“Need some help?” I ask, turning on the faucet and washing my hands. She smiles at me.
“It’s been a while since you helped me in the kitchen,” she says with a laugh and hands me a knife. “I remember when you were a little boy. After you’d finish working on the old engine your dad let you tinker with, you’d come in here, dirt and oil all over you, and ask to help cook,” she jokes, starting to peel a new batch of potatoes. I laugh at the memory. I love both my parents. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for either of them. When I found out she had cancer, it was like the wind was knocked out of me—a bad joke.
Before that, my blackouts had been worse than ever. Most of the time, they’d last weeks instead of days, sometimes months. I was losing my mind; the sessions weren't helping. The medication only made me depressed. Then with all of that, my mom gets diagnosed with stage three cancer. I thought that was the worst thing that could happen to us, but somehow it was a blessing in disguise. After that, my blackouts and headaches were practically nonexistent. I met Jenna, who helped me stay sane during a time I thought I would lose my mom, and less than eight months later, my mom was cancer-free.
“Mom,” I say quietly.
“Honey, I am happy for you. I am,” she says, her voice perky, but the expression on her face seems forced. I touch her shoulders and turn her towards me. She lets out a small breath and holds both my arms.
“Tell me the truth?” She’s been so strong through everything. There were days when I asked how she was doing, and I knew they were hell for her, but she kept up her smile and never complained. She never let us know how much pain she was in. Her eyes meet mine briefly before they find the floor.
“Please,” I ask again, giving her my best puppy dog eyes, and she hugs me.
“I want you to be happy, Christopher. I want nothing more in this world than for you to be happy,” she says, and her voice breaks. I feel tears wet my shirt, and she walks a few steps away from me.
“Mom, you’re scaring me now,” I chuckle, but my heart is speeding up... I thought she’d cry because she was happy, not this. My stomach drops when I realize what could be causing this. I put my arm around her, lead her to the kitchen table, and sit beside her. She takes a Kleenex and dabs her eyes.
“You’re not...you’re not sick again are you, Mom?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
“Oh no, honey! I’m so sorry to make you even think that,” she shakes her head vehemently. I let out a big sigh of relief as she squeezes my hand.
“I just—things have been going so well, and I know you care a lot about Jenna,” she says, a small smile appearing, but her eyes avoid mine. “Are you ready? Really ready?” she asks, her eyes finding mine again. Her gaze is so intense I feel like she’s trying to see inside of me.
“I asked myself this over a thousand times already, Mom,” I reveal with a laugh. “Everything you’re thinking about, I’ve probably thought it five times over. The thing is, I don’t think there is ever going to be a time where I know that I’m cured from this—if I’ll ever be,” I say honestly. Her lips tighten, and she nods her head.
“If not now, when? I’m tired of being afraid to live my life because of what may happen,” I tell her. “I never know when these blackouts will happen. But for now, things have been good. In a few months it will be almost two years since I had the last one. It was hell, but I’ve finally finished school. I have an amazing woman who knows about my condition, and doesn't think I'm a weirdo, or some sad puppy that needs to be taken care of. And, you’re doing better.” I finally see a genuine smile start to appear on her face even though her eyes are still watery. “I want to get married, maybe get you some grandkids,” I give her a playful nudge. I thought that’d make her laugh, only it doesn’t. Instead, she looks anguished, maybe even a little guilty, but that can’t be right. She won’t even look at me as she gets up from the table and starts to pace the floor.
“Mom, what is it?” I stand up and walk towards her. Something’s wrong. She finally stops and looks at me.
“There’s something we haven—”she stops mid-sentence as my dad comes through the door with a bottle of champagne in hand. His smile is wide as he eyes the chilled bottle. When his gaze finds us, his expression turns grim.
“What’s going on?” I look at my mom and then at him. “You haven’t what, Mom?” I ask her again, glancing at my dad.
“What haven’t we done?” he asks, his tone is low. My mom glares at him, and that awkward silence has returned, the tension so thick I could choke on it.
“What?” I ask more firmly, causing their stare-down to end, and they both turn to look at me. My mom’s eyes dart away from me but my dad’s eyes stare straight into mine.
“Dexter Sr. is here in Madison,” he says abruptly. The grandfather from hell. Whenever he comes here, it’s usually bad news for the town. He’s either shutting something down or opening something that will destroy someone else’s lively hood. Most of the people here tend to forget our family’s association with the Crestfields, but their presence always serves as a reminder. My mom never liked him, but for her to be this upset...
“Is that it, Mom? Is that what’s been bothering you?” I ask, a little relieved. My gut says it’s something else, especially when I notice her lips tighten.
“Gwen, today everyone else’s problems aren’t our concern. This day is about Chris. We’re celebrating the step he’s made to marry the woman he loves. Let’s not ruin this day for our son,” my dad says firmly. There’s something off about this.
“Mom, what is this really about?” I don’t believe Dexter’s visit is causing this type of tension. She looks from me to my Dad, then clears her throat.
“I heard through the grapevine that your grandfather is eying the property Kreuk Place is on,” she says with a sigh.
I immediately frown. Kreuk Place is the community center my mom and I have been working at for the past year. It not only helps people in our town but neighboring towns, too. It has a free clinic, gym, and daycare center. Only a monster would even think of displacing it. It’s a landmark. I want to say, “He can’t do that!” But the Crestfields can do almost anything.
“No. That's bull!”
“It’s just a rumor, but we all know how those start,” my dad says, a frown on his face.
“I heard from Ms. Jaber’s daughter, that Dexter Jr.’s in town. She was just hired as one of the groundskeepers. He’s leaving this evening, supposedly,” she mumbles. The community center helped my mom and me through some of the toughest times in our lives. It’s a cornerstone of the community.
I look at my watch. I have a couple of hours before Jenna and her parents get here for dinner.
“I’m going to talk to him before he leaves,” I say, grabbing my keys off the counter. “I’ll be back in enough time to change before Jenna and her parents get here,” I say over my shoulder, and rush out of the front door. I climb into my truck and head towards the one person who can stop this before it gets going. Dexter Jr.