Chapter 2
Nia followed me into the kitchen ten minutes later.
My mother had gone back upstairs.
Diane was still standing in the living room, making angry phone calls.
I filled a glass with water, but my hands were shaking too badly to drink it.
"Marcus, we need to stop this before it gets out of control."
I turned.
"Before it gets out of control?"
Nia closed the kitchen door.
"You're embarrassing me in front of my mother."
I almost laughed.
"My mother was crying while packing her suitcase, and you're worried about being embarrassed?"
"You don't understand."
"Then explain it."
She rubbed her forehead.
"My mom is in a terrible situation."
"What situation?"
"She lost her apartment."
"I know that. You told me her landlord was selling the building."
Nia hesitated.
"There's more to it."
I waited.
She looked away.
"She has debts."
"How much?"
"Marcus—"
"How much, Nia?"
"Almost forty thousand dollars."
I stared at her.
"Forty thousand?"
She nodded.
"She made some bad decisions."
I leaned against the counter.
Diane had moved into our home three weeks earlier.
Nia had told me it would only be temporary.
I had agreed without hesitation.
I didn't particularly like Diane, but I had never wanted her to become homeless.
Now I was learning that there were problems nobody had mentioned.
"What kind of decisions?"
Nia sighed.
"Credit cards. Personal loans. Some business expenses."
"What business?"
"My mother tried opening an online boutique."
"She told us that business closed two years ago."
"It did."
"Then why is she still borrowing money?"
Nia crossed her arms.
"Why are you interrogating me?"
"Because you're asking me to throw my mother out to solve a problem you won't explain."
"Nobody said you had to throw her out."
"That's exactly what you told her."
Nia's eyes flashed.
"I told her we needed the room."
"We have five bedrooms."
"Mom doesn't like the smaller guest room."
I stared at her.
The smaller guest room had a queen-sized bed, a private bathroom, and a balcony overlooking the backyard.
It was larger than my mother's old apartment.
"Your mother doesn't like it?"
"No."
"So you told mine to leave?"
Nia said nothing.
I set my glass down.
"Where is Diane sleeping now?"
"In the downstairs guest room."
"And why can't she stay there?"
"Because she wants more privacy."
I felt my patience disappearing.
"Nia, your mother has been here three weeks. Mine has been here six months. Neither woman owns this house, but both deserve respect."
"My mother deserves comfort."
"So does mine."
Nia's voice rose.
"You always put Evelyn first!"
I stared at her.
"That's not true."
"Every time she needs something, you drop everything."
"She had surgery in March."
"And you missed our anniversary dinner."
"Because she was in the hospital."
Nia shook her head.
"You're proving my point."
I studied her face.
For years, I had mistaken these conversations for ordinary jealousy.
Now I wondered whether I had ignored something much uglier.
"Did you ever want my mother living here?"
Nia looked surprised.
"Of course."
"Tell me the truth."
She went quiet.
Then she whispered, "I thought it would be temporary."
I shook my head.
"You knew I wanted her here permanently."
"People change their minds."
"Apparently."
I walked toward the door.
She grabbed my arm.
"Marcus, don't do this."
"Don't do what?"
"Throw my mother out."
I pulled away gently.
"She can collect her things. I'll pay for a hotel for three nights while she makes other arrangements."
Nia looked stunned.
"Three nights?"
"That's more consideration than you gave my mother."
I opened the door.
Diane was standing outside.
She had obviously been listening.
Her face was tight with anger.
"I cannot believe you're treating me this way."
I faced her.
"Diane, I welcomed you here."
"And I'm grateful."
"No, you're not."
She recoiled.
"How dare you?"
"You let my mother believe she had nowhere to sleep tonight."
Diane pressed a hand against her chest.
"Your wife made that decision."
"And you benefited from it."
She looked toward Nia.
"Are you going to let him speak to me like this?"
Nia stepped forward.
"Marcus, please."
I shook my head.
"The decision stands."
Diane's expression changed.
Her outrage disappeared.
In its place came something almost calculating.
"Well," she said slowly, "I suppose we'll see what happens."
I didn't like the way she said it.
But before I could ask what she meant, my phone rang.
It was my mother's doctor.
I answered immediately.
"Dr. Harris?"
"Marcus, your mother missed her follow-up appointment yesterday. We've been trying to reach her."
My stomach dropped.
"She missed it?"
"Yes. We also need to discuss her recent blood pressure readings."
I looked toward the stairs.
"I'll bring her tomorrow."
"Please do. She sounded distressed when we spoke earlier this week."
I thanked the doctor and ended the call.
Then I turned to Nia.
"Did you know Mom missed her appointment?"
Nia looked uncomfortable.
"I think she mentioned something."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"You were busy."
"With what?"
"Work."
I remembered yesterday.
I had attended three meetings and come home at seven.
My mother had been unusually quiet during dinner.
Nia had said she was tired.
I walked upstairs immediately.
Mom was sitting on her bed, holding an old photograph of my father.
"Mom, why didn't you go to your doctor yesterday?"
She looked startled.
"Oh, sweetheart. I didn't want to bother you."
"I told you I'd drive you."
She twisted the edge of her handkerchief.
"Nia said you were too busy."
I froze.
"What?"
"She said you had an important meeting and that I shouldn't expect you to rearrange your life for every little thing."
I sat beside her.
"Mom, your health isn't a little thing."
Tears filled her eyes.
"I know you're a good son. I just don't want to become a burden."
I held her hand.
"Who told you that you were a burden?"
She stared at the photograph.
Then she whispered, "Nobody has to say it directly for you to understand."
My heart broke.
I thought the worst part of that day had already happened.
I was wrong.
As I helped Mom unpack her suitcase, a folded white envelope slipped from between two sweaters.
She reached for it quickly.
But I saw the words printed across the front.
FINAL NOTICE.
The return address belonged to a storage company.
"Mom, what's this?"
Her face drained of color.
"Please, Marcus. It's nothing."
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a receipt for a rented storage unit.
The account holder was my mother.
But the payment card belonged to my wife.
And the rental agreement had been signed almost two months earlier.
Long before Diane moved in.
Long before Nia claimed there wasn't enough room.
I looked at Mom.
"Why does Nia have a storage unit for your belongings?"
My mother began shaking.
"Because she told me something, Marcus."
"What did she tell you?"
May you like
She covered her mouth.
"She said you had already agreed to send me away."
