A Sinclair Homecoming

“Girlfriend, you are not going to believe what file just crossed my desk for processing.” Without waiting for Morgan to guess, Remy said, “You remember those poor Sinclairs? You know the family whose girl was killed all those years ago by some psycho? Well, seems the mama has gone and had a heart attack and now Adult Protective Services is involved. They want a full evaluation of her mental status, if you know what I mean.”

Morgan frowned and accepted the file from Remy. “Why would APS need an eval after a heart attack? What am I missing here?”

“Check out the pics in the file,” Remy said.

Morgan opened the file and pulled aside the intake paperwork to see the enclosed pictures. She stared in shock. “Oh, my...word...” Her gaze returned to Remy. “She’s a hoarder?”

“Either that or she’s auditioning for world’s worst housekeeper,” Remy quipped.

“Oh, dear...that poor family,” Morgan said under her breath as she went through the pictures. Clutter of all sorts, from brand-new items to trash, littered every available space in the modest home and choked the halls. She returned to the intake paperwork. “It says here the paramedics couldn’t get to her because of the mess. It’s a wonder she was able to call 911. This is just awful. That family has been through so much already.”

“Oh, and it gets worse,” Remy said, delighted to have some relevant gossip. “On the day that APS booted her from the house and condemned it, police arrested the father for marijuana cultivation. He’s been in jail for weeks. Wouldn’t let anyone post bail. That’s a weird thing. Why would anyone want to sit it out in jail?”

“Maybe he felt more in control there,” Morgan answered, though her attention was on the Sinclair mom.

“How does being locked up make you feel more in control?” Remy asked. “I would say that’s the opposite of being in control when someone else is telling you when to eat, when to sleep and when to go outside.”

Morgan paused in her reading to answer her inquisitive cousin. “Well, if he has a substance-abuse problem and he doesn’t think he has the willpower to stay clean, being in jail takes care of that problem, doesn’t it?” Remy recognized the rhetorical nature of her question and shrugged.

“I suppose.”

“Well, at any rate, the father’s problems aren’t my concern. Adult Protective Services wants me to evaluate the mom so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make time to do it tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m sure I don’t have to remind you to keep your lip zipped about confidential cases, right?”

“Honey, now you’re just being rude. Of course I don’t talk about your crazies to anyone else.”

“Please don’t call them that. It’s insulting.”

“Oh, fine. You’re in a mood today. Is it time for Aunt Flo to visit?” But Remy didn’t stick around for an answer and sashayed from the room. That man drove her nuts at times but out of anyone in her family, Remy was the one who knew her secrets and never whispered them to a soul. For that, she was forever grateful.

Shaking off the odd vibe of her wandering thoughts, she shoved the file into her satchel to read at home tonight. In the meantime, her next client was scheduled in ten minutes and she still hadn’t finished going over her notes. Time to get to work.

CHAPTER THREE

THE TENSION BETWEEN Wade and his brother, Trace, was like a living, breathing thing, wedging itself in the open space as they traversed the sanitized halls of South Peninsula Hospital to their mother’s recovery room.

“Whatever you do, don’t go making promises that she can move back home,” Trace said. “Until Adult Protective Services says the house is fit for human habitation, she can’t move back, and trust me, it’s going to take a whole lot of cleaning to put that house back together again.”

“Fine. What’s this about Dad refusing bail?”

“He doesn’t want to come home, I guess,” Trace answered with a shrug. “But he’s not my concern. He can sit in that jail all he wants. Better for him, anyway. We have bigger problems and Dad’s booming drug business isn’t one of them.”

Wade exhaled in irritation. Trace wasn’t one to exaggerate but surely it couldn’t be as bad as everyone was making it out to be. Seemed everyone was running around being Chicken Little. So the house was a mess. They’d clean it and set things to right. Shouldn’t be a case for so much hand-wringing. He checked his watch. “After we see Mom, drop me off at the house and I’ll pick up Mom’s car to use while I’m here. No sense renting a car when there’s one sitting in the driveway.”

