Adopted Parents (9 page)

“Janet always hoped you and Nate would eventually end up together, you know.”

Liz might as well have slapped her.

“Janet never told
me
that,” Hallie snapped. “And I find it odd she would say that to you.”

“I’m sorry, Hallie. I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Hallie was going to be sick. The idea that Janet had discussed her and
Nate
with these women…

She clutched her stomach and stood. “I’m sorry, Liz. I’m really sorry.”

Liz jumped up. “Are you okay?”

Hallie waved her away and headed directly for Ahn. Two minutes later, Ahn was strapped in her car seat and Hallie was reversing out of Liz’s driveway. A block away from Liz’s house, she pulled over to the curb and sobbed against the steering wheel.

She’d talked to Janet every day of her life.

Always.

And that was the problem.

A realization Hallie hadn’t fully accepted yet hit her after Liz’s comment. And when it hit her, the pain was so sharp, it doubled Hallie over. It had nothing to do with Nate. It had nothing to do with her pangs of jealousy over Janet’s close friendships with the other women. It had nothing to do with anything other than the coldhearted truth.

Hallie couldn’t call Janet to bitch over what she’d told Liz about Nate. And she couldn’t call Janet later to apologize for bitching the way she always did after they had a fight.

Hallie was never going to talk to Janet again.

Accepting it made the unthinkable true.

How long she cried, Hallie wasn’t sure. But when she finally pulled herself together, Hallie looked in the rearview mirror. Ahn was leaning forward in her car seat peering out the window as if to scold her for stopping when they should have been on their way home.

“Just give me a second, okay?” Hallie told her.

Ahn leaned back and stuck her thumb in her mouth. And as usual, she refused to look at Hallie at all.

It was another slap in the face.

Only this time, Hallie wasn’t going to be ignored.

She unfastened her seat belt and turned around to face Ahn. “What’s really the problem with you not talking, Ahn?” Hallie didn’t use her calm, patient voice as Dr. Langston’s damn notebook instructed. Her tone was firm and it said,
I’m talking to you! Pay attention
—even though Ahn refused to do so.

“You understand every word I say to you. So you tell me? Are you angry about the whole situation like I am? Because if you are, that’s okay. You’ve been jerked around since the day you were born. And if you feel like screaming, you go ahead and scream. Right now, I feel like screaming, too.”

To prove it, Hallie let out a scream.

It startled Ahn. She looked at Hallie and blinked. Then she burst out laughing.

Hallie was more than startled. Hallie was thrilled. Ahn had laughed. Her beautiful, nonresponsive, completely detached niece had actually laughed like a normal two-year-old.

“You think that was funny?” Hallie told her. “How about this?”

Hallie screamed a little louder.

This time, Ahn screamed, too.

“You go, girl,” Hallie said, clapping her hands in wild approval. “You scream as loud as you want. We’ve both earned it.”

Ahn’s next scream was deafening and it was music to Hallie’s ears.

She and Ahn had finally connected.

At the moment, nothing else mattered.

It was David’s turn, he’d told himself. Time David took responsibility for their mother because Nate had been doing it since he was twelve years old.

He’d been sitting in the nursing home parking lot for thirty minutes now, knowing what he had to do, yet postponing the inevitable as long as possible. Nate finally reached for the door handle and walked toward the front entrance of the nursing home.

David had moved her to this facility in Winchester shortly after he and Janet bought the house. It was first-class, always clean, plenty of staff to properly care for the patients.

Nate had called ahead and requested a meeting with the head nurse to go over his mother’s daily care. She was waiting for him when Nate approached the nurse’s station.

She identified herself as Wanda Thomas. She looked to be in her fifties, was very attractive, dressed in a crisp white uniform, and had every red hair in place. Nate could tell by the way she carried herself Wanda was used to being in charge.

An assumption proven correct when she said, “Let’s talk for a few minutes before we go see your mother.”

Nate didn’t argue with that. He followed her to a vacant sitting area across from the nursing station. They sat in the cozy alcove by the window, surrounded by various potted plants and ficus trees.

“I want you to know how sorry I am for your loss,” were the first words out of her mouth. “I had the pleasure of getting to know David and Janet personally. They were fine people.”

“Thank you,” Nate told her. “I called after the accident to make sure I was listed as my mother’s contact person now. And I’ve checked on her daily. This is the first opportunity I’ve had to visit.”

It was a lie. But it sounded better than the truth.

“How long do you plan to be in town? If I remember correctly, you were out of the country, right?”

“Yes,” Nate said. “But now I’ll be staying in Winchester indefinitely.” He left it at that.

Wanda didn’t pry further. “Before you leave today, it’s necessary that you stop at our accounting office. There are some papers for you to sign. It’s a formality, making you the responsible party for your mother instead of your brother.”

“Of course,” Nate agreed.

She smiled. “Thank you. Let’s go see your mother—we can chat along the way.”

Reluctantly, Nate followed as she left the alcove.

“Katharine has really done well on her new medication,” Wanda said. “She’s less restless, and she doesn’t get as agitated as frequently.”

Nate frowned. “Is that a nice way of saying she’s being heavily sedated?”

