Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Lorna herself was on the bed, her back to me as she stared out the window.
I was struck by how small she was, how frail. If Rook was on the thin side, this woman was almost gaunt. Her reddish-brown hair was liberally streaked with gray, but it looked clean and brushed.
“Hey, Lorna,” I said, feeling strange talking to a woman who didn’t know me as if we were acquaintances. “I know you don’t know me,” I added, moving around to the other side of the bed.
She looked a lot like Rook. The same face shape, the same eyes. Even if hers lacked some of the light I so often found in her son’s.
“My name is Tessa,” I went on as she continued to stare out the window. “I’m, uh, I’m Rook’s wife.”
At the sound of her son’s name, her gaze flicked to me, something passing there for just a second before it disappeared again.
Rook had told me what method he thought would be best when it came to talking about him. Blunt and honest was what he felt would be the best approach.
“He wanted me to tell you how sorry he is that he hasn’t been allowed to visit. He’s been trying so hard to get his parole officer to let him come see you. But she’s, well, between me and you, she’s a raging bitch.”
To that, I saw just a hint of a spark again.
“So, as a get-around to her, Rook decided to send me here to check on you, see how you’re doing. He knows you’ve had a hard couple of years. But the nurse told me she thinks you’re on the road to recovery now.”
Was that the right thing to say? I mean, she would never actually recover from her bipolar. I’d never had to try to navigate a conversation about someone’s mental health before. I felt like there were so many landmines you could potentially step on without intending to.
“Rook spent the past few days online buying you some things to make you more comfortable,” I told her, setting my handle-less bag on the rocking chair, so I could pull items out. “We have fuzzy socks. Because who doesn’t like those? A new robe. A warm blanket. Rook said you’ve always run cold. Oh, and I snuck you in a sweet treat,” I told her, producing the little red and white wrapper with the pecan clusters.
That light came back to her eyes. This time, it seemed to stay.
“There’s a catch with these,” I told her, bringing them closer. “You have to eat them all while I’m here because I have to sneak the wrapper back out.”
When I held them out, she took them.
And I got to watch as she ripped the wrapper open and shoved a whole cluster in her mouth.
It should have been Rook getting to see his mother like this. Still a bit slow, distant, but functional. He should have been the one watching her close her eyes in pleasure as she chewed. He should have been the one grabbing the blanket and spreading it across her frail body.
“Rook said you love birds,” I said, looking at the blanket that was covered in all the different birds you could find in California.
Lorna absentmindedly traced her finger around the edge of a Stellar’s Jay as she pushed another cluster into her mouth.
“He said that’s where you came up with his name. Rook. Like a type of crow. He said that if you had more kids, you would have named them Wren, Lark, and Hawk.”
Lorna was actively looking at me then. I got the feeling that she was maybe trying to trudge through the heavy medication and depression that was holding her back. Like she wanted to engage with me, but just couldn’t seem to be able to.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions. About Rook. And me. And just… everything that has happened. I’m going to be visiting from now on. So I can work as a go-between with you and Rook. So when you’re ready to ask me things, I can get answers for you. Then come back and deliver them as soon as I ask your son.”
At the word ‘son,’ a strange little whimpering noise escaped her.
I turned back to my bag, pulling out the four pictures Rook had chosen to send, putting them all on one sheet of paper so no one could lose it.
There was one of her holding a little reddish-haired infant. Another with her arm around a slightly sullen-looking teenage Rook.
Then, on the bottom, a recent picture he had me take of him. Right beside it, he’d included one of our wedding pictures. The one where he’d pressed his forehead to mine when I’d been panicking.
We’d both decided that maybe, for the time being, it was best for her to think we were a legitimate married couple. We didn’t want to confuse her. Or have her slipping up and telling her doctors who might tell Nancy.