“It makes sense, Mom,” he said.
“You’ll be close to the doctors, and we can help.”
For a little while, I believed we were fortunate.
Then the help began flowing in only one direction.
I prepared meals.
I cleaned.
I drove Vanessa to appointments when she didn’t want to take her own car.
I watered her plants while she traveled.
I organized their pantry, accepted deliveries, ironed Jared’s shirts, and cared for Thomas through the most agonizing months of his illness.
When the visiting nurse came, I made coffee for everyone.
When Thomas was sick during the night, I was the one who stayed awake.
Vanessa occasionally appeared in the doorway wearing silk pajamas.
“Could you keep it down?” she’d ask.
“I have an early Pilates class.”
I would apologize.
Even now, remembering those apologies makes my stomach tighten.
Thomas noticed more than I realized.
Sometimes he would watch me carry a laundry basket down the hallway, his expression unreadable.
