Page 6 of Forbidden Hearts

Chapter 3

Alex

“Alex, is that you?” a frail voice answers the door.

“Yes, Mom, it’s me,” I say. I place the grocery bags on the floor and cup my face against the screen door. It’s dark inside the house, so I can’t see where she is.

“Come on in, honey, the door’s open.”

I groan. “Mom, you know how I feel about you leaving the door unlocked,” I say as I grab the bags and walk inside. I lock the screen door behind me. “This isn’t exactly the safest neighborhood in town.”

Mom stands in the middle of the living room, leaning against the arm of a couch. The way she stands tells me her hip isn’t feeling any better.

“Oh, Alex. You know I’m having trouble walking these days. I left it open because it’s Sunday. I knew you’d be coming.”

“I know, but still,” I say. “I don’t mind waiting at the door for a few minutes.”

“It’s just that you have a long drive over here. I don’t want you to wait in the hot sun for another ten minutes,” she says.

“It’s fine, Mom. Don’t worry about me,” I insist. I walk over to the kitchen and unbag her groceries and the pre-made meals I cooked for her. I put the meals and most of the groceries in the fridge, leaving only a few apples and bananas out on the table.

Every weekend is the same. I spend Saturdays buying her groceries and cooking her meals for the week, and then on Sundays, I deliver them to her. And every weekend, we have the same conversation about the front door being unlocked.

“Have you been taking your medication?” I ask her.

“I have,” she says, popping into the kitchen. “I’ve also been doing the stretches the doctor recommended. They seem to work.”

“That’s good,” I say, arranging the last of the groceries in the fridge. “You know, San Marquez has pretty good physical therapists.”

“I’m fine right here,” she says, slowly inching toward the kitchen table. “Dave is taking good care of me.”

Dave, or David, is the elderly doctor she’s been going to since she was a little girl. As much as I respect him, the man is the only doctor in Harling, and he is ancient. I don’t understand how he has the energy to carry out his workload and adequately look after all his patients, Mom included.

I have tried to get her to see younger specialists who keep up with the latest research on multiple sclerosis, but she always refuses. She says the long drive tires her out, but I think she just doesn’t want to feel like a burden.

She’s always been that way. When I was little, she used to power through sickness in silence, always keeping a poker facebecause we rarely had money for a doctor’s visit, and she didn’t want to worry me or Dad.

When the MS showed up two years ago, just as I was starting my second year at TCU, I asked her to move to San Marquez with me. I was worried something would happen to her and nobody would be around to take care of her.

But being the stubborn woman that she is, she refused. She said having her around would distract me from my studies.

Since she wouldn’t move in with me, I suggested I would move back in with her. San Marquez is only an hour away, so the drive isn’t too big of a deal, especially when I can pop in an audiobook on the way to and from school. But she refused that as well.

So we compromised. I visit Mom every weekend and bring her food and anything else she needs. It took her a few weeks to get used to this new arrangement, but it’s been working so far.

“Mom, isn’t it kind of hot in here?” I ask, realizing I’m still sweating from the heat. “Is your AC not working?”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice. It’s not hot for me,” she says. Her hair is stuck to the sweat on her forehead and the side of her face, so I know she’s lying.

“Mom,”I say. I walk over to the small AC window unit and turn it on. The house is old and doesn’t have central air conditioning, like most houses in this small town. Every room has a small AC window unit, though it seems they rarely get used. “Don’t worry about the electric bill, I’ll pay it. This heat is not good for you.”

She nods and sits at the kitchen table. Without skipping a beat, she changes the subject. “How is school going, honey?”

“Good,” I say, standing by the AC to cool off. “Summer classes ended last week. The fall semester starts in a few days.”

“You should’ve taken a break instead of getting classes back to back,” she says, peeling a banana.

“I don’t mind the classes,” I say. “They keep me busy.”