Page 84 of The Good Guy on My Porch

My mother shook her head, her eyes glassy now with tears. “No. I need to protect you. You need to stay here, so I can protect you.”

I laced my fingers together and pressed them against my stomach, holding myself in. This part was going to hurt. I knelt in front of her and placed my hands on her knees. “I’ve been lying to you, Momma. Just about every day since that spring break trip, I’ve told you at least one lie. All those times you had a bad feeling and I told you I stayed home or drove to work or walked to work or even slept on the couch because you had a feeling something bad would happen in my bedroom, I lied to you. I’ve been walking full-speed into every one of your bad feelings for the past ten years and I’ve never, not once, had anything bad happen to me as a result.”

Anger twisted her features. “No. I’ve protected you.” She pulled her hands from Mary’s and glared at the other woman. “You told her to lie to me. This is just another trick to get me to go to that horrible place you want to lock me away in.”

“I’m not lying, Momma. I’m not lying to you or anyone else, not anymore.” I pulled out my phone and brought up pictures from my bungee jump. “That day you had a bad feeling last month, because you’d seen a report about the dangers of air pollution and thought it best I stay inside, I went bungee jumping.” I showed her the pictures, scrolling through them. “I’ve also been hang-gliding and rock-climbing. I almost went sky-diving. I’ve been so scared of…”

“Of ending up like me,” she said. Her words shocked me so much I almost fell over. I didn’t think she saw me anymore, not really. She was so wrapped up in her own fears, I didn’t think she noticed me at all other than as a source of food and comfort.

“Yes, I was afraid if I didn’t confront my fears, I’d end up like you, but I’ve realized that I was blowing everything out of proportion. I don’t have anxiety like you did.” I look up into her face. “And you always did, didn’t you?”

“I want to stop being afraid,” she said. “But I thought…” A tear slid down her cheek and she placed her hands over mine. “I’ve really never protected you at all?”

“No. I thought if I let you think you were, it would make you feel better, but it didn’t. I’m tired of…” I looked into her face, her expression so sad and so lost. “I’m just tired of seeing you so unhappy, Momma. I’ve tried so hard to make it up to you for leaving, but nothing I’ve done has helped. You’re only getting worse and I can’t…I can’t watch you die and do nothing. I’ll never be able to forgive myself.”

“Die? But I’m safe here, Dilly.”

I rolled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt and revealed her own thin, fragile arm. “You’re wasting away.”

She shook her head. “I’m perfectly fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Are you happy?” I asked. “Can you honestly tell me you’re happy?”

She laced her fingers through mine and gave me a weak smile. “Sure, I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be. I have everything I need right here. I don’t need to go to some far-away place to be happy.”

She was still afraid we were just trying to convince her to move to the home. “I’m not asking you to leave, but I am telling you, I can’t do this anymore. Things have to change. I can’t call you six times a day and run over here every time you hear a strange noise.”

Her face paled. “But I need you, Dilly. I need to know you’re okay and I—”

“I’ll be here,” Mary said. “And Norma Jane, Betty, Leah. If you need anything, one of us can be here to help you, but only if you agree to talk to someone, if you agree to get help.”

I glared at Mary, shocked and angry. This hadn’t been part of the plan.

Mom’s hands shook in mine. “I can’t. They’ll want me to take pills and the pills make it so I can’t feel anything. I can’t warn anyone.”

I gripped her hands tight in mine, until she focused on me and the panic on her face subsided a tiny bit. “The bad feelings are just feelings, Momma. I ignored every one of them and I’m fine. You need to let them go if you’re ever going to be happy and healthy again.”

She twisted her hands free of mine and stood so quickly I fell onto my butt. “No,” she said. “I won’t see any more doctors. I won’t take any of that poison they’re peddling.”

She stormed past me to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. I pushed to my feet and wrapped my arms around myself. I started toward her room, but Mary put a gentle hand on my shoulder and pulled me back. “Give her some space. You’ve just dropped a nuclear bomb on her worldview and you need to give her some time to digest what you’ve said.

I spun on Mary, fear and sorrow clawing at my chest. “You didn’t tell me you’d talk to her about seeing a doctor. I could have told you it would upset her.”

Mary wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tight. “You’ve been protecting your Momma from any kind of hurt for so long, child, I know it’s hard to let it go. But you can’t protect her from what she’s doing to herself and neither can I. You need to let someone else take care of her for a little while.”

The tears surprised me, but they didn’t stop. They built to sobs and I cried against her shoulder like a little girl. She held me and rubbed gentle circles on my back. “It’s okay, sugar. You did the very best you could. You’ve been the most wonderful daughter she could have ever asked for, but it’s time now to let other people help. It’s time for you to live your own life.”

I stepped out of her arms and wiped my eyes. “Do you think I’ve been wrong? Should I have forced her to get help years ago?”

She grimaced. “There’s no sense in beating yourself up about past choices. She wasn’t willing to get help before and you did the very best you could. That’s all you could have done.”

I started toward my mother’s room, but Mary pulled me back again. “I’ll stay with her for a bit, dear. You go home and get some rest.”

“But I’m the only one who can calm her down and I—”

“And you’re beyond exhausted. Go home. Get some sleep. I’ll call if she needs you.”

I wanted to argue, but Mary was a kind woman and there was nothing but sympathy in her eyes. Plus, I was so tired I could barely see straight and sleep sounded like the best thing in the world. “Thank you, Mary. I don’t know how I’ll—”

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