Page 66 of The Heart Shot
Jameson’s eyes popped open, narrowing as they focused on me. “That’s the last thing I want,” he replied. “I want you here with me.”
It was such a simple statement and yet it meant everything. Those six words eased my anxiety like nothing I had experienced before. It felt like sinking into a warm bath after a long day of physical labor, soothing all the aches and pains of the past.
Jameson climbed out of the truck before opening the door for me, and I wiped my clammy hands against my pants as I slid out of the cab. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous to meet his mom, and I was certain that it would be a shock for her to see a strange woman walking in with him.
Nerves prickled like needles under my skin. It took a full year into my relationship with Ben before he ever invited me to any family function and, even then, he didn’t really want me spending time with his family. It was rare for him to invite me to family events, dinners, or vacations. I always assumed it was because he was embarrassed by me.
Jameson slipped his hand in mine as we entered the building. Why did our fingers intertwined feel soright?
The scent of overcooked food and that distinct smell of elderly people permeated the lobby. The thermostat was clearly set too high—my coat suddenly felt too heavy and sweat slid down my spine.
“Hi Rhonda,” Jameson said as we arrived at the front desk, where he signed both our names on a visitor sheet. The lady behind the counter appeared to be a few years older than us. She wore pink scrubs and her black hair was tied into a high ponytail. Her face was bare aside from a swipe of eyeliner on each lid. She eyed our linked hands and her lips pressed together, giving us a nod.
With a tug, Jameson pulled me down the hall. In the truck, he had explained that this wasn’t a typical assisted living home. It wasn’t only for the elderly but also for people who had suffered through severe illness, and family wasn’t able to care for them. Or in Jameson’s case, his mother had wanted him to have a life that didn’t revolve around taking care of her day and night.
I could only imagine how hard that decision must have been. It spoke volumes of their relationship and how much they cared for one another.
The distinct sting of loss pierced through me. My parents had been my favorite people in the world once upon a time, but then the arguing started. And the yelling. I’d barely had any contact with them in four years, and it was their divorce that made me no longer believe in love. How could there be real love when everyone was fake?
I banished all thoughts of my parents as Jameson stopped in front of apartment 306. A cute little fall wreath hung on the door, with a few tiny gnomes on a ledge in the corner. I couldn’t help but smile.
He knocked twice before unlocking the door with a key he pulled from his pocket.
“Mom?” Jameson called, poking his head in.
“Jamie?” a voice responded.
“It’s me.” He stepped inside, pulling me with him.
I was half expecting it to smell like an old person’s home, musty and stale, but instead, the scent of baked apples filled the air.
Jameson slipped off his shoes and went to kneel in front of his mom who was propped up in a recliner. She had bandages on her left arm but showed no other signs of injury. Her salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously curled, and she wore a pretty red sweater, and loose, wide-legged yoga pants. Though she appeared frail, she was still quite beautiful, her hazel eyes identical to her son’s.
“Are you okay, mom?” Jameson asked, gently setting his hand atop hers.
She waved the other hand. “I’m fine, Jamie. The nurses made a fuss over nothing.”
With gentle fingers, he picked her arm up to inspect it. “This is not nothing.”
His mom rolled her eyes which had me biting back a snort. “I’m fine. It was just a few scratches from the ridiculous excuse for carpet they have here. Quit your fussing.” She gave him a soft pat on the cheek.
Then her eyes snapped to mine, and I froze like a cornered animal. I suddenly wanted to run for my life as though a lion stalked toward me, preparing to eat me.What had I been thinking? Meeting Jameson’s mom was a huge deal—dating or not.
Her eyes held me firmly in place, my feet frozen to the carpet.“Who’s this lovely lady?”
My ears burned, and I was pretty sure I had Niagara Falls pits again. I squeezed my arms tighter against my sides.Please stop sweating, armpits.
Jameson turned toward me, a soft smile on his face. “Mom, this is Elsie. A…friend of mine.”
Yeah, that’s right, Jameson. Friends. Nothing more.
I wish those words relaxed me, but they seemed to have the opposite effect, winding my body tighter and tighter.
“A friend, hmm?” she said, looking between the two of us, though what she saw with twenty feet between us, I couldn’t say.
Jameson stood, gesturing for me to come over. I tried to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms against my thighs before I had to shake his mom’s hand.
Jameson put his hand on my low back and said, “Elsie, this is my mom, Margaret.”
