controlling mother. She would do things subtly here and there to let her mother know that she was really the one with all the power. Staying at my apartment as often as she did, proved that. My breath catches realizing that she really wasn’t in control, at all.
I avert my eyes from the stairs and make my way into the back parlor where the bar is situated. Dan, Susan’s father, is standing next to it staring out the wide picture window across the acres of grasses and gardens spanning the backyard.
I turn to leave the room before he can notice my presence but I hear his desperate voice before I can get away, “Jordan?”
I turn on my heel and pocket my hands, staring at the cream tile under my feet.
“Jordan, son, can we talk a little?”
I look up and meet his pained expression, “Sir, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”
He nods, acknowledging my apology, but waves me in changing his tone, “I understand. Come have a drink, I know that’s why you’re in here.”
I slowly walk forward and grasp the drink he hands me a moment later. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp taste of whiskey and swallow the rest in one short gulp. He holds his hand out for my empty glass and fills it back up. This time I sip it, cradling the glass while the numb feeling the alcohol offers, begins to spread. I welcome it. Dan turns back toward the back yard as if searching for something just out of his gaze. I realize at this point we are all lost and searching for something that will never again be present in our lives. My heart aches for her.
As the night rolls on, a barrage of friends and family utter their condolences. After a while I get tired of trying to play the part. Whatever that part is I’m supposed to be playing. I frequent the bar until my dad finally finds me alone in the room endearingly named the library, by Susan when she was a little girl. It has two full walls of books from floor to ceiling. Centered above the leather settees is an amber chandelier which gives the room an incandescent glow.
He comes to a stop in front of me, and slowly lowers himself to the edge of the brown leather couch across from me, “Jordan, I came to let you know that I’m taking your mother home.”
I nod and look away taking another swallow of my almost empty glass.
“Son, come with us, come home for the night. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get your car.” His voice is almost cracking, while pleading with me.
I consider his request as I peruse my options; the empty apartment with reminders of Susan everywhere or my parent’s where there are people, where I won’t be alone.
I push myself up out of the chair and momentarily lose my balance. My dad scurries to his feet as I stumble and secures me before I can fall. I set the glass down on the low, round table and gesture to the door, “Let’s go.”
My words sound a little slurred to my ears. Better this way though. It keeps my mind numb unable to focus on anything for long periods of time.
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Bruin was in her own world this afternoon. I was concerned, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Momma. Lately that seems to be her topic of choice. I know she means well, making sure Momma is getting her meds and the bills are being paid, but it’s too much sometimes. One of the main reasons I stay away from home as much as possible is to avoid all the hassle and fussing.
After making the pies and helping Mrs. Bruin gather lunch for the ranch hands, I played at least six rounds of Candyland with the twins. They beat me every time. When lunch rolled around Mr. Bruin came in to get the food we made for all the ranch hands. I know she likes having me around, but she could do all this stuff on her own. It makes me feel like a charity case sometimes and all I want to do is leave. I stay though, for Momma, even though it makes a serious dent in my
I avert my eyes from the stairs and make my way into the back parlor where the bar is situated. Dan, Susan’s father, is standing next to it staring out the wide picture window across the acres of grasses and gardens spanning the backyard.
I turn to leave the room before he can notice my presence but I hear his desperate voice before I can get away, “Jordan?”
I turn on my heel and pocket my hands, staring at the cream tile under my feet.
“Jordan, son, can we talk a little?”
I look up and meet his pained expression, “Sir, I don’t…I’m sorry, I don’t think I can have this conversation right now.”
He nods, acknowledging my apology, but waves me in changing his tone, “I understand. Come have a drink, I know that’s why you’re in here.”
I slowly walk forward and grasp the drink he hands me a moment later. I lift the glass to my lips, savoring the sharp taste of whiskey and swallow the rest in one short gulp. He holds his hand out for my empty glass and fills it back up. This time I sip it, cradling the glass while the numb feeling the alcohol offers, begins to spread. I welcome it. Dan turns back toward the back yard as if searching for something just out of his gaze. I realize at this point we are all lost and searching for something that will never again be present in our lives. My heart aches for her.
As the night rolls on, a barrage of friends and family utter their condolences. After a while I get tired of trying to play the part. Whatever that part is I’m supposed to be playing. I frequent the bar until my dad finally finds me alone in the room endearingly named the library, by Susan when she was a little girl. It has two full walls of books from floor to ceiling. Centered above the leather settees is an amber chandelier which gives the room an incandescent glow.
He comes to a stop in front of me, and slowly lowers himself to the edge of the brown leather couch across from me, “Jordan, I came to let you know that I’m taking your mother home.”
I nod and look away taking another swallow of my almost empty glass.
“Son, come with us, come home for the night. I’ll bring you back in the morning to get your car.” His voice is almost cracking, while pleading with me.
I consider his request as I peruse my options; the empty apartment with reminders of Susan everywhere or my parent’s where there are people, where I won’t be alone.
I push myself up out of the chair and momentarily lose my balance. My dad scurries to his feet as I stumble and secures me before I can fall. I set the glass down on the low, round table and gesture to the door, “Let’s go.”
My words sound a little slurred to my ears. Better this way though. It keeps my mind numb unable to focus on anything for long periods of time.
Chapter Eight
Mrs. Bruin was in her own world this afternoon. I was concerned, but it ended up being a blessing in disguise. The last thing I wanted to talk about was Momma. Lately that seems to be her topic of choice. I know she means well, making sure Momma is getting her meds and the bills are being paid, but it’s too much sometimes. One of the main reasons I stay away from home as much as possible is to avoid all the hassle and fussing.
After making the pies and helping Mrs. Bruin gather lunch for the ranch hands, I played at least six rounds of Candyland with the twins. They beat me every time. When lunch rolled around Mr. Bruin came in to get the food we made for all the ranch hands. I know she likes having me around, but she could do all this stuff on her own. It makes me feel like a charity case sometimes and all I want to do is leave. I stay though, for Momma, even though it makes a serious dent in my
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