Page 68 of Gone Tonight
I exit the Memory Wing mindfully, aware that in my distraught state I’m more prone to making mistakes. I double-check that no residents are watching as I input the code—and after I step through the blue door, I test it to make sure the lock is engaged. I take these precautions even though it’s daytime and so many staff members are on the premises that it’s difficult for a wandering resident to go far.
Nighttime is a different story. There’s only a skeleton crew of a few nurses, a handful of aides, and one security guard in the whole building.
I ride the elevator down to the lobby and wave to the receptionist, then step out onto the green lawn and breathe in the moist, late spring air. Several Daily Assisted and Extended Care residents are on the porch playing cards, while others work in the gardens. A few are sitting in Adirondack chairs in the yard, and even though it’s seventy-five degrees, one has a blanket tucked over her lap. They’re all women, with thinning hair and weakening bodies and limited time. They probably all have children.
I wonder if they, too, have betrayed their daughters.
As I head toward the parking lot, I spot a walnut-colored old Cadillac pulling into one of the spaces closest to the building. I wait until the couple exits the car, then walk over to greet them.
Of all the patients I’ve worked with, George and June Campbell have a special place in my heart. Even today, in the mood I’m in, I can’t pass up a chance to say hello to them.
George and June moved to Sunrise after her stroke six years ago, shortly after I began working here. She needed access to physical and speech therapists to learn to walk again with a cane, and—in a bit of modesty I found sweet—she didn’t want her husband of fifty-two years to be the one helping her bathe and use the toilet.
I was one of the aides who helped June with her daily needs, which is why they refuse to let me call them by anything other than their first names. As June once said to me as I bathed her, “Sweetie, now that you’ve seen me in my full glory, I think we’ve moved past the ‘Mrs. Campbell’ stage.”
June is a type 1 diabetic, and she requires insulin injections several times a day, which I used to administer as part of her care. It’s how I got so comfortable giving shots.
Despite the hardships life has thrown at the Campbells, they are two of the most positive people I’ve ever met. Even though I no longer work with them directly, we’ve stayed in touch, and occasionally they call or text and invite me over for lunch or a drink.
“Catherine!” June cries when she sees me. She’s wearing a teal-blue dress and pearls, and George has on a button-down shirt and tan slacks. The two of them always dress elegantly, even when they’re just running errands.
I give them each a big hug.
“How many more days until you leave?” June asks.
It takes me a moment to remember. “A week,” I tell her. “But don’t worry, I’ll come by before I go.”
“We’re going to hold you to that,” George replies.
We chat for a moment, but I can tell June is tired, so I excuse myself and promise to visit them soon.
The moment I bid the Campbells goodbye, the brief respite their presence provided evaporates.
I take my phone out of my bag and check the time. It’s barely four o’clock, but that’s usually when happy hour kicks off. I don’t drink often, but right now there’s nothing I want more than a strong gin and tonic. And someone to share it with.
My mother doesn’t appear to be the person I believed she was. Maybe I was wrong about Ethan, too.
The truth is, ever since I learned my mom may have deliberately set him up, it has been hard to get Ethan out of my mind. I keep seeing him leaning over the bar, his biceps curving beneath his short-sleeved shirt.
My phone is already in my hand, so it takes only a few touches of the screen to dial his number.
He answers after the first ring. “Hey, you.”
“What are you up to?” I ask.
I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “Waiting for you to come over.”
A few hours later, I lazily roll over in bed and Ethan’s body responds, echoing my movements as he spoons me. My body feels heavy and relaxed. The combination of a couple of drinks, sex for the first time in far too many months, and a nap have chased away some of my tension.
I stretch out my arm and reach for my phone on the nightstand to check my messages. Two texts and a missed call, all from my mother. The first text came in right after I arrived at Ethan’s.How about we watch a movie tonight? You can pick which one.The second text arrived a few minutes ago, and the chime must have been what awoke me from my light sleep.Everything ok?
My mother probably knows where I am since I’m sure she haschecked my location. She must recognize this address from when I was dating Ethan.
Melanie’s words float back to me.Wow, you still share your location with your mom?
My mother bought me my first cell phone. She’s the one who set up the location-sharing system then. I never challenged it, just like I never really challenged anything else she did or told me.
The injustice of it all begins to boil inside me, erasing the fragile sense of peace brought on by cold gin and Ethan’s warm body. I’m twenty-four years old, yet my mother tries to constantly watch over and control me. I don’t know if I’m more upset with her for doing it or with myself for allowing it.
