and then she’d be fulfilled. She’d finally be good enough. And that would be enough. Yet her gaze locked with Wyatt’s, and those slate eyes narrowed on her as if he heard the whispered denial coming from deep inside her chest. She slapped her palm over her ribs, blocking out Wyatt and disrupting the rumblings from a heart she had no intention of ever listening to.
“Well, I’ve had enough philosophical chitchat for the day.” Helen pulled her walker in front of her. “I don’t understand why your generation can’t simply say what they mean.”
“We do. Your generation just doesn’t want to hear it.” Wyatt shifted his attention to his mom, releasing Mia from his shrewd focus.
Mia sagged against the chair as if she’d run ten city blocks, not shutting out Wyatt and keeping him from revealing truths she rejected.
“Perhaps because it’s all nonsense.” Helen touched Mia’s arm and grinned. “Mia, I’ll see you when the therapy dogs arrive later.”
“Mom, you don’t like dogs.” Wyatt set his hands on his hips. Surprise jutted his chin forward.
“Nonsense. I had a German shepherd growing up.” Helen’s smile looked more girlish and young from the memory. Her voice eased into the wistful. “Smokey was my favorite pet.”
“You never mentioned Smokey before.” Wyatt rubbed his chin, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“You never asked,” Helen countered, her voice stiff and starched.
Mia winced from the lack of lightness in Helen’s tone.
Wyatt never flinched from Helen’s barb. Only stuffed his hands into his scrubs pant pockets and tucked his elbows into his sides as if preparing himself to absorb more of his mom’s rebukes. “Trent and I asked for a puppy every year until I left for college. Every year you said no.”
“Your father told you no, not me.” Helen turned to Mia. Her voice lowered, as if they’d stepped into a hushed confessional. “I’d overruled my husband on several things like the tree house, skateboards and video games. Thought I’d let him have his way with the no-dog rule. Good marriages are about knowing when to let the other one win.”
Mia had witnessed only the elements of a bad marriage with her own mother: unrequited love, a stalled life and a husband who paid for the stability his absence couldn’t provide.
“So good marriages are a competition, then, and not about compromise and mutual respect.” The humor in Wyatt’s tone soaked the sarcasm from his words as he stepped to the side of Helen’s chair. He reached out as if anticipating his mom’s next move.
“Good marriages are about real love, knowing what really matters to your spouse and romance.” Helen gripped her walker and stood up, greeting her therapist with a wide smile. “Vicky, you’ve rescued me from explaining the intimate details of a good marriage to my son.”
The older woman laughed and squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder before assisting Helen. “Follow your mother’s example and you’ll have a fulfilling marriage.”
Wyatt stepped back and rubbed his neck as if the idea of marriage misaligned his spine.
Mia cleared her throat, trying to break up her own laughter.
Helen turned toward Wyatt. “You’ll be back for dinner.” It wasn’t a request or suggestion—it was a command from a mother to her son. Disobedience wouldn’t be tolerated. Wyatt had more in common with his mom than Mia had first assumed. The Reid family certainly liked to order others around.
Helen shuffled down the hall, her laughter mixed with the therapist’s. Mia watched Wyatt’s eyebrows draw together as if he suddenly didn’t recognize his own mom.
“Good thing marriage isn’t on either of our to-do lists.” Mia let her amusement disrupt the silence.
Wyatt faced her, his fingers tapping against his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t claim to know everything on my to-do list, would you?”
Mia’s laughter fizzled like a candle in a rainstorm. Wyatt’s slow smile streamed through her, spreading a warmth like the sun’s first appearance after that storm.
Robyn arrived, pushing Mia’s transportation to the hyperbaric chamber between Mia and Wyatt. Mia sighed, relieved she’d get to sit in the wheelchair, instead of relying on her walker and sluggish legs and muddled mind. Robyn couldn’t carry her away from Wyatt fast enough.
WYATT STRETCHED HIS neck and rolled his shoulders. He’d been crammed into the too-small recliner in his mother’s room for too long. He should go home and stretch out in a real bed. But there was more comfort in the stiff recliner than at his mom’s house.
His childhood home had been overrun by foliage and greenery, and no matter where he looked he couldn’t find any old childhood memories, good or bad. The cactus terrariums replaced the kid-art shelf of awkward clay pots and smeared-handprint pictures. Oil paintings of roses and orchids displaced family photos across the hallway walls. The scent of earth and soil lingered in every room, where vanilla and fresh-out-of-the-oven sugar cookies used to fill every breath. Even the tree house he’d built with Trent one summer before fifth grade had been overtaken by vines. The house was slowly being eaten by his mother’s plants.
He crumpled up another foundation application and tossed it into the wastebasket. Each scammer application etched his cynicism all that much deeper. “You’ll be lucky to have even ten real applicants to choose from.”
“Now isn’t the time for judgment.” His mom glanced up from her crossword and pointed her pen at him. “Just because these organizations don’t bring medical care to an entire country doesn’t make them less worthy of our support.”
He’d lost her support when his brother had died. He doubted he’d ever get it back. Fanning out several applications, he waved the papers at her. “You should go through these and decide for yourself.”
His mom removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I’m too worn out tonight.”
“Spent too much time greeting new patients and playing with the dogs.” His mom was a closet dog lover. Nothing about that made sense. Nothing. Surely he should’ve known such a small personal detail about his own mother. He could recite the medical histories from his great-grandparents to his parents. Knew the family suffered from high blood pressure and diabetes and fraternal twins peppered the family tree on his mother’s side. He knew the vital information and important facts. That he’d only just learned about his mom’s dog history shouldn’t matter. The small dose of worry stuck in the back of his throat like a partially dissolved pill that should’ve been easy to wash down. After all, he knew everything that he needed to about his mom, didn’t he?
The click of her pen on the bedside table pulled Wyatt’s attention back to his mom.
She tossed her crossword book on top of the pen. “I only met one patient, and the dog visits are good for my health. They lower blood pressure, alleviate stress and anxiety.”
Maybe he should thank the therapy dogs for pulling his mom out of her death-is-coming-for-me phase and stop worrying about the things that didn’t matter,
