Free When You Were Older by Catherine Ryan Hyde Page A

enough.
    ‘He doesn’t get it about my mom. Our mom. It’s like he literally doesn’t understand the concept of death. Not that I blame him. I mean, he only has just so much to work with, and he can only understand what he can understand. But he still thinks she’s coming back, which is heartbreaking. So I was trying to find a nice way to help him with it. I just said that maybe even though he can’t see her any more, he might still be able to feel her. Feel her with him. And that turned out to be a mistake. He completely flipped out. For … well, I don’t want to exaggerate and say for hours. Twenty-five minutes, maybe. But … let me tell you. It felt like hours.’
    She lowered a rack of donuts into the fryer, and a rush of sizzle startled me.
    She looked over her shoulder.
    ‘If he flipped out, then he understands.’
    ‘On some level. Yeah.’
    ‘What about you? Can you feel your mother still with you?’
    ‘I did last night.’
    ‘Good.’
    Silence. For a long time. Long enough that the donuts came out of the fryer, and I watched her glaze them with a big ladle, right on their rack, the excess glaze running back into the well of the metal glazing table.
    She brought me one on a paper plate.
    ‘Careful,’ she said. ‘Hot.’ Then, just when I least expected it, ‘Are you going to put him in a home?’
    ‘Oh, no,’ I said, without even thinking. ‘I couldn’t do that to my mom. I’ve hurt my mom enough for one lifetime.’
    She cocked her head to one side, but didn’t ask any questions.
    I didn’t want to elaborate, but it was too late. I’d stuck my foot in it. Now I had to go on. Otherwise what she was imagining would be even worse.
    ‘It’s just … I should’ve stayed and helped her take care of him. I know I should have. I’ve always known. But I didn’t stay. The minute I turned eighteen, I ran. And I’ve felt like shit about it all these years. And obviously it’s come back to haunt me. Like karma, but all in the same lifetime. But … to put Ben in a home …’
    ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘I think he would be unhappy.’
    ‘He’d be miserable. And my mom. My mom would roll over in her grave.’
    And, as that last word came out of my mouth, I broke. I cried.
    So, there it was.
    For five or six days, nothing. Oh, a little sweating and shaking and screaming here and there, but no tears. But when I said what I said, there it was. My mom was in her grave. Figuratively speaking. The denial cracked like river ice in the first good thaw. The kind of cracks that won’t stop once they get going. They travel. They craze. The whole structure just … well, we all know what it does. It comes tumbling down. Things are like that. You can build them all you want. But they tumble down.
    It would not be exaggerating my case to call this ‘The moment I realized my mother was dead.’ And I thought, You should be more understanding with Ben. He gets it on an emotional level, but can’t wrap his brain around it. You did almost exactly the same thing, but in reverse.
    She came close to me, but did not touch me in any way.
    ‘Poor Rusty,’ she said.
    It surprised me so much that I almost stopped crying.
    ‘Who told you my name is Rusty?’
    ‘It isn’t? I was in the market yesterday, and I saw Ben. And I said, “Ben, I met your brother.” But I hadn’t thought to ask your name. So I said, “Ben, what’s your brother’s name?” And he said “Rusty”.’
    ‘Childhood nickname. I go by Russell now. Ben is having trouble making the switch.’
    ‘Well, I won’t have trouble making the switch. Poor Russell.’
    And she reached out and handed me two paper towels. I wondered if my nose was running. It didn’t feel like it.
    ‘It’s the best I have,’ she said.
    I took them from her. And looked into her face. And fell for her.
    Yes. Just like that.
    I won’t say fell in love, because I don’t quite believe that. I think you have to know someone better to earn that phrase. But I fell.