Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) (20 page)

On top, I’m wearing a dressier top to go with the skirt. It has flow-y three-quarter sleeves that I was able to fit my arm cast through.

This is not my usual style but considering the circumstances, it’s the best I could do. Then she curled my hair and kept me company while I put on makeup for the first time in weeks.

Judging by Heath’s reaction when he saw me, I cleaned up all right. I needed to fix my lipstick twice after he was done kissing me but I was okay with that.

Mr. Mackey surprises me by ignoring my offered hand and bending down to kiss my cheek. Now I know where Heath got that from, remembering his sweet kiss from the car.

“It is so nice to officially meet you, Sydney. Please call me Tom.”

I blush. “It’s nice to meet you as well. Thanks for having me.”

He smiles warmly and claps his hands. “Mrs. Mackey will have my head if I keep you from her any longer.”

He gestures toward a set of double doors further down the hall. I start to push myself but Heath stops me, doing it for me. The room that he pushes me into must have been a family room or a den before they put his mother in it. It’s big and with the shades up and windows cracked, bright and airy. My eyes stay focused on the bed in the center of the room though, and the woman in it.

She is so thin and pale. My breath catches just looking at her. I’m not sure what I expected. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she looks sick but it is. Her sickness, while startling, could not hide that she once was a beautiful woman.

The closer Heath wheels me to her bed, the wider her smile grows. Once I am right next to her bed, she reaches her arm out toward me and I reach mine out to meet hers.

Once her hand clasps my forearm, she looks up at Heath, her blue eyes, the same shade as his, bright with excitement and says, “Thank you for bringing your lovely Sydney to meet me.”

My Sydney, damn right she is.

I smile down at my mom. “Did you want to sit . . .” My words trail off when I see my father quickly shake his head and cover it by turning to Sydney as though my question were for her. “ . . . down?” I lamely gesture to a chair behind us.

Her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “I thought I’d just stay in my chair.”

I nod. “Of course, you’re right. That makes more sense. I only asked because I thought that chair might be more comfortable.”

The creases of confusion that lined her skin fade away as she smiles up at me. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Son, give me a hand in the kitchen. That way the ladies can get better acquainted.”

I bend somewhat over Sydney to kiss my mom on the cheek, pausing to kiss the top of Sydney’s head before I straighten and follow Dad out of the den. He surprises me by closing the doors behind us.

“Everything okay?” I ask, my gaze moving from his hand on the doorknob to his eyes.

He tilts his head toward the kitchen and I follow him there. He doesn’t make me wait. “Your mom had a rough morning. She spent most of it on oxygen.”

My head turns toward the den. “She looked good.”

“We upped her pain meds.”

I close my eyes. For my mom, that’s a big deal.

“Do you think it was too much for her to bring Sydney?” I ask, fearing a crash.

“There’s no way you would have been able to talk her out of it,” he replies.

He has a point. Pure stubbornness has had my mom defying every prognosis she’s ever been given. If she had believed the first doctor who diagnosed her, she would have died years ago. That doesn’t mean she’s invincible.

I’ll never be ready to say good-bye to her, but it’s not up to any of us.

It’s finally sinking in that at some point, she’s going to be gone. That I’ll pick up my phone to call her, or I’ll go to forward her a stupid funny e-mail and she won’t be there to receive it.

This morning I made the mistake of clicking on a video I saw on Facebook. It was military servicemen and women who were home from tours overseas and surprising their moms.

I should have turned it off the second I figured out what it was but I kept watching it. The moms, for the most part, their reactions were identical. Their hands came up, covering their open mouths as happy tears streamed down their faces.

I hadn’t even left the country and was never in harm’s way while I was away at school and my mom made that exact face and cried just as hard. I’ll never be able to return all of the love she’s given me my whole life. I’ll never be able to sum up how grateful I am that she is my mom out of every other mom out there.

Even though I’ve visited her daily, with everything going on with Sydney, I’ve been distracted.

“Sydney has a doctor appointment tomorrow. With luck, the casts on her leg will come off. The break in her arm was worse so we won’t know till then. She can stay at my place since there aren’t any stairs and I’ll come stay here.”

My dad squeezes my arm but doesn’t tell me no.

Fuck.

There’s a tray of food and another of drinks already prepped on the kitchen table. He picks up one and I grab the other. Focus on the tray, one step in front of the other.

My thoughts are a swirl of my mom and Sydney, the women in my life.

Walking through the door to the den, I drink in the two of them together. That settles like a weight, a reassuring one deep within me. I have no control over the future but being able to introduce Sydney to my mom helps. Someday, when I’ll need someone to talk to about her, I like that it won’t be like talking about a stranger.

There’s more than one table in the den. I set the tray of drinks I’m carrying on the one at the foot of my mom’s hospital bed.

“Thirsty?” I ask.

My mom shakes her head while Sydney nods. Standing apart from them, the similarities hit me. I got my blond hair and blue eyes from Mom. While Sydney’s usual blonde is darker than either of ours, she reminds me of old pictures of my mom. Pictures that were taken long before she had health problems. Their similarities don’t end there. It’s their eyes, not the physical shape or color of them, it’s the way you can see right into their souls.

That, at least now, is where the similarities end. It’s been weeks since the mudslide. Other than still being stuck in her casts, she looks healed.

While her mouth was wired shut, she lost weight. Now that she isn’t on a liquid diet, it’s coming back. Sitting next to my mom, she looks beautiful and full of life. It’s so stark in comparison to how weak my mom looks.

The contentment I felt at their meeting fades when I realize it’s all my fault that this meeting didn’t happen ages ago. They could be old friends by now. They’re not and that’s all on me.

