She glanced at his right wrist and noted the faint creep of jet-black ink. She couldn’t tell what the tattoo was, and when his arm moved, she quickly looked away. She didn’t want to admit that it gave him a bad boy air, that tattoo. She fought to keep a pleased smile off of her face. She liked everything about the man so far.
She’d never really thought about what type of man she would like to have she’d never thought that far ahead into the future. Now, she knew exactly what her type was. Him.
“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then? You can fill me in on all the local secrets and skeletons that await in people’s closets.” The happy smirk on his face did things to her that she didn’t understand, but she liked it.
“I might just do that,” she finally uttered, her ability to speak all but forgotten. “I’ll, uh, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She gave him a nod and stood up to leave. “I hope you won’t be disappointed if I can’t make it. Sometimes I’m delayed, and can’t help it.”
“I understand. Why don’t you take my card and if you can’t meet me, just let me know? We’ll set up another day.” He pulled out his wallet, took out a business card, and gave it to her.
“That’s a good idea, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.” She took the card, looked down at it, and saw it was on cardstock that must have been very expensive. “Thank you.”
“I’ll see you soon, Marie. Take care of yourself.” He gave a short wave from his chair and she tried not to fall over as she walked to her car. She was so happy she wanted to jump for joy or fall over with relieved excitement. A man wanted to take her on a date! And not just any man, Matteo Mazza. Even his name was sensual.
She repeated it to herself as she drove home, still full of giddy hope. She didn’t hear the radio or the way the tires changed sounds as she drove over asphalt and then cement, and then asphalt again. All she heard was the sound of his voice as he told her goodbye. He’d been very pleased she’d agreed to meet him, and that was something she thought she’d never get to hear. The thought was dimmed, however, when she drew near to the driveway. In that house was her mother.
In an instant, everything fell down around her as she realized she’d never have time to date him. That he’d get tired of her eventually because she didn’t know how to pluck her own eyebrows or have the money for makeup and haircuts. He’d want a proper woman at some point, and she couldn’t be that.
Even if her mother didn’t drain all of her paychecks, she still couldn’t afford to buy the kinds of clothes a man like Matteo would expect his woman to wear. Expensive things that she didn’t even have a clue where to buy. Where did you buy clothes from Louis Vuitton or other designers? She had no idea, and that made the frown on her face deepen a little more.
Who was she kidding, she thought? She couldn’t date a man like Matteo. She wasn’t his kind.
8
Marie woke up the next morning and stared up at her ceiling. She’d pushed her thin blanket off during the night, and the breeze from her fan blew her hair out of her face. Did she go and meet Matteo, or did she let him go? If she did it now, she wouldn’t know the pain that would come later, when he figured out that she wasn’t good enough for him.
A loud bang from her mother’s room got her out of bed, and she went in to see what was wrong. Her mother was there, her hair a wild halo around her head, anger spewing from her eyes. She was trying to speak, but words wouldn’t come out.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Marie asked, and watched as her mother put her hands between her legs. “Ah, the bedpan. Just a second.”
Marie went into the bathroom, put on a pair of gloves, and grabbed the bedpan. With practiced movements, she put the pan under her mother and turned away. After a few minutes, Marie was about to turn around when something hit her in the back of the head. She knew what it was the second warm liquid poured down her hair and back.
Her mother had thrown the used bedpan at her.
She took a deep breath, turned around to see that there’d only been urine in the bedpan, thankfully, and cleaned her mother up. Her mother struggled with her the entire time and slapped Marie in the face twice. Marie ignored both slaps, but when her mother clawed her short nails down Marie’s arm, she cried out with pain.
Blood welled along the length of the scratches and Marie looked at her mother with horrified anger. “Mom! What the hell?”
Her mother just glared at her angrily. Marie wanted to tell her mother off, wanted to make her pay somehow, deep down inside she felt the need to hit out angrily, but she controlled it. Her mother couldn’t help this. Her mother was an invalid. Her mother didn’t deserve the life she’d had.
It played like a mantra in her mind as she finally got her mother cleaned up and situated in the bed. It was only then that she went in to take a shower. Her mother’s needs were always the priority for her, even if that meant she had to clean up the woman with urine dripping from her hair and down her back. Once she’d showered, she went back into the bedroom to clean the carpet.
That took a lot of effort as the urine had soaked in, but in the end, she was certain she’d cleaned it all up. She looked at the scratches on her arm, three lines that were already scabbing over. At least there were no bruises on her face, she thought before she got up and went into the kitchen. She took out the medicines her mother needed to take, prepared her breakfast, and took it into her on a tray.
Ruby promptly threw the hot oatmeal and scrambled eggs at Marie and the wall. The pills she picked up and tossed behind the bed. It all happened before Marie could stop her, and she stood shocked as the oatmeal dripped down her face. The oatmeal wasn’t hot enough to really burn her, but it was still warm and could have burned her if it had been a little hotter. She pulled the bed tray from her mother’s lap so she couldn’t throw that, and ran into the bathroom to wash the oatmeal from her hair.
Marie stared at herself in the mirror once her hair and face were cleaned up. She looked like what she was: a nervous wreck. Ruby had been hard to handle before this infection, but now? Now she was a holy terror and Jane would have to do something. There had to be something that the doctor could give her to make that infection go away!
By the time Jane walked into the house, Marie had changed tops again and cleaned up the floor of the eggs and oatmeal.
Marie was just about to walk back to try to get her mother to take her medicine again when Jane walked in.
“Hi! How is she today?” Jane asked in a cheery, hopeful voice.
“Terrible!” Marie sobbed and started to cry. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Jane. I just… my God, how much am I supposed to take?”
The older woman took Mare into her arms and soothed her. “Tell me what’s wrong?”
Marie relayed the events of the morning to Jane and explained how she was exhausted. “I’m just tired, Jane. I’ve been doing this for years now, and it’s only getting worse. Which, I mean, I knew that would happen, but I had no idea she’d attack me like this.”
“It happens sometimes when they have infections. Listen, I’ll call the doctor and ask him about admitting her to the hospital. That would give you a couple of days to regroup.”