Chapter 2

The day after Diane moved in, I shifted the folding table in the basement to the only spot near the small window.

There still wasn't enough light.

At nine that morning, I placed two wall-finish samples on the table, opened my laptop, and got ready to confirm the final color with my client.

Less than ten minutes into the meeting, Diane called from upstairs.

"Claire?"

I took one earbud out.

"One minute."

My client was still talking on-screen about the color of the kitchen cabinets. I put the earbud back in and wrote down what she wanted.

Less than thirty seconds later, Diane called again.

Louder this time.

"Claire?"

I apologized to my client, muted myself, and went upstairs.

Diane was sitting on the edge of the recovery bed, with her walker close enough to reach.

"Sorry, honey." She pointed to the nightstand. "I'm out of water."

I picked up her glass.

"There's a kettle in the kitchen. I'll get you some."

"Room temperature, please. Cold water upsets my stomach."

By the time I got back to the basement, my client was waiting for me.

"Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine."

I unmuted myself.

Behind me, the washing machine suddenly went into its spin cycle.

The table began to vibrate slightly.

I reached out to steady the material board.

My client paused.

"Is it a little noisy over there?"

"The washing machine."

I had no choice but to move my laptop to the bottom of the stairs and continue the meeting there.

That afternoon, I needed to approve a batch of stone samples.

The basement had only one tiny window, and under the artificial light, the grays and beiges looked almost identical.

I carried the samples upstairs.

Diane's pill organizer, rehabilitation handbook, and the blood pressure monitor Adam had just bought were spread across the dining table.

I had barely cleared a space when Diane came out of what used to be my studio.

"Claire, do you know how to use this?"

She was holding the blood pressure monitor.

I put down the samples and helped fasten the cuff around her arm.

Ten minutes later, she couldn't find the TV remote.

A little while after that, she asked whether she had already taken her afternoon medication.

By four o'clock, when I finally opened my laptop again, I had completed only half of what should have been two hours of work.

Adam came home a little after six.

He took off his coat, and the first thing he asked was,

"How was Mom today?"

I was chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

"She was fine."

"Walking okay?"

"A little steadier than yesterday."

"Did she take her medication?"

My knife stopped.

"Yes."

Adam visibly relaxed.

He went to the studio door and asked Diane what she wanted for dinner, then helped adjust the height of her recovery bed.

When he came back, I put down the knife.

"Adam, your mom needs more than just a room."

He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water.

"What do you mean?"

"She called for me at least seven or eight times today. Water, medication, the blood pressure monitor, the remote. I understand that she has trouble getting around right now, but someone has to take care of all those things."

"I'm here at night, aren't I?"

"I'm talking about during the day."

Adam screwed the cap back onto the bottle.

"Then can't you just help her when she needs something?"

"I'm working."

"I know."

"You know?"

Something in my tone made him look at me.

"Of course I know."

"My client meeting was interrupted twice today. Approving the materials got pushed into the afternoon, and the lighting in the basement makes it impossible to judge color differences properly."

Adam was quiet for a few seconds.

"What if I buy you a professional light?"

I looked at him.

"This isn't about the light."

"Then what is it about?"

"You gave my studio to your mother, and then you just assumed I'd take care of whatever she needs during the day."

"I never said that."

"Then who's responsible during the day? I have work too."

Adam didn't answer right away.

A few seconds later, he said,

"But you're home anyway."

The kitchen went quiet.

He seemed to realize how that sounded and quickly added,

"I mean, you're already here. If she just needs a glass of water or something brought to her, you can't expect me to leave the office and come all the way home."

"Being home doesn't mean I'm not working."

"I never said you weren't working."

"But that's exactly what you assumed when you arranged all of this."

Adam frowned.

"Claire, she just had surgery. Are we really going to argue over a few glasses of water?"

I looked at him for a few seconds, then picked up the knife again.

"It's not about a few glasses of water."

He sighed and didn't continue.

After dinner, I went back to the basement to finish the work I hadn't gotten done during the day.

A little after nine, Adam came downstairs to find me.

"The doctor just called Mom."

I didn't take my hand off the mouse.

"What happened?"

"She's recovering a little more slowly than expected."

I looked up.

"So?"

"The doctor recommends another three to four weeks of rest. She needs someone around in case anything happens."