This had become a usual occurrence. Over the last week and a half since she’d come home, my mother would get this look of urgency in her eyes and tell me to come close, insisting that she had some grave, important bit of wisdom to pass on. And when I leaned in close, it was always something peculiar, random, or mundane.

It didn’t matter who else was in the room. Her coworker friends from the library stopped by for a visit, during which my momma urgently told me, “The angleworms aren’t anxious for the fish to bite.”

Her minister dropped in to check on the family, and Momma wouldn’t let go of my hand until she’d said, “You’ll lose your grip if you put too much spit on your hands.”

One time she said, “When your kids tell you they have tummy aches, ask them if they’ve pooped yet. It’s usually just constipation.”

Another time it was, “Happiness and rheumatism keep getting bigger if you tell people about them.”

And another, “Fear don’t count if you really want something.”

I couldn’t figure out if she was pulling my leg with this stuff or if she was serious, so I decided to tell her corny jokes. Stuff like:

“How does the ocean say hello to the shore… it gives it a little wave.”

“How can you tell the sun doesn’t feel good… it’s not so hot.”

I needed to hear her laugh. When she laughed, it felt like it was okay for me to laugh—and I needed to laugh.

This time, however, I didn’t tell her a joke, because her eyes were hazy and unfocused.

I nodded, reached my hand up to her cheek, and brushed a few hairs from her temple. “I will remember to wear a pleasant expression as well as deodorant and clean underwear at all times. I promise.”

“Also, baby, you need to stop hovering. When was the last time you left this room?”

I shushed her. “I’m here to take care of you and spend time with you. This is where I want to be.”

She grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut, her breathing short and rattled. I blinked away the stinging moisture in my eyes as I watched her struggle through the wave of pain. Her fingers gripped mine like a lifeline.

I studied her morphine drip and found it full. This was distressing, as Marissa had replaced the bag several hours ago.

“Momma, if you’re in pain, you need to use your button.” I kept my voice low and temperate.

She shook her head. “It makes me feel groggy. I don’t want to sleep…not yet.”

I inhaled a shaky breath and gritted my teeth. She moaned. It was a horrible sound and made me feel completely helpless. Movement at the door caught my attention. I looked up to find Duane and Beau hovering in the doorway.

Their eyes were wide as their gazes moved from Momma to me then back again.

“What’s wrong? What can we do?” Beau stepped forward and placed his hand on my mother’s forehead.

“She’s in a lot of pain,” I explained, and then I looked at Duane. “Will you get her some ice chips?”

Duane hesitated for a moment then disappeared. I decided that I would move a cooler into the room for her ice chips, just in case she needed them and I was by myself.

“What about the medicine?” Beau was all restrained energy, his expression mirroring the helplessness I felt.

“She….” I was going to explain that she wasn’t pressing the button for the morphine pump, but instead I swallowed. It felt wrong talking about her like she wasn’t in the room. I squeezed my mother’s hand. “Momma, will you please take your medicine? Press the button.”

She shook her head, her face pale, her mouth a tight line.

Moments like this made me wish desperately for the advice and comfort of my friends. Saying goodbye to Sandra and Elizabeth had been really difficult.

They’d stayed for three days. While Sandra and Elizabeth were here, I’d gratefully allowed Sandra to become the emotional center of the household while I retreated into the safety and comfort of my eReader and novels. She’d stayed up late, talking to one or more of the boys—or, rather, men—helping them work through and come to terms with the painful reality of losing their mother.

She’d also helped me, as had Elizabeth, by encouraging me to go on walks, help with dinner, take a shower…brush my teeth.

It was now a week after their departure, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d bathed. It was definitely on a day that started with a T. I couldn’t bring myself to leave the den. I couldn’t stand the thought of Momma needing me and me not being there.

Beau’s eyes were somewhat wild as they moved over her face then down the length of the bed. His attention focused on the corded white remote with the red button on the end, the button my mother refused to press.

