“What happened to the parlor?” Mother asks as she walks into the room. She slowly spins around, confused. “Where’s Grandmere’s furniture?” She points to the intricately carved fireplace. “Where’s the screen with the beagle painted on it?” Her confusion turns to agitation, and she wrings her hands. “Why’s it so dark in here? I can barely see.”
“It’s going to be all right, Patricia,” Lindsey assures her in a calm voice.
“The lightbulbs just need to be screwed in.” Simon walks across the threadbare rug. “We needed to get rid of all the clutter and—”
“I hate it.”
“—we moved the furniture to the attic,” Simon continues as if Mother hadn’t interrupted.
“Why the heck did you do that?” Mother’s tone gets harsher, even with her new boyfriend.
“Mais, we had to move it so Jasper could sleep in here. Getting up and down the stairs was a problem for him.”
“Well, not for me!”
“The banister is loose. I’d hate for you to fall.”
“I’ll use the back stairs.”
“Those are piled high with a hoard of Sutton treasures.”
“Put the furniture back in here,” Mother demands as if she doesn’t hear him. “Who stole the fireplace screen?”
Please, God, don’t let her go on a Wynonna tirade.
“I’ll screw in those bulbs before I leave.” Simon’s voice is calm but firm, like he respects his elders but not enough to take their bullshit.
“This will be your room, too,” I tell Mom as Simon exits. “We’ll decorate any way you want.”
“No.” Mom crosses her arms and looks like she’s ready to pitch a fit. “I want my grandmere’s bedroom upstairs.”
“If you pick this room,” Lindsey joins in, “you won’t tire yourself out from walking up and down the stairs all day.”
“This is the parlor.”
“Mom,” I cajole, “you heard Simon. The handrail isn’t safe. I don’t want you to fall down the stairs. We’ll make this into the grandest room in the house.”
“This room is red.” Her eyes start to water even before she sits on the bed. “Grandmere’s room is blue.”
“We can paint it any color you want.”
“You won’t even let me have a real bedroom!”
“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” I don’t like to see her cry, but I don’t want her to take a tumble on the stairs, either.
“You don’t care. You want me to die.”
I take a calming breath and say, “If I wanted you to die, I’d set you up in Great-grandmother’s room so you could fall down the stairs and break your dang neck.”
“Why are you always mean to me?” she sobs, and covers her face with her hands.
So much for being a good daughter. Of course, this is the exact moment Simon enters the room with an eight-foot ladder.
“Lou Ann gave away all my shoes.”
I guess God heard me and she isn’t going on a Wynonna tirade. I’m in her crosshairs instead. “Not all your shoes, Mom.”
“All my good ones.”