Page 78 of The Good Guy on My Porch

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dilly

I can’t be your friend. I lay on my mother’s couch and stared at the ceiling for a second night in a row. She’d had another bad night and I’d been the person she’d called, the only person she wanted. It’d taken me two hours to get her calmed down and sleeping and all the time Oscar’s words played on repeat in my brain. I’d lost him. He didn’t even want to be my friend anymore. I was all alone.

I growled at myself. What the hell was my problem? I didn’t need him. I had friends and a job I loved. This was my life, the life I’d chosen. I’d be okay. So, what if Oscar hadn’t answered his door when I’d knocked to see if he could take Buddy for the evening? It didn’t mean he’d abandoned Buddy, too. Even if he had it would be okay. I’d get manage on my own. I’d taken Buddy to Carrie’s and the kids had been thrilled to have him there for the night.

Of course, I’d had to lie to Carrie. I told her I had a work project that would require my total concentration. It had been two days, and no one was talking about my mom. I knew I’d only been granted a reprieve, that I still needed to tell Carrie the truth, but I couldn’t do it with her kids there, with Cody smiling at me like I was a good friend to his wife. I was tired of lying to her, tired of lying to everyone. Just plain tired.

“Dilly,” Mom called. “Dilly. Are you still here?”

I sighed and got up. I felt far older than my twenty-eight years, my body stiff and sore from sleeping on the couch, my head aching from lack of sleep. My heart sore from my break up with Oscar. I shuffled to my mother’s room and opened her door. “I’m here.”

She was sitting up in bed, eyes wide and round with fear, face gaunt. Her bedside light was on, because she couldn’t sleep in the dark. There were dark circles under her eyes and her hair was a tangled mess, her face creased from the pillow she’d been sleeping on. Somehow, she looked like an old woman and a child at the same time. I guess in a lot of ways, she was both. Scared of the dark and terribly needy, but frail and feeble in ways children weren’t.

“Don’t leave, Dilly. I need you here.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Momma.”

“Come here.” She opened her arms and I went to her. I sat on the bed next to her and she wrapped her arms around me, her thin, frail arms somehow hugging me so tight. “I had the worst dream, Dilly. You drove to work, and you were in a terrible accident. There was blood and twisted metal. It was horrible. Promise me you won’t drive tomorrow. Promise me you’ll stay here where it’s safe.”

My chest tightened, and I found it hard to breathe. Not because of her weak arms around me, but because of her words. I’d sacrificed so much for her. I’d happily given up my time for her, but I wouldn’t let her lock me up in that apartment. She had nightmares about me dying, I had nightmares about being trapped in the bedroom of my childhood home for three days, of being trapped in that apartment with my mother, her frail, grasping arms pulling me in and keeping me with her forever. “I have to go to work, Momma, people are counting on me. But I promise I won’t drive, okay? I’ll walk, and I’ll be really careful.”

Her arms tightened. “No, Dilly. It’s not safe. I dreamed of a car accident, but the dream could have been a general warning of anything bad. It’s not safe for you to go to work.” I could feel the panic rising in her, knew her well enough to know she was on the verge of an absolute fit.

“Okay,” I lied. “I’ll stay home, but I can’t stay here, Momma. I…I have to get home to…Um, I have to meet the cable guy. He’s fixing my Internet first thing tomorrow morning.” Apparently, once I decided I was sick of lying, my ability to lie took a nose dive.

“Okay, Dilly. But go straight home and don’t leave without saying goodbye. I need to know you won’t leave while I’m sleeping.”

“Of course, Momma. I promise. I’ll wake you before I go.”

Her body relaxed around me and I was able to get her to lay down and go back to sleep. Back out on the couch, I had to admit to myself that she was getting worse and she was only going to demand more of me, only want me to be in that stifling, stale apartment more and more often until I became her, trapped in the apartment, trapped in her fear and paranoia.

I stared at the ceiling and Oscar’s words repeated, like the death gong on my social life, like the end of all romantic possibilities. I knew I was overreacting, that lack of sleep and the dark, silent night were making everything seem worse than it really was, but I couldn’t stop the thoughts. I wondered if that’s how my mother’s problems had started, with midnight fears that overwhelmed her until they stretched into the day.

By the time the sun rose, I was ready to run screaming from my mother’s apartment, but I went to her room. Her face was creased in worry or discomfort, even in sleep, her body curled in the fetal position. I hated to wake her, but she would worry if I didn’t, so I sat on the edge of her bed and smoothed back her hair.

I wondered if she’d done the same for me when I was a child, if she’d sat on my bed and smoothed my hair and wished for me to be happy and healthy. I gripped her shoulder and shook her gently. “Momma, I’m going.”

Her eyes opened only half-way. “Be careful,” she mumbled, her words slurred by sleepiness.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Her eyes slid shut again and her body shuddered, before her breathing eased and became deeper as she fell back to sleep. She had to be exhausted. I stood, and I left her, eager to escape, but also feeling guilty and worried. She was so far from healthy that a fall could trap her on the floor, unable to get to the phone.

Maybe we should consider hiring a live-in nurse. I shook it off. That would be more expensive than the group home, and she’d fight against the idea just as hard.

I shut and locked the door behind me and hurried to my car.

***

“Dilly,” Joe said, stopping in front of my desk. “There’s a group in conference room two who say they’re here to see you.”

I blinked up at him. I’d been working on a schedule of events for the senior center’s fall program and it took me a minute to register what he’d said. Did I have a class I’d forgotten about? I opened my mouth to ask for more information, but he was already walking away.

I checked my calendar but didn’t see anything scheduled. Had I forgotten to put it on the calendar? On the calendar or not, I needed to check it out.

As I hurried up to the second floor and the conference room, my mind reeled with the possibilities, but nothing prepared me for what I encountered. The Tuesday morning book club was seated in a circle in the center of the room. And they’d been joined by Carrie, Aunt Melly, and Lance. “Um, hello,” I said. “What’s going on?”

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