Page 1 of If She Remembered
PROLOGUE
Carol Bennett stood in the doorway of what had once been her craft room, surveying the space with mixed emotions.The sewing machine had been relegated to the basement, her fabric collection boxed and stored in the garage.Her cutting table was also gone, folded away to make room for Jake's old twin bed from college.Two weeks ago, when her twenty-eight-year-old son had called to say he'd lost his marketing job and needed to move back home, she'd immediately begun the conversation without hesitation.But she did miss having her own crafting space already.
Now, as afternoon sunlight filtered through the window that used to illuminate her quilting projects, Carol pulled the fitted sheet tight across the mattress corners.The blue cotton was fresh from the dryer, still warm and smelling of the lavender fabric softener she'd always used since Jake was small.He'd protested this morning before leaving for another round of job interviews, insisting he could change his own sheets, but Carol had waved him off with the same maternal efficiency she'd employed when he was ten years old.
"I can handle my own laundry, Mom," he'd said, adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror."You don't need to treat me like a kid."
"I know you can," she'd replied, straightening his collar despite his gentle attempts to step away."But you're focusing on finding work.Let me worry about the domestic stuff for now."
She smoothed the top sheet now, remembering how he'd given her that look, the one that said he appreciated her care but worried about becoming too dependent on it.At twenty-eight, Jake had been living independently for six years before the layoffs hit his company.She understood his concern about regression, about falling back into old patterns that might make it harder to stand on his own feet again.
Carol tucked the sheet under the foot of the bed and reached for the comforter, a navy blue one she'd purchased specifically for this room's new purpose.Her craft supplies had accumulated over years of empty nest hobbies, but she'd cleared them out in a single weekend when Jake needed her.The decision had felt natural, automatic.In her eyes, nothing took priority over a child in need… no matter their age.
But even as she fluffed his pillows, Carol questioned whether she was doing the right thing.Jake had always been independent and self-sufficient.During college, he'd worked part-time jobs to cover his own expenses, rarely calling home for anything beyond weekly check-ins.After graduation, he'd moved three states away, built his own life, dated seriously, and seemed to be heading toward the kind of adulthood she'd hoped to raise him for.
Now he was back in his childhood bedroom, albeit a reconfigured version of it, and she found herself falling into old maternal habits.This morning, she'd already started planning his favorite dinner for tonight - pot roast with carrots and potatoes, the way she used to make it on Sundays when he was in high school.She'd also noticed his work shirts needed pressing and had mentally added that to her afternoon tasks, despite knowing he was perfectly capable of handling his own ironing.
Carol walked to the window and adjusted the blinds, letting in more light.The room still felt strange to her, caught between its former identity as her creative space and its new role as temporary housing for her adult son.She wondered if other mothers struggled with this balance.When adult children returned home, how much help was supportive and how much became enabling?Jake needed encouragement and a stable base from which to rebuild his career, but he also needed to maintain his sense of independence and self-reliance.Carol had read articles about boomerang children, about parents who inadvertently made it too comfortable for their adult kids to stay home, but the theoretical advice seemed much more complicated when applied to her own son sleeping in the next room.
She finished making the bed and moved to his dresser, where she'd already placed a small vase with flowers from her garden.It was a touch she'd added without thinking, the kind of detail she used to include in guest rooms when they had visitors.But Jake wasn't a visitor; he was her son coming home during a difficult time, and she wanted him to feel welcomed rather than like a burden.
Carol glanced at the clock on the nightstand.Four-thirty in the afternoon.Jake would be home within the hour, hopefully with good news from one of his interviews.She'd already planned to ask him about his day, to offer encouragement and perspective, to remind him that setbacks were temporary and that his experience and education would eventually connect him with the right opportunity.
Moving toward the kitchen, she began mentally reviewing the contents of her medicine cabinet.Her evening routine included a small collection of prescriptions that had accumulated over the past few years - blood pressure medication, a mild antidepressant, and a low-dose anxiety medication that her doctor had prescribed when her husband passed away two years ago.She figured she might need an extra dose of the anxiety medication.Her mind kept circling around questions about Jake's future, about whether she was helping or hindering his progress, about how long this living arrangement might last.
