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“The second important thing to remember is that pride only causes problems in a relationship. It makes you more easily offended. ‘But she did that and it hurt my feelings!’” Harold’s voice is rising, and he’s almost acting out what he’s saying. I would feel embarrassed if any other patrons were still here.
“Pride also makes it hard to forgive because you feel like it’s not fair that you have to forgive someone’s mistakes over and over again. You feel like you shouldn’t have to forgive that person’s mistakes,” he repeats himself. “It hurt you too much. Get rid of that pride, and you’ll find yourself a happier man.”
Harold smacks the counter, and I jump.
“That’s all I’ve got for you, Jay, but keep it in mind. I need to get home.”
Harold turns and shuffles toward the door, and I watch him go with something like relief. My shoulders sag when he’s gone and the chiming bell is the only indication that he was ever here.
Even though the bar floor is mostly clean, I grab the broom anyway and sweep at it, thinking about Violet and the way she left. Something inside me says I should reach out.
I take my phone out of my pocket and contemplate the words I could write for a long time.
You left kind of fast. Hope you’re okay.
Harold’s words run through my head as I type out the message.
I don’t know if I should take relationship advice from someone who has been divorced and widowed, but here I am, turning it over and over in my mind. I don’t think I’m prideful, but I definitely don’t talk about feelings. Like ever. Is that something Violet needs?
Harold has left me wondering about what I could be doing wrong.
CHAPTER 18
VIOLET
Isit next to my mother’s bed, holding her hand and trying not to see all of the tubes that run in and out of her. There’s an IV needle in her arm, a monitor attached to her wrist that tells her heart rate, and a catheter because she is incapable of getting out of bed right now.
My mother, once so strong and independent, looks so small and frail in the hospital bed. Her leg is encased in a bulky cast, elevated on a pillow to reduce swelling. I can’t stop looking at all the parts of her that have changed since I left for my shift. Was that this evening or is it already tomorrow?
Time seems immobile here as we hang suspended in these moments of suffering. The doctors got her leg set quickly and gave her a quick check over, but they are clearly tired and ready to sleep themselves. After her last check a few minutes ago, the nurse informed us that my mom is stable and that someone will come in around five a.m. to make sure nothing changed during the night.
Since then, the lights have been turned off except for a lamp beside my mom’s bed. I know that I should go lie down on the couch, but there’s a part of me that’s afraid that something could happen if I stop watching her. If I close my eyes and pass out, she might need me, and I won’t respond.
My mother stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open. "Violet," she says weakly, squeezing my hand. "You should get some sleep. I’m fine here."
But my mom is anything but fine. This fall, I learned right after the surgery, was because she wanted to put something in the attic. She pulled down the ladder, which is rickety as all hell. I don’t even feel comfortable climbing that thing. But whatever my mother wanted to put up there was so important that she couldn’t just wait for me.
Now, we’re here. And my mother has lost a good bit of her independence. It’s her right leg, which means she won’t be able to drive for at least the time she is in a cast. I came to Maplewood to be here for my mother, and as furious as I am that she didn’t just wait for me to help her, I’m glad that this happened while I’m in town.
“I can’t leave you, Mom.” I glance over at the couch again. A nurse brought me a pillow and blanket, but the blanket is still folded neatly on one side of the couch.
She sighs, her face lined with pain and worry. "I can’t believe I fell. Everything happened so fast."
"It’s not your fault.” I want to scold her for thinking she could get to the attic without help, but she’s probably suffered enough tonight. “Accidents happen. The doctors said you’ll heal, but it’s going to take some time." She’s not as young as she used to be, and even though she’s still closer to sixty than seventy, she has to be more careful.
She looks down at her immobilized leg, tears welling up in her eyes. "They said I won’t ever be able to walk the same again. Even when I do heal, I won’t have the same speed or strength. At my age, six weeks without exercise atrophies the muscles too quickly. I feel like the rest of my life is being taken from me.”
“Mom! Don’t say that. It’s not that bad. We’ll get you back on your feet. Maybe you won’t walk the same again, but the doctor didn’t say you wouldn’t walk. Maybe it means you have to use a cane, but…”
“A cane!” My mother is getting upset by this conversation, and I think it’s time to put it away until morning.
It also dawns on me that it’s not the injury that’s upsetting her, not really. It’s that we’re in an emergency and for the first time in her adult life, Dad isn’t here for her. She feels just as alone as I do.
My eyes burn at the realization, but I squeeze her hand tighter, feeling her papery, cold skin between my fingers. "We’ll get through this together. We’ll find a way to manage. I’ll be here to help you every step of the way. Right now, you’re right. We both need some sleep. Let’s get some rest."
Her eyes soften as she gazes at me. "You’re such a good daughter, Violet. I’m so sorry to be such a burden."
I shake my head, not liking that my mother is referring to herself that way. "Don’t say that. You’re not a burden. You’ve always taken care of me, and now it’s my turn to take care of you."
