wouldn’t be able to accept Minty the way he was. Of course, she hadn’t seen him yet. Hadn’t witnessed his swish-swish walk, or his bubble-gum pink, lip-glossed smile, or his tutu skirt. But, deep down, I knew I’d misjudged her.

She sat back and sighed, glancing toward the timer on the oven. “Your father is another story. You’re right. He won’t be kind.”

“He’s not even kind to me.”

“No.” She winced, tucked a piece of graying hair behind her ear. “Nor to me.”

She sighed. “When I married him, I promised for better or worse…”

I reached out for her hand again, but she didn’t give it to me. Instead, she stared up at the ceiling and spoke to it instead of me. “I know this is the ‘worse’ I promised him, but I don’t think I ever would have made that vow had I known exactly what I was going to face. He was always difficult. Demanding. Critical. But there was so much sweetness to offset all that. Now…”

“Mama…”

With a gust of breath, like she’d been holding back for a long time and couldn’t contain it anymore, she said, “I want to put him in a home. I did the math: if Betsy moved back in with me, we could use the funds we pay to Riverwoods to support your father in a residential care facility instead.”

“Betsy won’t agree to that. She loves living away from home. And there’s Rodney now.”

Mom nodded. “I know, but we can’t afford both.”

She brought her gaze to mine. The pain I saw in her eyes made my chest ache. “Selfish as this sounds, I can’t take it anymore. Ican’t continue to live with him. He’s not the man I married, and I know that’s not his fault. But does that meanIhave to live with the abuse he hurls at me? The horrible things he says about my friends, my mother, my daughter, my son?”

I winced. “No. You shouldn’t have to put up with that, Mama.”

“Even if Ishould, I can’t anymore. I don’t have the will or the love left in me. If he was still even a little kind? But as it is, I feel guilty about putting the care of him onto the poor nurses at the home. Who knows what he’ll say to them? How he’ll treat them? But I’m breaking inside, Luke. I can’t do it anymore.” She rose and went to a built-in desk on the wall by the kitchen door. “I’ve already applied at this place.”

I took the pamphlets from her hands when she returned to sit at the table. The first one had Shield’s Senior Care stamped over the first page. I flipped it open to see photos of smiling nurses bending over elderly men and women, fixing their covers or taking their temperature. I knew the reality would be less rosy than that. “When will you tell Betsy?”

“When I go to pick her up for the Christmas holidays. I’ll have to let her know that she won’t be going back. We’ll have to pack her things too.”

My gut churned. Betsy usually spent two weeks with us at Christmastime, and she always loved returning to Riverwoods. “That’ll break her heart.”

“I know.” Mom chewed on her bottom lip. “He’s getting worse, though.”

“Worse, as in violent?”

She nodded, pushing her right sleeve up to show a handprint bruise on her forearm. “This was because I was slow to bring him ketchup for his steak. I was afraid he was going to punch me. But he—”

“You talkin’ ’bout me again?” Dad’s ruined voice boomed intothe room. “Lies. Tells all her bitch friends I hurt her. Fucking cunt.”

He crept in on his walker, the right side of his face drooping like usual. The damage to his facial muscles added a slur to his words that made him sound drunk even though he wasn’t. Still, he acted ugly. The stroke had stripped away all shame or fear, leaving just prejudice and spitefulness behind.

“Richard, why don’t you eat in front of the TV tonight? The Bulls are playing.”

“Fuck the Bulls. Where’s the damn dinner?”

“Baking.”

He glared at her, turned to me and grimaced. “You’re here? Fuckin’ queer. Should be dead by now. AIDS isn’t working hard enough.”

I gritted my jaw, trying to keep back the words that threatened to spill out.

Mom rose with her cheeks flushed and her fists clenched by her side. “Get the hell out of this kitchen right now.”

---