Page 82 of The Cowboy and the Baby

I waited to see if she’d ask about me, about Cora, but she just rolled her lips and looked elsewhere.

“Cora and I are still in Wyoming,” I rushed to say, watching carefully for any sign of interest. She nodded rapidly, her jaw shifting side to side. The facial tics sent chills through my body, and I had to forcibly keep myself in the moment and not sink into memories best left to darkness.

“Cora is doing great,” I continued, because I didn’t know what else to say. “She’s an artist. She found a man named Hawk whom she really loves. They’ll probably be married soon, and I like him.”

The background voice, whom I recognized as Pastor Mike, spoke again, this time closer. Mom hummed, head tilting side to side as if she were on a rollercoaster, and said, “Mmm hmmm.”

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Was she listening? A small voice asked, Could she ever?

My breath came in rapid, shallow pants. I thought I wanted to speak to her again—and I did—but I wasn’t ready to experience her sliding focus, her browbeaten expression. This was, and wasn’t, Mom. The one I knew before Cora came, before our father left, before the world tipped utterly upside down and I lost mom into the mental hallways from which I never managed to reclaim her. No matter how hard I worked, no matter how much responsibility I bore.

“I’m in Florida,” she said, almost a whisper. She didn’t look at me for more than a second, but even that felt like a grace. A good sign. Last time I’d seen her all those years ago, she hadn’t known me at all. I could see it in her eyes at the time.

“Do you like it in Florida?”

“Hmmm . . .”

She started to rock back and forth, which shook the camera again. Her voice dropped into a whisper.

“It’s the beach. I like the beach. The waves, shhhhh.”

A hand appeared on the screen, rolling like waves. She almost dropped the phone, recovered, and then set it down. For a moment, I couldn’t tell what had happened. The phone appeared to be tipped toward the ceiling. Then I realized she had walked away.

Pastor Mike appeared on the screen, picked up the phone, and smiled. There was a reserved, wan caution in his eyes. Kindness filled it, too. An empathy that told me he understood how I must be feeling, at least a little.

“Cade. Nice to meet you over video this time. Sorry to surprise you like this, but she was asking for you. I thought we’d take advantage of the lucid moment, see if we could . . . engineer something.”

Pastor Mike was a friendly man with a fluffy white mustache, wispy hair behind his ears, and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched across thin shoulders. There was an inherent compassion in his eyes that matched his tone.

“She asked for me?”

“Yes, for Cade. Specifically, asked if she could speak to you. She had been conversing with me for minutes, and lucidly. I thought . . .” He trailed away, brow ruffling. “I apologize if that wasn’t the right move.”

“No, it was. Thank you. It was the right move.”

He seemed mollified by my quick affirmation. I ran a hand through my hair, my heart still racing. It felt like I’d run a mile.

“Thank you, Pastor Mike. What you did was very kind. I haven’t seen her in years. I’m not really sure . . . well. I’m not really sure what I expected. But knowing she remembered my name, even if she didn’t remember Cora. That . . . means a lot.”

“I think it may have been too much for her,” Mike admitted. “I think she recognized you and maybe it frightened her. She’s stepped outside now. But she’s wearing some of the clothes we purchased for her with the money you sent.”

“Thank you, again.”

“We’ll keep trying. Do you want me to call you if she asks for you?”

I hesitated.

Did I want to go through this twice? Not really. But Cora might want to see her, and I didn’t want to make that decision for Cora. So I said, “Yeah, give me a ring, and I’ll let Cora know. If there’s an opportunity, she may want to speak with her.”

Pastor Mike nodded, wished me well, and ended the call. I sat there, staring at the phone, until the space between my shoulder blades began to hurt. Sighing, I rubbed the heel of my hand over my eyes and set the phone down.

Mom’s voice floated into my mind, borne on a childhood wind, before it became the raspy, whispery filaments I just heard.

Cade, baby, sometimes I lose time. It’s like there are holes in my memories. But if I don’t remember you, or if I don’t seem right, just know I’m holding you in there. And everything will pass. It’ll be okay. I’ll come back, eventually.

Her moments of lost time happened when she almost became another person. Catatonic, after Cora was born. Sometimes vapid and giggly, other times serious and depressed. Waking up day to day, I never knew which Mom to expect. But I knew that I could always reach her by being there, picking up around the house, caring for Cora.

Eventually, Mom did come back . . . until she didn’t.