Beau picked it up and pushed the button several times. Then he looked up at me, his expression a strange mixture of defiant and apologetic.

I sighed and closed my eyes, grateful that he’d done it, because I hadn’t been ready to take the choice away from her.

“Is everything okay?”

I opened my eyes to find Jethro and Cletus walking into the room. Duane was behind them holding a cup filled with ice chips.

Jethro stood next to Beau and frowned at the remote in his hand then he looked at me. “What happened?”

I shrugged. When I finally spoke, my voice was shaky and my chin was wobbling, but I didn’t cry. “Momma wouldn’t press the button.”

My mother’s tight expression was easing, her jaw unclenching, and her grip on me was growing slack.

Jethro nodded, looking grave. “Ash, why don’t you take a break?”

I shook my head, my eyes on Momma. “I’m fine. I was just reading a book.”

“Ash….”

Something about Jethro’s tone, the way he said my name, made me look up. His eyes bored into mine, but they were compassionate. “Go take a shower.”

I swallowed my automatic decline and nodded, gently laying my mother’s limp hand on the bed. Jethro’s grave expression, the set of his jaw, the hardness in his brown eyes told me I wasn’t going to refuse his “suggestion.”

Mindlessly, I went upstairs and quickly did as instructed. But I was really just going through the motions. Nothing about it felt cleansing or necessary. My heart was still downstairs, twisted up and bruised and refusing pain medication.

After drying off and changing into mostly clean yoga pants and a black T-shirt that didn’t smell, I descended the stairs, intent on getting back to the den and my now permanent spot in the recliner by Momma’s bed. I was going through my mental checklist: How much had she eaten today? How much had she slept?

I turned the corner to the den and caught the tail end of a hushed conversation. The hallway was clogged with six Winston boys and one Drew Runous.

“…Like I said, don’t worry about it, Billy. You all have enough on your mind without having to think about the bills.” Drew’s voice was infinitely calm, yet he also sounded uncomfortable.

“You’re paying them yourself.” Billy’s voice was a tad frustrated. “That’s not right, Drew.”

“I’ll reimburse myself later.”

“No you won’t. You’ll just pay for everything.” I peeked around the doorframe and saw that Billy didn’t look upset; in fact, he looked grateful and good-naturedly irritated. “I called the bank and checked the schedule. I know you’ve already covered the car payment and the electric bill for this month and next.”

Drew sighed. “I don’t want to argue about this, Billy.”

Billy laughed lightly. “Are we arguing?”

“Hey, Ash,” Jethro said.

My eyes flickered to my oldest brother, who was frowning as he held my gaze. In fact, the lot of them were all frowning and standing a little straighter and stiffer. Drew, however, wasn’t looking at me at all; his attention was affixed to the wall behind Billy’s head.

Sandra and Elizabeth’s worries about Drew had proved to be completely unfounded. He hadn’t made any advances of any sort, nor had he subjected me to any further Nietzsche quotes. We hadn’t even engaged in any stink-eye stalemates.

Although, to be fair, it’s hard to stare at someone who isn’t there or who won’t make eye contact. Drew visited Momma, but he seemed to have a talent for only coming by when I was elsewhere or asleep. For my part, I was noticing him less and less, even when he showed up hot and sweaty after a workout.

“Hi.” I gave them a tight-lipped smile and a little wave. “What’s going on?”

“Are you hungry?” This question came from Cletus. “Cause Drew brought food.”

I gave sweet Cletus a smile and shook my head. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

“You didn’t eat breakfast,” Billy said. He was scowling at me.

I thought about this, realized he was right.

Not eating breakfast was very atypical behavior for me. I’d never, ever, ever, ever been the girl who skipped meals. In fact, I liked to plan my workdays and vacations around food. I was a foodie through and through. I didn’t mind more junk in the trunk (or up front) if it meant cookies every day. But over the last week, nothing had tasted good.

“Okay….” I hesitated, glanced at the door to the den.