Hot SEAL, Cold Feet - Becca Jameson Page 0,40
he entered.
Every time he came, his mother was smaller and frailer. Today was no exception. He pulled a chair up to her side and sat close, reaching for her hand. As he clasped it, she didn’t move or acknowledge him. She didn’t wake up. The only thing about her that suggested she was still alive was the rise and fall of her chest and the warmth of her hand.
“Mom, it’s me. Tucker. I’m here. I know you’re tired. You just rest. I’m gonna sit and talk to you for a while.”
She didn’t flinch. No recognition that anyone was speaking or touching her. She’d been like this for a few weeks now, so he wasn’t surprised. But it was still difficult. Every time he walked through the door, he prayed by some miracle he would find her improved. Awake. Sitting up. Smiling. Even if she didn’t recognize him, it would be better than this stage.
He hated this disease with every bone in his body. He hated that his mother had been alone when she was diagnosed and he’d been halfway around the world fighting in a war. He hated that by the time his tour had ended and he’d returned to his childhood home to care for her, she’d declined so rapidly she was only a shell of herself.
Tuck had quickly learned that full-time care in a respectable nursing home was expensive. His mother had no savings and nothing to fall back on. So, he’d sold his childhood home and had been blowing through every dime of the proceeds for the last six months.
She was in the final stages, but the doctors said it could be weeks or months or even longer, depending on how hard her body fought. He hated that for her too. She wouldn’t want to live like this.
He gave her hand a squeeze. “I met someone.” He smiled as his mind filled with visions of Jodi. “You’d love her, Mom. She’s kind and sweet and cute and funny and smart and hardworking and so many other things.”
He’d never once told his mother about the reality show or Katia, not wanting her to know what a bonehead he’d been to get more money. She would have told him not to do it. To leave her in a more economical place. She would have cried if she’d known even half of what he’d gone through to ensure she died with dignity and respect.
The money from selling her house would only last a little longer, but now he would have the thirty thousand he’d gotten three months ago and another fifty thousand tomorrow to cover her expenses. If he was careful, he could make it last a long time.
Granted, he needed an apartment, and he needed it fast. He had no place to stay starting tonight, in fact. He hadn’t even gotten a hotel yet. He would secure something affordable for a few weeks while he looked at apartments. If it weren’t for Jodi, he would aim low, but now… Now he wanted someplace she wouldn’t be appalled to live in.
Tuck was serious about the fact that he didn’t intend to spend another night away from Jodi. He also wasn’t going to sleep in the same small apartment as her dad. That meant he needed to find a hotel for the short term and an apartment for the long term. He hadn’t had a single moment to deal with either of those things.
He smiled again as he thought about how Jodi would respond to his ideas. “She’s so practical, Mom. I’m going to find a place where we can live, but I know she won’t care. She’ll probably say we don’t even need a couch or a bedframe. I bet she’d go months with nothing but a folding chair and a mattress on the floor without saying a word. I’ve never met anyone who cared so little about material things.”
He hadn’t thought much about that aspect of her yet, but he knew it was true. She didn’t wear fancy clothes or shoes or makeup or hair products. He’d only been upstairs and seen her apartment once, but he remembered it being simple. Granted, she had her own financial problems that kept her from buying anything frivolous, but he doubted she would ever do so even if she had a million dollars.
Tuck glanced at his mother’s hair. It was gray now. Not the nearly black pin-straight hair he remembered from his childhood. “You would be so envious of Jodi’s hair, Mom.