Page 18 of Gone Tonight
I could see it in her eyes, the moment she nabbed that flyaway detail and clutched it like a triumphant baseball outfielder.
She is voraciously hungry for more of my story.
I may have to dole out a few more details, but I need to be more careful than I’ve ever been before. I really don’t want to have to slice open another finger to divert her attention again.
I reach for the bottle of lotion on my nightstand and rub some intomy forearm, my fingertips lightly brushing over the old, slightly shiny patch of scar tissue between my left wrist and elbow.
Just as I start to pull down my covers, there’s a knock on my door.
For a moment I consider jumping into bed and pretending to be asleep. But Catherine knows I don’t sleep much. It was one of the things I taught myself to do without as a single mom. Catherine knocks again and cracks the door. “Mom?”
“Come on in.”
“Didn’t you say you were going to do laundry tonight?”
“Oops. I forgot.”
Those last two words hang heavily between us for a moment.
“I wanted to talk to you about scheduling an MRI and a PET scan.”
MRIs can rule out things like brain tumors, and PET scans can help diagnose Alzheimer’s. Dr. Chen suggested I get both, but I figured Catherine and I were on the same page: We didn’t need more tests.
I take another sip of beer before I answer.
“What good would that do?”
“What if it is something else? Something that can be cured?”
I knew these conversations with Catherine would be the hardest things I’ve ever done.
“My blood tests were clean. I had a mammogram two months ago and a full checkup two weeks ago. Dr. Chen believes it’s Alzheimer’s. My family history is diagnosis enough.”
“But—”
You know how you can heat water slowly in a pan on the stove, or how there’s an instant hot tap in some fancy kitchens?
My temper is of the instant hot variety.
“Do not push me, Catherine Sterling. Those scans will cost us thousands of dollars. Money we don’t have! You think I want to battle our insurance company like I did when you were hospitalized with mono, then have to work double shifts for months to pay off the bill?You think I want more doctors picking at me and telling me there’s nothing they can do?”
She’s retreating, backing toward the door.
Sometimes anger has its uses.
The thing is, I’m not really angry at Catherine right now. I’m filled with rage at myself.
Rotten genes are programming me. I inherited them from my mother and she from hers. Fury seems to be the legacy passed down to the women in our family.
“I’m sorry.” I exhale, long and slow. “It’s been a day.”
She nods. “Understatement.”
“Let’s give this a little time before we make any decisions, okay?”
Catherine hesitates, then nods again. “Good night, Mama.”
She hasn’t called me that in years. I’m glad she closes the door quickly because I can’t hold back my tears any longer.
