Page 67 of The Good Guy on My Porch

And if my mother had a melt-down and needed me, I’d be too far away to get to her. It might just be one day, but Mom had lost so much weight and she was far weaker than she’d been the last time I’d left her alone. I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if something happened to her while I was gone. And, yet, my heart broke a little bit. Of course, I’d be terrified to get on stage and talk in front of all those people, but I’d never been to New Orleans and the opportunity to talk about what I’d done, to share the progress we’d made, to share my passion, sounded wonderful. I was sure that talking about what I loved so much would help me overcome my fear of being in front of so many people. “I’m sorry. I just can’t leave her for any time at all.”

Sheila frowned. “I had no idea your mother was so ill, Dilly. Is there anything I can do?”

“It’s a chronic illness. Most of the time she’s fine, but if she has a bad day…I just need to be here.” It was more than I’d told anyone at work about my mother, but I owed it to Sheila to at least try to explain. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sending in an answer for you, Dilly. Not until the last minute. If you can find someone to care for your mother while you’re away, do it. I don’t want you to miss this opportunity.”

“Maybe the ALA will meet in Catalpa Creek next year and I can speak at that conference.” I was joking, trying to lighten the mood, but Sheila didn’t take the bait.

“You have until May 25th to make a final decision, Dilly. I hope you’ll change your mind.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Sheila, but I won’t.”

I let myself out of her office and headed off to start my day, feeling sorry for myself.

I had a long line of nursing homes to visit and was crossing the parking lot in front of the library when I saw Mary heading my way. I ducked my head and tried to avoid her, but she shouted my name across the concrete expanse. “Dilly Thompkins, don’t you run away from me, or I will evict you.”

I sighed, stopped, and turned toward her. “You’d never evict me. I’m your best tenant.”

“Were my best tenant.” She was slightly out of breath from hurrying to catch up with me. “Oscar fixed his own clogged drain last weekend.”

I smiled. “He’s good with his hands.”

She winked. “I’m sure you’d know. I’m so thrilled you two finally got together, but that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is it quick? I’m on my way to Shallow Creek Retirement Home.”

“I’ll walk with you. I could use the exercise.”

We walked together for half a block and hope bloomed that she’d forgotten what she’d wanted to talk to me about. I’d never been lucky, and I wasn’t lucky that day.

“It’s about your mother, dear,” Mary said. “I want to see her.”

“I’m sure she’d love to see you.” My heart raced with panic at the idea. “But she’s in the middle of a huge project for work and she doesn’t have time for visitors.”

“I see. And what’s her work again?”

“Website design. Freelance.” I’d come up with that make-believe career for my mother years ago. It had been an easy answer, a job that made sense for a shut-in, but it wouldn’t hold up to scrutiny. Especially not after I’d taught Mary how to navigate the Internet in a series of computer classes I’d taught for seniors.

Mary’s eyes lit up. She looked way too excited. “That’s wonderful, Dilly. I’ve been thinking of creating a website for my rental property business, word of mouth only gets me so far these days. What are your mother’s rates?”

“She’s not taking on new clients, right now. I really do need to get going.” Finally, we’d reached the nursing home.

“It’s so strange. Norma Jane’s niece worked with your mother over at the hospital, and she said your mother was the most computer illiterate person she’d ever met.”

It was true, my mother was terrible with computers. Always had been. She’d preferred writing things down on paper and human interactions. But there weren’t any work-from-home jobs I knew of that didn’t require a computer. “People change. I really do need to get to work.”

“Of course, dear. What time will you be done with work?”

“Six. Why?”

“I’ll see you at six then, dear.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re going to take me to see your mother, Dilly.”

“I told you, she’s really not in a good place for visitors.”

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