Wanda stopped walking and turned to face him. “I don’t blame you for being skeptical of how your mother’s condition is being managed, Mr. Brock. Alzheimer’s disease is one long roller-coaster ride for the patient and the family. Mood swings are constant, up one day, down the next. And yes, there are times when a patient has to be sedated for his or her own safety. But this new medication has been able to keep your mother’s temperament at an even keel so far. Hopefully, that will continue.”

“I apologize,” Nate said. “I didn’t mean to imply that she wasn’t being taken care of properly.”

“No offense taken,” Wanda said. “You can ask me any time you have a question. I’ll always tell you the truth.”

They continued down the corridor until Wanda paused at a closed door. “This is her room. Don’t expect her to recognize you.”

“I don’t,” Nate said. “She hasn’t known anyone for a long time.”

“But don’t let that stop you from talking to her,” Wanda said. “She won’t remember a thing you’ve said, but the truth is, Mr. Brock, we encourage our families to talk to the patients mostly for their own benefit. I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have something they need to say to a loved one, something they’ve always held back. Tell your mother what you need to tell her. You’ll be surprised how much better you’ll feel afterward.”

As Wanda reached for the door handle, she added, “Just remember to speak in a low, calm voice. And avoid making any sudden movements that might frighten her.”

Wanda entered the room ahead of him.

Nate hesitated. When he finally walked into the room, a wave of relief washed over him. His mother was sitting in a wheelchair facing the window. A stark contrast to her position in most of his memories—in bed, her face turned to the wall.

“Katharine,” Wanda said, resting a hand on her shoulder, “you have a visitor this afternoon. Your son is here to see you.”

Wanda beckoned Nate closer.

Nate walked over and stopped beside his mother’s wheelchair. “Hi, Mom. It’s been a long time.”

She looked up at him briefly. Nate smiled at her and she turned her attention back to the window.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Wanda told Nate. “If you need anything, just use the call button.”

When Wanda left, Nate pulled up a chair so he could sit beside his mother. She didn’t acknowledge his presence again. Nate didn’t expect that she would.

“You look good, Mom.”

And she did. Funny how the disease attacked only the brain. She’d always been a pretty woman, and she still was. Her face was practically wrinkle-free, her dark hair only sprinkled with a few strands of gray. She was dressed in regular clothes instead of a hospital gown, and Nate was thankful for that, too. She’d spent most of his teenage years in her nightgown, not getting dressed for days at a time.

“I’m glad to see you’re sitting up and enjoying this beautiful day.”

How many times had he begged her to do that? To get out of bed and enjoy the day? Nate shook his head. Too many times to count.

He reached over and took her hand in his.

Her reaction was lifeless. Just like the look in her eyes.

They sat in silence for a long time, both looking out the window. As the minutes passed an empty feeling that matched the vacant look on his mother’s face spread within him.

Then her fingers slowly closed around his.

Everything Nate needed to say came pouring out.

“I’m so sorry, Mom. I was just a kid. I didn’t understand that depression was a disease and that you were so sick. And I’m sorry I haven’t visited before now. It was easier to let David take over than it was to face that you didn’t remember me. So I’m asking you to forgive me. I’m here now. And I’ll be here for you as long as you need me.”

Those dark days pushed at him now—his anger, his frustration, his fear—and, for once, he let them in. There was one incident in particular that loomed above the others. And no apology he could make would ever take that guilt away.

He’d been fifteen, three years after his father’s death. By then he’d taken over complete responsibility for David and his mother. He took care of the banking, depositing the checks from his father’s pension and social security they lived on. Nate paid the bills. He did the shopping. He did it all.

Despite his best efforts to hide his mother’s depression from their neighbors and his mother’s brother, his uncle John began to suspect something was seriously wrong. When John offered to help, Nate was elated. Until Nate realized his uncle’s definition of help was to get social services involved.

Nate had pleaded with his mother for days not to let that happen. He’d warned her that she would be committed to a mental hospital, and that he and David would be placed in foster care.

His words had fallen on deaf ears.

The night before the social worker was scheduled to make an assessment visit, he’d made David help him clean the house thoroughly. And after he was sure David was asleep, he’d gone into his mother’s bedroom, grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her so violently she’d finally sat up in bed.

She’d been terrified. Nate had seen the fear in her eyes. But he’d been too angry to care.

He’d told her if she didn’t snap out of it long enough to meet with the social worker, he would never forgive her. He’d promised her if she would do that one thing for David’s sake, he’d never ask her for anything again.

Looking back now, Nate had no idea how she man aged to pull herself together long enough to meet with the social worker that morning. But she had. And once she’d convinced the woman she was capable of taking care of her family, his uncle John had never interfered again.

He’d never thanked his mother for what she’d done that day. But Nate had thought a million times how differently their lives would have turned out if she hadn’t found the courage to fight back, at least for one brief morning, in order to keep their family together.

Still looking straight ahead, Nate said, “Thank you, Mom. You took care of your sons when we needed you most.”

He glanced over at her. She’d dozed off, still holding on to his hand.

Nate kissed her fingers before he gently placed her hand on her lap. He stood, bent down to kiss her fore head and then left the room.

Nate had forgiven his mother a long time ago. But he’d never asked for her forgiveness.

Now that he had, maybe he’d learn to forgive himself.