I should have said no. I almost did.
“Just weekends?” I asked instead.
“Just weekends. Bring her flowers if you want. Sit there for an hour. Smile. Leave.”
I nodded, already knowing I had just agreed to become someone I was not.
My hand moved before my conscience could catch up. I pulled the cash toward me and felt it settle in my palm like a small, heavy stone.
“When do I start?”
He almost smiled. For a moment he looked like a man relieved to put something heavy down on someone else’s back.
“Saturday. And Jeremy. Don’t get attached.”
I nodded, already knowing I had just agreed to become someone I was not.
***
The nursing home hallway smelled of antiseptic and old roses. My palms were damp as I rehearsed the name Tim had drilled into me over the phone the night before.
Room 214. I knocked once, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.
A hot wave of shame rolled up my throat.
Rosie sat in a chair by the window, a thin blanket folded across her lap. She looked up slowly, blinking against the afternoon light.
“Mama,” I said, the word tasting strange in my mouth. “It’s me. Tim.”
For a long moment, she just studied my face. Then her whole expression softened, and she reached out a trembling hand.
