Page 17 of Shelter for Shay
The clink of silverware and the low murmur of voices filled the dimly lit dining room of the Blue Moon.
God, she loved this little restaurant. It was a little piece of heaven and had become her favorite place to have a meal, a drink, and escape her troubles. It was filled with happy memories of dinners past, decisions made, and all the love she had for her mom. It had been their go-to place for as long as she could remember. Even tonight, it made her heart sing with all the joys of her childhood.
Growing up in this town had been both a blessing and a curse. She’d loved the vastness the lake and mountains offered. All the adventures she’d been able to go on as a kid. Hiking, kayaking, camping, skiing, both water and snow… to name a few. Her adventurous heart came from this place, and while she loved coming home, she didn’t want to live here for the rest of her life.
She couldn’t explain it to her mother—or even to herself—why. It was a beautiful place. Peaceful. Soulful. But one thing she knew for sure was that if she stayed, she’d forever be Margaret Whitaker’s daughter. That wasn’t a bad thing. Actually, it was a great thing. But those were her mother’s wings.
Shay needed to spread her own wings and fly.
Honestly, she didn’t know where she wanted to land or what she wanted to do, which sometimes became a sore subject with her mom. It wasn’t that her mother demanded she figure it all out, but now that she was pushing thirty, her mom believed it was time Shay had a plan.
Shay believed it had more to do with the fact her mom was dying and Shay had no direction. No clear career path. No goals.
And worse, no man in her life.
Shay sat across from Becca Jameson, her best friend since elementary school, half listening to the latest update on Becca’s youngest child’s obsession with throwing food and her husband’s losing battle with landscaping.
Becca had married when she’d been twenty-two, and Shay was standing right next to her, wondering why anyone would marry that young. But Becca was insanely happy. So happy, it sometimes made Shay want to gag.
However, this was nice. Normal. Something that didn’t smell like antiseptic or sound like an oxygen machine and that’s all Shay had been living for the last six months.
“You okay?” Becca asked gently, sipping her wine. “You’ve been quiet since you sat down and I’m not talking the kind of quiet that comes with me taking over the conversation, but the kind of quiet that comes with… well… the last few months.”
Shay forced a smile. “Sorry. Just tired.”
Becca reached across the table, covering Shay’s hand with hers. “You’ve told me not to ask because you’re sick of it being the thing everyone starts a conversation with, so I didn’t ask… do I need to ask?”
Shay looked away, eyes burning.
“Mom’s fading fast,” she said softly. “Some days she’s awake and sharp, and other days it’s like she’s already… somewhere else. I’ve started making… arrangements. My mom has specific things she wants for the funeral, and I’ve promised. But it’s justso hard to sit by and watch her fade… slowly some days… and quickly others. I’m not ready to let her go.”
Becca squeezed her hand. “God, Shay, I’m so sorry.”
Shay nodded. “I keep thinking I’m prepared, but it still doesn’t feel real. Like the second I blink, she won’t be there.” She sighed. “I left the house today feeling like saying goodbye and I love you might be the last time I say those words.”
“You don’t have to do any of this alone, you know. I’m around. Always,” Becca said. “I’m not working and my mom can babysit. She loves taking care of the kids.”
“I know,” Shay said, voice catching. “Thank you.”
“Something else is bothering you,” Becca said. “What is it?”
Shay groaned. Becca had an uncanny ability to cut through the noise. Cut through the bullshit. Becca had always been able to see Shay and read her thoughts, even with the way Shay was trying to keep them close to her vest. “It’s just that sometimes my mom says and does strange things. I chalk it up to the fact she’s dying, but this one thing I don’t understand.”
“You’re going to have to be specific.”
“Twice now she’s gotten flowers from some old study group from college. No names on the card. It just says study group. I called the florist to ask who exactly they came from because my mother’s reaction to them is so weird, but they won’t give out that information.”
Becca cocked her head. “Again, I need more if I’m going to comment in any meaningful way.”
“Mom doesn’t even want to look at the flowers. She won’t let me bring them to her room. She tells me that they weren’t her friends back in college. That she hasn’t spoken to them in years and doesn’t want to hear from them now,” Shay said. “But the note’s kind of strange too.”
“What does it say?”
“Just that they can help. All Mom has to do is ask.”
“Help how?”
Shay shrugged. “No idea and Mom doesn’t want me contacting them.”
