Page 18 of Unbroken

“You help me get this laundry going, we’ll whip through this house, and I’ll let you watch a quick show before we go. Okay?”

My head hurts. Vadka was right—I didn't get much sleep last night. I didn't get home until two a.m., and then I couldn't sleep, thinking about my nephew and brother-in-law. Thinking about Mariah.

Some people let their lives come to a halt when they're grieving. They don't eat, don't sleep, don't work. And then some people keep on going, pretending that their lives haven't come to a screeching halt, pretending that the sun still rises, pretending that they are not carrying a boulder on their chest every minute of every day.

I guess not feeling anything would be worse than this.

I guess. I wouldn't know.

So I throw myself into cleaning the house. That's what I've always done, and it definitely does help. I put on somemusic and load the dishwasher. I gather up all the dirty laundry and put it in the laundry room, start a wash cycle, and fold wrinkled clothes in the dryer. I put away Luka's toys, take the recycling to the porch for Vadka, and make a note to myself to organize the pantry and refrigerator later.

Right now, we'll get things started. The freezer is nearly empty, but I find a few meals labeled. Looks like he threw some casseroles in the freezer when the old babushka came to visit. Old Russian women don't like to see Russian widowers go hungry. It's kind of a law. I pull out one of the casseroles and slide it onto the counter to thaw a little bit, then go to check on Luka. He's got a tattered blanket pulled up to his chest, and he's staring at the screen. He gives me a little wave.

"A few more minutes and then we're going to get ready to go."

My phone buzzes with another text, and I figure it's another ad, but this time, when I look, it's a phone call. Oh no. It's Mom's facility. I hitanswerand pray for good news.

"This is Ruth."

"Hello, Ruth,” a brisk voice says on the other line. "We've had an episode with your mother, and I'm hoping you can talk some sense into her."

Oh no. Why now?

I can hear screaming in the background. Shit.

I grit my teeth. "What's going on?"

"She's refusing to take her meds," a nurse says.

How the hell do they expect me to help her take her meds? That's their job, not mine.

"Yes, so? That's your job. I can't make her take her meds."

If it's possible to hear someone roll their eyes on the other end of a phone, I just did.

"You're her daughter. We tried her other daughter's number, but it went to voicemail, so we called you next."

I clench my teeth together. "This is at least the sixth time I've told you that her older daughter is not with us anymore. Please strike her phone number from your list."

"Okay, fine. No need to get snippy with me."

Lovely. Someone who's chosen to get defensive rather than recognize that they're rubbing salt in an open wound.

"Thank you. Put me on speaker, and I'll talk to my mother."

"Have to go potty," Luka says, his legs crossed.

"Go. Go use the potty. You're a big boy."

I hope? Does he need me to, like… wipe or something? What the hell?

"Hello? Are you still there?" the rude voice says on the other end of the line.

"I'm here. I'm just here with my nephew."

"Mariah, I am not taking these meds," my mother says. "They're poisoning me! You have no idea what they've done to me! They made me take medication the other night that made me loopy. I couldn't remember a damn thing."

I actually let out a little laugh. Mom not remembering a damn thing is definitely not the medication.

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