As I stare at the bed, my throat tightens until breathing becomes difficult. My fingers shake as they go to the top button of my shirt, needing to loosen the constricting material around my neck. It’s like I’m being strangled from the inside out. My mind spins as a wave of dizziness crashes over me. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and focus on my inhalations, willing myself not to fall apart. The turmoil continues to riot beneath the surface of my skin. It’s getting increasingly difficult to tamp down. I’m afraid of what will happen if it all bursts loose.
Who will be there to pick up the pieces?
No one.
I’m alone in this.
It’s a devastating realization. I’ve never felt this overwhelmed or lonely in my life.
Since Mom is dead to the world, I give in, allowing myself to have a mini breakdown. Five minutes to release some of the fear and anxiety that has become my constant companion. A few tears slide down my face as I silently rail at God.
Once my emotions have been purged, I blow out a steady breath and pull myself back together. There are only a few hours before I need to return to Rothchild Mansion. I’ve never known Kingsley to make idle threats. I wholeheartedly believe him when he says my ass better be there or else.
Since it’s doubtful Mom has eaten anything other than the toast Austin made this morning, I return to the kitchen and rummage around in the refrigerator. But it’s a barren wasteland. The food that remains has either reached the end of its shelf life or looks like a home grown fifth-grade penicillin project. I fire off a text to Austin asking him to stop at the store after practice and pick up a few necessities.
In the freezer, I find a pound of ground beef, along with a jar of spaghetti sauce and a box of noodles in the cabinet. It’s not exactly the dinner of champions, but it’ll do.
Thirty minutes later, I’m scooping noodles into a bowl, adding a bit of sauce, and sprinkling on parmesan cheese to finish it off. I grab a fork from the drawer and a bottle of water from the fridge before taking it upstairs.
The curtains are drawn, making the room dark and stuffy. I set the bowl and bottle on the nightstand next to the bed before gravitating to the windows and yanking back the thick brocade curtains until the late afternoon sunshine can filter into the room. Then I crack open the windows, allowing in a rush of fresh air. It’s early October and the temperatures are hovering in the low to mid-seventies. I inhale a deep breath, feeling less off kilter than earlier.
As if Mom can sense the change in atmosphere, she shifts under the covers, flipping them off her head before blinking and glancing around. She has the look of an animal waking from a long hibernation.
When her slumberous gaze falls on me, I force a smile to my lips. “Hi, Mom. How do you feel?”
“Summer?” Drowsiness clouds her voice as she drags herself to a seated position. “What time is it? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Her disoriented state has my heart cracking wide open.
“School is over. It’s almost four o’clock. Austin should be home in an hour.”
“It’s four in the afternoon?” She drags a hand over her face as confusion fills her eyes. “What day is it?”
I clear away the thick emotion that attempts to clog my throat. “Tuesday.”
“Oh.” Her brows pinch together. “I’m sorry, honey. How long has your dad been gone?”
If my heart weren’t already breaking, that question would shatter it into a million pieces. She sounds so lost and bewildered, like a small child. It’s unnerving to see her in this condition. “Seven days.” A week exactly. Almost to the hour.
She nods as wetness gathers in her eyes. “Okay.”
I blink to keep my own tears at bay. One of us needs to stay strong. And apparently that person is me. I point to the bowl on the nightstand. “I made spaghetti for dinner.”
“You did?” Surprise colors her voice.
“Yup.” I draw in a breath and force it out before hoisting my lips. “I can’t guarantee it’s any good,” I shrug, “but it’s better than nothing.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” An anemic smile settles across her lips as if she, too, is trying to bring a bit of normalcy to our relationship. “Thank you, Summer.”
“It wasn’t a problem.”
“Maybe not, but I really appreciate it.” She slides back against the pillows before picking up the bowl and using her fork to twirl the noodles around the silver tines.
As she takes a few bites, I settle at the foot of the bed. She glances at me, looking a little more like herself. The haziness has dissipated from her eyes. It might not be much, but it’s a tiny step in the right direction.