“Fine. But don’t try to go into the house at night.”

“And why is that?” he asked, irritated. “Is the boogeyman going to jump out from underneath the sofa?”

“No, smart-ass, you might trip and cause an avalanche and then we’ll have two family members in the hospital. I know you don’t believe me but you will when you see the house.”

Trace was right; Wade didn’t believe him. The house couldn’t be that bad. He grew up in that house. There was no way his mother had turned into the kind of person who hoarded to a dangerous level. The idea—well, the idea was too much for him to imagine or accept.

“Just so I know...am I going to get the cold shoulder the entire time I’m here?” he asked Trace.

“Depends. Are you going to start being part of the solution or part of the problem?”

“What are you talking about? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Because our mother had a heart attack. Tell me if she hadn’t, that you would be here like we asked you to be.”

He couldn’t rightly say that and Trace knew it. “Some of us have lives that we can’t just drop because something is going on at home.”

“Don’t start acting like your job is superior to everyone else’s. We all have personal lives that are being disrupted by the current situation. You haven’t cornered the market on being inconvenienced.”

“That’s a pretty big glass house you’re standing in, don’t you think?” Wade said. “Seems to me you’re being a bit of a hypocrite.”

“I’ve already made amends and apologies for my actions. How about you? Besides, me and Miranda are square. I can’t say the same for you. I was a dick for leaving her holding the bag with our parents and I own that. It’s time for you to pony up, too.”

“Don’t lecture me, little brother. I’m in no mood.”

“Well, step up and I won’t have to. Did it occur to you that I need my big brother? Yeah...well, I was counting on your support. Imagine my surprise when I was flatly denied. Didn’t feel good.”

“Are you finished crying? Jeez, Trace, when did you turn into such a girl?”

“Screw you, Wade. When did you turn into such a prick?”

A nurse shushed them with a warning look when their voices threatened to get louder. Trace buttoned up but looked filled with the need to say a whole lot more. Thank God for small favors. Wade’s head was splitting from a long flight seated next to a crying kid and he was ready for a beer and bed. “Can we just get this over with? It’s been a long day.”

Trace nodded and they walked into their mother’s room. Wade stared. Wires and tubes flowed in and out of his mother, while electronics monitored her every function. A bubble of fear rose in his throat at the realization that his mother could’ve truly died. Intellectually, he knew that as he grew older, so did his parents but in his mind, his parents were the same as they ever were. He was wrong.

“Mama.” The word slipped from his mouth in a worried whisper, echoing the shock of seeing her so diminished and frail.

Her eyelids fluttered open and she focused on her sons. It took a moment for her to realize it was her oldest son before a wan but happy smile followed. “W-Wade?” She lifted her hand and motioned for him to come closer.

Wade forced a smile past his frozen lips and approached her bedside to hold her hand gingerly. “Hey there, Mama...what kind of trouble are you up to that I had to come all the way home?” he teased as he bent to kiss her cheek.

“My beautiful boy is home,” Jennelle murmured, tears leaking from her eyes. “It’s been too long, son.”

The mild admonishment landed like a pair of cement boots and he had to force himself not to get defensive. “Not from choice, Mama,” he lied. “But I’m here now so let’s focus on that, okay?”

She smiled and weakly squeezed his hand. “Absolutely. My boy is home. That’s all that matters.”

In spite of being irritated as hell at Trace, he winced at their mother’s exclusion of her other son. She must be pissed because she wouldn’t even glance Trace’s way. And if there was any confusion as to just how she felt, Jennelle clarified by saying to Trace, “You can go, now. I’d like to speak with the one child who hasn’t betrayed me.”

“Ahhh, c’mon, Mom,” Trace groaned, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Don’t start that crap again.”

She closed her eyes. “Make him go away, Wade.”

Wade sighed, caught in a bad spot. He looked to Trace, beseeching him to give them a few minutes, and Trace muttered something unflattering under his breath but ducked out.