CHAPTER EIGHT

Friday evening, after a couple of stressful therapy sessions, Peter pulled into his mom’s driveway. Technically, it used to be his driveway since his mom still lived in his childhood home. The drive to Orlando was about an hour—enough time to clear his head after a long week at work.

“Hey, mom,” he said as he opened the front door to the beige stucco home.

“In the kitchen,” rang out his mom’s cheerful voice.

He followed the garlic and onion scent that beckoned him. “Smells delicious, as usual.”

“I know lasagna is your favorite,” she said, her gray hair a little mussed.

“And garlic bread.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You spoil me.”

“I don’t get to cook much anymore. Not since . . .”

“I know, Mom, I miss him too.” He wrapped his arms around her. It had been a little over a year since his dad collapsed with a massive heart attack while he was in the backyard.

“I’m so glad you come to see me. Otherwise I’d be very lonely.”

Peter pulled a stool up to the familiar but dated Formica breakfast bar. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you—”

She held up her hand. “If this is about moving again, you know I can’t.”

“But if you moved closer to Daytona Beach I’d be able to see you more often and make sure everything is okay. Plus, Laura and Benji are there now.”

She turned and leaned against the counter. “You know I can’t leave here. This is where my life has been for the last forty-nine years.”

Peter let out a breath. He didn’t want to ask his mom to leave the home she loved, but she wasn’t getting any younger and he worried about her falling or having a health issue and being there alone. “I know, but I’d love to have you closer. You know, to help me cook.”

She gave him an I-can-see-right-through-you look with her pale blue eyes. “You think I’m getting too old and decrepit.”

“That’s not it.” He didn’t think she was ready for a rest home or anything like that, but he wanted to keep a better eye on her.

She reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “You are a good son. I waited a long time for you, and you were definitely worth the wait.” She smiled.

Realizing this was a losing battle, he asked, “How can I help with dinner?”

“I think it’s all ready.” She placed the dish loaded with lasagna on the table. “Let’s thank the good Lord for this food and then dig in.”

After a generous second helping, Peter leaned back and said, “I need to work this off. How about a walk?”

The late spring sun hung low in the sky and the warm, thick air surrounded them as they strolled leisurely along the street.

“The neighborhood hasn’t changed much,” he said. “At least the houses still look the same as when I was a kid.”

“I think I’m the last original owner. Mr. Shaw died last month.”

“I remember you telling me. He was ancient when I lived here. He must’ve been at least a hundred and twenty.” He laughed.

“So tell me about your job. Any new patients lately?” She looped her arm through Peter’s.

His mind went directly to Hailey. “Uh, not really. No. Not anyone to tell you about.” He shrugged a shoulder, then cleared his throat.

“Hmm.” His mom looked at him with a dubious eye. “Obviously.”

“Mom, I work with elderly people. Are you implying I met an older woman or something?” He feigned shock.

“Or something.” There was a hint of suspicion in his mom’s voice.

Peter scratched at the back of his neck.

“Want to tell me about her?”

“What makes you think . . . ”

She touched his arm. “I’m still a great listener.”

“It’s really nothing.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “A new gentleman, Harry, came in. He had a stroke. “

“And?”

“His granddaughter brought him in.” Hailey’s captivating smile flashed through his memory.

“I see.” She nodded.

“And I don’t know. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since I met her.” Peter had always been able to talk to his mother about life, girls, and relationships.

“Why don’t you ask her out?”

“That would be completely inappropriate.” He gazed ahead of them. “Besides, for all I know she’s married with six kids.” I sure hope that isn’t true.

His mom laughed. “Sounds like you need to find out.”

“I can’t. It wouldn’t be professional.” He didn’t want to appear unprofessional in any way, shape, or form.

“You never know what might happen,” she said in an upbeat manner.

“And . . .”

His mom leaned her head against his shoulder. “Don’t you think enough time has passed?”

Peter drew in a breath. “Some days, yes. Other days, no.”

“You’re a good man and you need a good woman.”

“Maybe . . . someday.”

They walked arm in arm for a few minutes as the sun descended lower and the cirrus clouds took on pink and orange hues while children laughed in the distance.

“How about some dessert?” his mom finally said.

“I might have a little room left.” He patted his stomach.

“You always have room for dessert.” She tugged at the collar of her white blouse.

Peter laughed. “You know me too well.”

As they made their way back to the house, Peter reflected on his mom’s words. You’re a good man and you need a good woman. Maybe she was right.