Page 115 of Hidden Justice
She says, “I want to meet your mother.”
Not exactly where I thought this was going. “Okay. It’s just—”
She puts a finger against my lips. “Enough with the delays. I get it. But you’ve definitely met my family, and I’ve even met your grumpy dad—”
“Most awkward lunch ever.”
She laughs then stops herself. “I’m serious. I want to meet her.”
What can I say? She knows that I don’t even address Mom asMomanymore because it upsets her so much. She remembers me mostly as a boy, not a man. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod. “For you, Justice, anything.”
“I love you, Sandesh.”
“I love you, Justice.”
She grins as she squirms on top of me. “Oh, I can feel that.”
“Cocky,” I say, rolling on top of her.
She cries out and I maneuver myself so she’s under me and I’m pressed hard against her entrance.
“Pun intended.”
She laughs, lifts her lips, then kisses me until my head spins and my body rages.
I push inside her.
Fucking blessed.
* * *
By my standards,it’s still early morning, but Justice insisted. My hand tightens around hers as we walk up the stone stairs to the private nursing home where Mom lives. My heart picks up its pace. I want the two women I love most in this world to meet, but I can’t be sure Justice will get to meet Mom. Mom might be someone else today. Scratch that. She might besomewhereelse today.
“Don’t do that, Sandesh.”
I look over at Justice. Clothes casual, black jeans and a button-down top, hair pulled into a long ponytail, but her eyes are dead serious. “Do what?”
“Worry.”
How can I not? “Don’t expect much. I can never be sure how she’ll be with a stranger. Sometimes, it can be hurtful, like not being able to call her Mom anymore, but she’s… she’s a good person.”
Justice squeezes my hand. “I know enough of you, the man she raised, to know that, however she appears now, she is a good person. She provided the shoulder you rested on, the heart that comforted yours, the soul that taught you to love. This disease might keep her from us, but it can’t diminish who she is in my eyes. Ever.”
A sudden, weighty presence lodges in my throat, making it hard to swallow.
We push through the front doors and enter the brightly lit corridor. Doesn’t matter what time of year it is, this place always smells of pinecones and cinnamon.
After checking in with Security, we stroll down the hall. Justice points to amateur paintings lining it. “They’re rather elegant. Are these done by the people living here?”
Funny, I stopped seeing the paintings long ago. This hall has become a place filled with worry and sometimes dread. “Yeah. I brought Mom here after I met the head of the community, a kind woman who knew I was concerned about Mom’s quality of life. On the day I met her, she said to me, ‘Talent, joy, love of life, and creativity don’t have an expiration date. That’s a limit placed by smaller minds.’”
Justice frowns. “Sometimes pain makes you feel that way, too—limited.”
Bringing her hand to my lips, I kiss her knuckles. She means her own pain over Tony’s death, over her father’s death. “But you, like your eyes, are limitless.”