Page 100 of Bottles & Blades
And a fucking home with a caregiver who’s like Nurse Ratched.
Another sniff, but I see the understanding in her eyes, so I straighten and return my focus to Tiff, who’s now speaking to Haley, the woman in charge of the home care company Tiff’s employed. I like Haley—she’s both no-nonsense and compassionate—and as I move by Diego and the nurse who’s come in to help him out of his chair so he can use the bathroom and get ready for bed, I hear the tail end of her and Tiff’s conversation.
“…I’ll figure out a way to get you the payment for the difference by the end of the week,” Tiff is saying. “Will that work for you?”
Haley sighs. “I know that you’ve been working really hard to make this work, but if it’s already a struggle, I’m worried we need to think about contingencies. Their care—especially your mother’s as the dementia gets worse—is going to get more expensive. We have to take precautions with violent patients?—”
“She’s not exactly violent,” Tiff murmurs. “She’s just an angry woman and?—”
Haley settles her hand on Tiff’s arm. “I’d accept that a little more easily if you didn’t have scratches on your face,” she says gently.
Tiff closes her eyes, defeat sliding through her expression.
And I’ve had enough of standing back and letting Tiff handle this.
I move to her side, loop my arm around her waist, and turn to Haley. “If money were no object, what type of care would you implement here?”
Tiff goes stiff as a board beside me.
Haley’s eyes go wide, but my instincts are rewarded because I don’t see dollar signs flashing in the hazel depths. Instead, I see consideration. Thoughtfulness. “Honestly, for the level of care they need, it might be cheaper to move them to a facility—Tiff wouldn’t have to worry about the housework and meals. She could just focus on keeping them healthy and safe. But that’s not what Roberta and Diego—and Tiff—want, so short of Tiff moving back in here to alleviate some of the pressure, I’d suggest twenty-four hour nursing paired with memory care services for Roberta. Occupational therapy, some retrofitting of the house to make both of their daily activities easier, and someone to take care of the day-to-day tasks that Tiff has been handling—grocery shopping, mowing the lawn, making sure the house is running efficiently.”
Tiff opens her mouth. “I?—”
I cut her off. I know it’s a bit of a dick move but I do it anyway.
“All of that makes sense,” I tell Haley, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a business card. “Let’s do it.”
Tiff goes even stiffer.
“This is the direct line for my assistant,” I say, passing her the card before Tiff can protest. “She’ll help you set up monthly invoicing and payments. I let her know to expect your call.”
Haley’s eyes are wide as she glances between Tiff and me.
Then, proving my instincts are right (and she’s also very smart and capable, along with no-nonsense and compassionate), she nods, pockets the card, and says, “I’ll start making some calls to get everything set up.”
She slips away, phone lifting to her ear.
“What else do you need to do here tonight?” I ask Tiff softly.
“I need to stay until they’re in bed.” She glances up at me and her expression is filled with rage. “You can go.”
“Buttercup.”
Hot brown eyes. A lush mouth pressed flat. “Youshouldgo,” she hisses.
“Baby—”
“You’ve overstepped,” she snaps. “Big time.”
“I just wanted?—”
“They’remyparents.” Her rage is intense and quiet, but obvious. So, knowing that her mother is likely soaking up every minute of her being upset, I take her arm and draw her into the kitchen.
“I know they’re your parents, buttercup,” I say quietly.
“Itake care of them.” She slaps a hand against her chest, just above her heart.“Ido it.”
“Yeah, you’vebeendoing it, baby.” I step closer, trapping her hand between us, capturing her other when she reaches up and tries to push me away. “You’ve been dealing with the shit life dishes out on your own for far too long.”
