Worth the Trouble(24)

Grabbing steel wool, he gently smoothed out the rough patches created by the prior application of resin. Once he’d finished, he wiped the entire piece clean with a tack cloth. Using a clean brush, he applied another liberal coat of resin, working slowly and deliberately in small sections then gradually wiping off the excess with a clean cloth. Occasionally he checked on his mother via the monitor.

During this quiet time, his mind wandered. He recalled images of Cat in her hotel room, flirting with him in her underwear, testing his self-discipline. Was it possible she regretted blowing him off last year? Had she, like him, wasted more than one night since then wondering what might’ve happened if she’d given him a chance?

But then reality crashed into his daydreams like a wrecking ball. He couldn’t picture her being happy with burgers and beer in his backyard any more than he could see himself hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Frankly, that part of her life didn’t appeal to him much. Perhaps she had done him a favor, but he might’ve preferred a chance to find out on his own.

He stepped back to double-check the application and admire his work. After wiping his hands, he shut off the lights, and locked the doors.

For the time being, his dream of going into business for himself would remain just that—a dream.

Hank washed his hands in the kitchen sink before collapsing on the sofa to watch the Yankees game. He’d dozed off until his mother tottered through the room with her walker. She stopped and stared at the television, blinking in confusion.

The light from the television screen backlit her thin silhouette, so feeble a whisper could blow her over. Hank rarely noticed the changes in her physical appearance on a day-to-day basis. However, being away, even for thirty-six hours, called attention to those differences.

Although only in her late fifties, she looked at least seventy. Her cheeks hung from her slack jaw. Green eyes that once danced with laughter and flashed with ire now seemed vacant and lost. Her platinum blond hair had thinned and morphed into a silvery-white color.

In a few short years, she’d utterly changed. Even her skin tone had grayed, probably as a result of her daily medication.

He spoke in hushed tones to avoid startling her.

“Hey, Mom. I’m home.” Hank rose from the sofa, hands outstretched and open, and calmly approached her. “Come sit.”

She looked suspicious, but took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the couch. Once he settled her, he sat on the coffee table and clasped her hand in his.

“Are you hungry?” He continued speaking softly. “Can I fix you something to eat?”

“Rick?” she asked.

Rick was his father’s name—a man who’d been dead for nearly thirteen years. The misnomer stung, even though Hank knew she had no idea what she was saying.

He couldn’t help it. Not being recognized by his own mother knocked him off balance each and every time. She’d been the person who’d loved him the most throughout his life. How could she not know him anymore?

“He’s not here, Mom.” He held her gaze but could tell she wasn’t computing. “Let me make you a cup of tea, okay? You wait right here.”

Hank hustled to the kitchen and microwaved two cups of decaffeinated Earl Grey. While it cooled, he set Spotify to Fleetwood Mac—her old favorite—and hummed along to the tune of “Dreams” while adding sugar and cream to the teacups. Returning to the living room, he seated himself on the coffee table once more and handed her a cup.

His mother held it with one hand, sniffing it before sticking her pointer finger into her beverage. She pulled it out and sucked on it then repeated the gesture. Hank stopped her third attempt and then lifted his cup to his lips and drank, modeling the motion twice before she mimicked him.

While she drank, he shared the events of his weekend. He talked about Vivi and David, described the red-roofed hotel’s cupola and its ocean views, and told her about the pretty girls.

She listened out of habit more than anything else. Hank couldn’t be sure how much she understood, or if she even recognized him as her son at any point during the conversation. He merely hoped talking to her as if things were normal helped keep her a little bit connected.

As he sat with his own thoughts about the weekend, he laughed to himself. Time spent considering a relationship with Amy, Cat, or any woman, was a pointless waste of energy. He had neither the free time nor the money to date anyone, least of all someone like Cat. He didn’t even have any privacy.

Between his mother and Jenny, it would be years before he’d enjoy his first real taste of freedom.

His mother’s choked cough snapped him from his musings. He looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat from shame for even daydreaming about the small measure of relief he’d experience at the expense of his mother’s life.