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When I walked out into the lobby, Mom was already finished with the receptionist. She gave me an exasperated look, but said nothing as we made our way back to the car. I let a couple minutes tick by in tense silence while I drove.
“The doctor seems to think air quality is an issue. Do you think if we—”
“Don’t. Stop it,” she cut me off. “Don’t start in on me again. I’ll get it taken care of.”
“Don’t you think if someone helped, it might go a little easier?”
“No, I don’t think it would go easier. I don’t want some stranger in my house going through my things. Ain’t any of their goddamn business.”
I sighed, blinking back the tears that burned the edges of my eyes. Always rigid.
Just before we pulled into the driveway, Mom put her hand on my knee. “I’m just scared,” she said.
“I know it’s hard, but your life and health could improve. Just let me call someone to come talk to you.”
She took a deep breath, but coughed it back out. “Okay.”
“About the car?”
Mom cleared her throat and tried to catch her breath. “I lost the keys months back. That’s the truth. I’ll help you look. If you find ‘em, take the car.”
The trek inside was a lot tougher than it used to be, and I hoped Mom noticed enough to make a change. I knew she was as embarrassed as she was defensive. Hoarding was a mental disorder; a very physical one, but still a mental disorder. She needed help to get on a better path before it was too late.
When I got the door closed behind us, I looked around the main floor. The keys to my car were in the house somewhere, and if I found them, I found freedom. Getting that freedom would be like finding a needle in a haystack factory. I sighed and slung a hand onto my hip.
"Where did you usually have the car keys?"
"If they were where I usually put them, they wouldn't be lost." Mom snapped.
I sighed loudly as an answer. But then she coughed again, and guilt ate its way through my annoyance.
"I'm sorry for being so defensive, Lia. The keys are down here. I think in the kitchen or dining room."
I navigated the thin, jagged walkway to the dining room with her and got her setup on the sofa before picking my way to the kitchen. Once there, I started moving stacks of pots, pans, mail, and other miscellaneous stuff. I listened hard for the keys with every item I touched, but nothing got my attention.
The weight of my other obligations pressed at my back. I couldn't spend all afternoon here; I'd fall further behind with work. I hadn't checked my email or phone at all today, and I had a feeling Derrick expected prompt correspondence, even on the weekend.
I rearranged and shifted clutter in the kitchen for another half an hour while Mom napped. The emotional outbursts took it out of her, so she couldn't help me search. We were nowhere near close, and our friction-filled interactions were exhausting even for me.
I guess the car wasn't to be.
I gave up the search. This was going nowhere. I had to tell Mom I needed to go. Leaning down, I squeezed her shoulder to wake her as gently as I could. Her eyes cracked open, and she met my soft stare.
"I'm gonna get this taken care of, Lia. I'm sorry."
"I'm taking off, Mom. Work is piling up."
"You find the keys?"
I shook my head, my lips a thin line. "I'll have to order replacements from the dealership."
She nodded and settled back into the sofa. "Okay. See you next time, then."
"Love you."
"Uh-huh," she said, her eyes already closed.
I rolled my eyes as I worked my way out of the dining room toward the front door.