The kitchen felt too quiet as she moved through it, checking on the pot roast that had been slow-cooking all afternoon.She opened the refrigerator and surveyed its contents, already planning tomorrow's meals.She'd stopped at the grocery store this morning and purchased all of Jake's favorites - the specific brand of orange juice he preferred, the coffee blend he'd always liked, ingredients for the breakfast sandwiches she used to make him before school.Part of her recognized that she was probably overdoing the maternal care, but another part felt genuine satisfaction in being needed again, in having someone to nurture and support.
As the afternoon wore on toward evening, Carol found herself moving through the house with purpose, tidying spaces Jake might occupy, checking that towels were fresh in the bathroom, ensuring that the living room looked welcoming for when he returned from his job search.These small acts of preparation felt meaningful, like ways of expressing love and support that didn't require words or discussions about feelings.
She walked back to her bedroom and opened the medicine cabinet, removing her evening pills.The anxiety medication seemed particularly necessary tonight, given how her thoughts kept circling around concerns she couldn't resolve through action.As she swallowed the pills with a glass of water, Carol reminded herself that Jake was capable, intelligent, and motivated.This living arrangement was temporary, a practical solution to an unexpected problem, not a permanent regression.
Settling onto the edge of her bed for a moment of rest, Carol felt the familiar weight of parental responsibility that she'd thought was behind her.But within minutes of sitting down, an unexpected dizziness washed over her.The sensation was stronger than anything she'd experienced from her usual medications, a disorienting lightness that made the room seem to tilt slightly.
She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but the dizziness intensified rather than faded.How strange, she thought, that such a sudden drowsiness would overcome her.Her head felt heavy, her thoughts beginning to blur at the edges, and without fully deciding to do so, Carol found herself lying back against her pillows.
Sleep came quickly, deeper than her usual afternoon rest, pulling her down into unconsciousness with surprising speed.Somewhere in the distance of her fading awareness, she had the fleeting thought that someone, somehow, might be watching her navigate these difficult decisions about Jake's return home.
But that concern dissolved as the medication-induced sleep claimed her completely, leaving the house silent except for the slow bubbling of the pot roast in the kitchen and the quiet tick of the hallway clock marking time until Jake returned home.
CHAPTER ONE
Kate sat cross-legged on the living room carpet, her coffee growing cold on the side table as she watched her twenty-two-month-old son, Michael, toddle between his play kitchen and the fort Allen had constructed from throw pillows.The morning sunlight streamed through their Richmond home's bay window, illuminating the cheerful chaos of toys scattered across the hardwood floor.
"Mama, cookie!"Michael announced.He tottered over and presented Kate with a bright yellow plastic disc from his pretend oven.His dark hair stuck up at odd angles despite her attempts to smooth it down after breakfast, and his pajamas were already decorated with remnants of his morning banana.
"Oh my," Kate said, accepting the offering with theatrical enthusiasm."This looks absolutely delicious.Did you bake this yourself?"
Michael nodded solemnly and waddled over to Allen, who was sprawled on his stomach nearby, pretending to read a newspaper while keeping one eye on their son's culinary adventures.
"Daddy, pizza!"Michael declared, shoving a red plastic triangle toward Allen's face.
Allen set down his paper and examined the toy food with the seriousness of a restaurant critic."Hmm, excellent cheese distribution.I can tell you used the finest plastic ingredients."He made exaggerated chewing motions and patted his stomach."Compliments to the chef."
Kate laughed, marveling at how naturally Allen had settled into fatherhood.When she'd discovered her unexpected pregnancy at fifty-six, she'd worried about everything from her energy levels to whether Allen would embrace such a dramatic change to their planned future.Instead, he'd thrown himself into parenting with the same thoughtful dedication he brought to everything else in his life.And for both of them to be playing with their son on the floor simply seemed like a dream.
"More!"Michael squealed, clapping his hands together.He spun around and returned to his kitchen, opening and closing the tiny refrigerator door with intense concentration."Soup!"he announced, returning with a plastic bowl filled with various toy foods."Hot soup!"
"Oh, we better be careful then," Kate said, blowing gently across the top of the bowl before pretending to take a sip."Mmm, perfect temperature now.What kind of soup is this?"
