Or a shit ton of free samples of stuff they’d never tried before.
“So what’s the solution?”
Linc shrugged. “Depends. Do you want to keep the store?”
No.
“I’m not sure. I feel like I should.”
“Why? For Grandma and Papa? For Dad?”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
“You don’t need the money. I mean … Dad had really good life insurance. Great investments. The house is paid off. You could get a job if you wanted to do something else for some extra money. You could move to Arizona. Bella graduates in the spring. What’s keeping you in Epperly?”
“Your grandparents.” Craig’s closest sibling was a twelve-hour drive from Epperly.
“Should they really be your responsibility?”
Again … another emotional dilemma. Not only was I not raised to be mean and vindictive, I was raised to care for those who needed help. It was part of my upbringing at home as well as in church.
“They have two other children.”
I shook my head. “They’ll put them in a home, just like your dad wanted to do.”
“So?”
“So?” I choked on my disbelief. “They’re still okay, Linc. They have their home and some dignity left. They don’t need help bathing. They don’t need adult diapers. They can cook some of their own meals. They just need a little help with the more physical tasks. Are you going to throw me into a nursing home the second I start to get arthritis? Bad knees? Pain in a hip? Is that what’s around the corner for me? I brought you into this world, fed you, changed your diapers, taught you how to speak, kissed your wounds, made sure you had everything you needed, but when I need my lawn mowed or snow shoveled … you’re going to put me in a home?”
“Mom, if I’m not living in Epperly … if none of your children are living in Epperly … then what are we supposed to do? Move here to mow your lawn?”
“I don’t know, Linc. Maybe move me closer to you so you can help me out.”
“So we … draw straws to see who gets to take care of Mom?”
Oh. My. Gosh.
He said that. And I know he didn’t mean it to sound so harsh, like such an inconceivable burden … like the opposite of winning the lottery. But it did. It sounded pretty awful.
“No. I would never want to burden any of you. I will happily retire to a ten-by-ten room, shit myself all day, stare out a window and contemplate where the heck I went wrong in raising my kids.”
“Not cool, Mom.” Linc shook his head. “And you’re forty-two. Why are you even talking about something that won’t be an issue for many years? And how do you know you won’t find someone and decide to remarry?”
“I don’t want to remarry.”
“You’re just saying that because Dad hasn’t been gone that long. You can’t predict the future. Unexpected things happen.”
I had so much to say about that, but it wasn’t something I wanted to share with my young adult child who had his whole life ahead of him.
Views changed.
Needs changed.
Happiness shifted into new directions.
I wasn’t afraid of growing old and being lonely. I was afraid of following an expected protocol, making decisions based on societal expectations.
Crap …
I was making Kael’s case.
“You’re right. I don’t know what the future holds.”
“Promise me you’ll talk to Mel and Jeremy. Maybe they’d be willing to move Grandma and Papa closer to them.”
I knew Craig’s siblings wouldn’t be on board with that. Mel just made partner at a law firm in Miami. And Jeremy’s marriage was on the rocks because he cheated on his wife a few months after Craig’s death. He was kind enough to actually blame it on Craig—the stress of it. In a roundabout way, I was to blame for Jeremy’s infidelity.
“Okay,” I said through a fake smile. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Thank you.” He sighed. “I’m taking off. I think you can handle the holiday rush on your own.”
“Yeah … shit!” I grimaced. “Shoot … you know what I mean.” I scrambled past him. “Stay here. I have to run a quick errand.”
“Where are you going?”
I ran out the door, no jacket, no regard for Bella calling my name as well.
“Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry. Pardon me.” I zigzagged my way through the Black Friday crowd congesting the square while shooting off a text to Amie: Abort!
Grabby hands kept me from getting there in a timely manner, like Pam from my grief group, stopping me by snagging my sleeve.