Page 76 of The Good Guy on My Porch

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I was woken from a dead sleep by the ringing of my land line. Only two people had that number and I knew if either of them was calling me in the middle of the night, the news wasn’t good. Groggily, I pulled myself out of bed and hurried to the phone.

“‘Lo,” I said.

“Dilly. I heard something.” My mother’s voice was a hissed, desperate whisper and my heart sank. I definitely wasn’t getting back to sleep.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No,” she shrieked. “You can’t come over here. They’ll get you, Dilly. Maybe I should call the police.”

She’d never call the police. As anxious and paranoid as she was, she’d die before she let the police find out how she was living. That’s how badly she wanted to keep her secret. “Don’t call the police, Momma. I’ll be careful, okay. I’ll take the car and I’ll run right up to you.”

“O-okay. As long as you’re careful.”

I hung up and dropped my head into my hands. I was so tired, and I had a busy day at work scheduled for the next day.

Buddy was already up and sniffing around, trying to figure out what was going on. “I’m sorry, Buddy. I’m going to have to go out. I should be back soon, but if I’m not, Oscar will be over to let you out, okay?”

I gave Buddy a big hug, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie over my pajamas and headed out the front door. Buddy tried to follow, but he obeyed when I asked him to stay. I hated to leave him, but the alternative, letting my mother work herself up into a fit, was not an option.

When I got to my mother’s apartment, she let me in and hugged me, holding me as tight as her frail arms could manage. Her heart was beating so fast and so hard I could feel it even through the two layers of her sweatshirt and mine. “It’s okay, Momma. I’m here. No one is outside, everything is fine.”

She stepped back from me, her eyes red-rimmed, her gaze darting around the room. “Are you sure? I heard someone scratching at the window, Dilly. They’ve found out where I live, and they’ve come to get me.”

This was new. “Who’s come to get you, Momma?”

“The people from that home you want to send me to. They’re coming to get me.”

It was moments like this that I wondered if my mother was as truly scared as she put on, or if she was working herself up to prove a point. Talking about people scratching at her window to come get her sounded more like something a schizophrenic person or someone with delusions would say, and my mother had never had delusions before. Either she was getting worse, or she was playing up her fears to get me to back off sending her to a home. “No one’s going to force you to do anything, Momma. And no one is going to kidnap you to take you there, okay?”

“I heard them, Dilly. I heard them at the window.”

“Mom, there’s no one here. I promise. Let’s get you back to bed.”

She started to cry, gripping my wrist as I led her back to bed. “Please, Dilly. You have to believe me. I’m not safe here.”

I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against my side. “It’s okay, Momma. I’m here.”

I led her to bed and got her tucked in. She rolled onto her side and I rubbed her back while she cried.

“Promise you won’t leave me, Dilly.”

The words felt like a vise around my throat. She was never going to be okay on her own, she was never going to stop calling me or needing me to check in. I’d always known it would be this way, but it felt more suffocating, more horrible than I’d imagined. My life would always be devoted to her. “I’ll stay. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

She sighed with relief and her eyes drifted shut. I stayed by her side, my chest tight and my eyes burning, until her breathing deepened and her body went limp. I sat there a moment longer, just watching her sleep. Even in sleep, her face was twisted with worry, her eyes shifting under her lids as though she was already dreaming.

I stood and left the room, closing the door silently behind me. I held the tears back until I was seated on the couch. I dropped my head into my hands and I cried for my mother, who had stopped being the mother I knew years ago. I cried for Oscar, who I’d hurt, even though he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And I cried for myself, because I’d never be free to really live my life. I’d always thought it would be okay, because I had a job I loved, and I was sure someday I’d find the right man, a man who could handle my mother’s needs, and would understand that she had to come first. A man I could care for without getting lost in him, without risking my own mental health by caring too much for him. But I was wrong. I would always be alone.

My tears dried up quickly. I’d cried more in the past week than I had in my whole life, and I only had so many tears. I curled up on the lumpy couch and pulled a ratty throw blanket over me, but I didn’t sleep. I lay in bed feeling sorry for myself and thinking of all the things I’d never have because my mother, through no fault of her own, was ill and needed me.

She was ill, but her fear of someone scratching at the window bothered me. She’d been ill for almost a decade and she’d never had a delusion like that. What if she was pretending? What if she’d made up that story because she was lonely, and she needed a way to get me over here?

I shook my head against the pillow, disgusted with myself. I was being selfish and cruel. She was sick. It was more likely her lack of nutrition was causing confusion. She needed to see a doctor for her physical health, needed to get checked out, but she’d absolutely refused to leave the house or see a doctor. She’d refuse, but it was my job, as her only daughter, to protect her, to take care of her, even if she hated it.

I’d have to get Aunt Melly to help me. Something had to be done. Mom couldn’t go on this way, and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her when I could have helped her.

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