Woodenly, I bring Sydney her drink. Her eyes search mine as the glass passes from my hand to hers. She can tell something is up but doesn’t let on to it.

I pull the chair I offered her earlier up so I can sit beside Sydney. “How are you two getting along?”

It’s my mom who answers. “I was just showing Sydney your baby pictures.”

My eyes move to the open photo album I somehow missed, sitting open on Sydney’s lap. On one page is a picture of me lying naked on a fluffy white blanket, on the other is me in a high chair stuffing my face with birthday cake.

“Thanks, Mom,” I groan.

She laughs and I stare at her, drinking it in, soaking up every single second of it. Hell, I’d let her show the whole world my naked baby pictures just to hear her laugh. Her joy is short lived though, her laugh becoming a cough, a bad one. A cough that hurts anyone who hears it. Sydney can’t hide her concern. Her body is tense, her lips pressed between her teeth, and that crease in her forehead is back.

My dad moves, getting Mom’s oxygen tank and putting her mask on for her. Instead of sitting up and laughing, she’s slumped back against her bed, a film of sweat across her brow, her eyes wild as her chest rises and falls.

My dad and I both reach for her. One on either side of her, we each take a hand. My gaze moves from her face to my dad’s and back. Her eyes flutter shut. It’s the condensation of her breath on her mask that keeps me from freaking.

This has happened before. It scares the crap out of me each and every time.

“Is she okay?” Sydney asks, her voice shaking.

I don’t let go of my mom’s hand but I turn back to look at Sydney. “She’s still breathing but we should probably go so she can rest.”

She nods, setting her drink on the table next to the bed before closing the photo album and doing the same with it.

Bending, I press my lips to my mom’s cheek. “I love you.”

She doesn’t answer.

I press another kiss to her hand before letting her go. Sydney is quiet as I push her from the den.

It’s not until we reach the front door that she says, “Are you sure we should leave?”

Her question makes sense. That coughing fit would scare most people. She must think, that my mom, that . . . I can’t finish the thought.

“We’ll talk in the car,” I reply.

Once we’re on the road, I start, “Are you alright with staying at my place without me for a few days?”

Her head snaps my way. “What? Why?”

“To be close in case . . . in case my dad needs me.”

I face forward, only gauging her reaction from my peripheral. She holds the part of her seatbelt that crosses her chest and looks away.

“I wouldn’t feel right sleeping at your place without you.”

The car in front of me brakes suddenly so I have to slam on my brakes to avoid rear-ending them. My right hand shoots out to protect Sydney.

“Asshole,” I mutter as the car turns left. “Next time use your blinker.”

I lower my arm as I press the gas but glance at Sydney when I hear her giggle. “What?”

“You just mom armed me.” She laughs.

“I what?”

“You know, moved your arm to keep me from jerking forward when you braked.”

“Okay?”

She shifts in her seat, her laughter gone. “It was cute. That’s all.”

“I’d never let anything happen to you,” I reply.

“I think I should go to my grandparents,” she blurts.

“But the front steps,” I argue.

She shakes her head. “If my casts come off tomorrow, I should be able to manage them on my own if I go slowly.”

I make the turn into the parking lot of my building. Once I’m in my spot, I kill the engine and lean forward to press my forehead to the steering wheel.

“Heath?” Sydney murmurs.

I leave my head on the wheel but turn my face toward her. “Can you please just stay at my place?”

She shifts her body toward me, her expression guarded. “Why?”

I close my eyes and breathe in. “If you’re here, then I can come right to you after . . .”

She gasps, then says, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

I look at her. “Thank you.”

She nods.

Pushing up, I unhook my belt and climb out. It’s not until I’m pulling her wheelchair out that it hits me how much her staying here for me means to me. It means, no matter what time of night, if my mom passes away overnight, that I’ll be able to come to her.

I know that I’ll need her. She will be the only person who’ll be able to comfort me.

I unfold her chair and push it over toward her door. She’s already opened it, and is standing on her good leg as I approach. Normally, she turns her back to me, so all she has to do is sit once I’m close enough.

Not this time. She faces me and motions for me to stand in front of her. Then, she reaches up with her good hand and grabs my neck, pulling me down to her waiting lips.

My hands go to her hips, half to help support her, half to hold on for dear life.

She speaks against my lips, not breaking our kiss. “Whatever you need.”

My hands move so that my arms circle her, pressing up against her, half lifting her so she won’t accidently put pressure on her leg.

Rationally, I get that one day probably won’t make a difference between her bones being healed or not. I’m not going to push her to move faster than she’s ready but, once those casts come off, things I took for granted will be possible again. Things like walking down the street being able to hold her hand, and tangling my legs with hers when we sleep.

She’s knocked me on accident with her casts plenty and they hurt. I miss the way she used to dress, not that she isn’t gorgeous in whatever she wears. I’m just partial to those dresses.

“That means a lot to me,” I reply, still kissing her.

A throat clears behind us, but I ignore it. It’s not until I hear Jake say, “It looks like they made up,” that I lift my head to glare in his direction.

Kacey is tucked in the curve of his arm as she, with a cringe, waves hello.

“Reilly told us she stopped by to visit Sydney. Now that we know she’s good with having visitors, it’s our turn,” Jake says as they make their way over to us.

“We brought brownies,” Kacey adds, lifting a plastic container.

I move my lips to Sydney’s ear. “Want me to get rid of them?”

She shakes her head. With effort, I step away from her, keeping my hand on her hip to steady her as I turn her wheelchair. Gracefully, she sinks into it.

“Are you sure you’re up for a visit?” Kacey asks Sydney.