1
Laura
I tapped my phone screen and reviewed the notes again. Yeah, he was supposed to take five of these pills a day. I read the directions closely and sorted them into the big pill organizer. I didn’t even know they made forty-compartment flip-top plastic organizers for medication, but now I was getting to know one really well. Each day was labeled, and there were five little flip-top boxes for different times of day—before breakfast, one for each meal, mid-afternoon, and bedtime. I counted out the pills and loaded the week’s worth of that medication in the time slots where it belonged. Then I twisted open the next amber-colored bottle and started distributing that medication into its appropriate section.
It was tedious, and I was impatient because I didn’t want to make a mistake, but it was taking forever. I was just doling out my dad’s meds for the week. His health had been declining for a couple of years and now he was in kidney failure. Between trips to dialysis and keeping track of his diet and medications and trying to cook and clean, my mom was at her wit’s end. My dad wouldn’t agree to have a home health aid come in to help out either.
So just like that, when my mom called me in tears because she was so exhausted, I made a decision. I was a few years into being a city cop, including four years as an officer in Charleston. I loved the pace and the challenge of my job—but that was nothing when my family needed me. I could be there for my mom and take some of the burden off of her. I could take over some of the tasks caring for my dad, which would be good for them both. She could get out, have coffee with her friends again, go shopping, and meet with her book club at the library. My dad could be taken care of by someone competent and loving, but who didn’t put up with his demanding crap the way my mom did. If they needed a housekeeper once a week or if he needed a home health aid to help administer some of his meds and stuff, they’d damn well have one. I was Daddy’s little girl, and I could convince him. If I couldn’t persuade him to accept help for my mom’s sake, I also wasn’t a lightweight who was squeamish about arguing with him either. They didn’t raise me to be a pushover, and they taught me to be loyal and brave. This was an opportunity to do those things. Maybe not the way I thought I would when I started studying criminal justice, ready to catch the bad guys and uphold the law. Maybe the most fundamental thing in my life, my family, was calling me home.
My mom had tried to keep me from quitting, tried to keep me from moving back to Rockford Falls. She always wanted me to chase my dreams and if she let me come home, that probably felt like a failure to her. I had to make her understand that being with her while my dad was in bad shape, helping them both out, was what I really wanted. I knew they’d hire me back in Charleston in a heartbeat. The force had offered me unpaid leave, but I knew in my heart it would take longer than twelve weeks. My dad needed a transplant. My mom needed support and a break. I couldn’t put a deadline on that kind of situation. I wasn’t about to walk out on them when they still needed me just because my leave was up. So I resigned. I packed up and moved home.
It was total culture shock, obviously. From living on my own, keeping my own hours and doing everything my way to sleeping in my childhood room that still had a Jonas Brothers poster up on the wall. I’m not going to lie—Nick was still fine as hell. I’d maybe watched Jumanji more than once, and not even just for the Rock. My favorite JoBro was in it. But gone were the days of watching mindless movies and scrolling my phone or going out for margarita night with my friends. The concerts, the sporting events, everything about the nightlife I loved in Charleston was about as far from sleepy little Rockford Falls as you could get. Charleston had been a terrific place to be in my twenties. Super charged and exciting, but friendly. I’d had good times there.
Instead of talking with the crime scene team about getting DNA results, I was counting blood pressure pills into a tray. Instead of deciding whether to put a pink streak back in my strawberry blond hair at my salon appointment, it was a messy bun for me. I wriggled my hot pink toenails inside my cozy socks. No more pedicures and strappy sandals and sexy first dates. Okay, my dates were never really that sexy. Mostly they were intimidated that I was a cop. The truth was, I came home because I wanted to. Would I miss some of the fun of living in the city? Sure. But I didn’t regret my choice.