Letting Go

I dabbed the blood dribbling from a gash on my calf, thanks to exposed wood on

the battered seesaw. Once, the playground beckoned us on lazy afternoons, its sharp, sweet freshly mowed grass, the promise of freedom to play during the endless stretch of days made Summer my favorite season.

   Now, those placid days existed in my memory; this abandoned space looked worse for wear. Weeds outnumbered blades of manicured grass, warped and scarred structures, relics well past their prime, remained here, not unlike at least one of its current visitors who had traded leisure for duty and responsibility.

 “Isn’t this so much fun?” Carly clung above me, slender legs dangled and lengthened her willowy frame's shadow.

  I shielded my eyes and dug my heels in the patchy grass. “You always liked this when we were little, Carly.” 

 “Going up!” My leg had turned an angry crimson. I tucked my skirt between my knees and ignored my lurching stomach as I rose through the air, 

 “Dammit!” A sudden gust of wind rocked and rattled my end, forcing me to grasp the handle tighter to center myself.

 “Wanna get off, Mary?” 

  Yes, idiot. “Have you thought about it, Carly?”

 “What, that place for her, in the message you sent?”

 I could see the roof of our childhood home, and I wondered how Miguel, our mother’s newest caregiver fared today. I’d read or heard somewhere that medical professionals make the worst patients, a truth being borne out with our retired internist mother and the assortment of home health aides I'd hired over the last six months, only to be deemed unsuitable and swiftly dismissed.

  “Carly, I think we need to rethink things.”

  “She’ll be fine at home. Miguel sure costs enough,” Carly said.

  “Yes, I know, but I’m more worried about her care.” I braced myself for the unsettling ride back down.

   “I can help you pay, Mary. You just want to control stuff, just like always.” Carly pushed off and sent me flying again. Shit! Thank goodness I had only a cup of tea for breakfast.

 “It’s not about that! I’m worried about Mom."

"You worry about everything, Mary. Sometimes you gotta let some shit go."

"Damnit, Carly, let me down!”

  I recognized Carly’s did-I-do-that look, lips in a cartoon character O, wide eyes under a furrowed brow, an expression that appeared during spats about ruined toys or sweaters.

 “What did I do wrong, Mary?” Carly asked.

 I walked to a swing and sank into its wobbly seat, and inhaled slowly, counting breaths and wishing I’d brought my phone with my relaxation app. At the end of the sequence, I planted my feet, sidestepped the mud, and turned to my sister.

 “Carly, we need to consider what’s best for Mom.” 

 “I know. You don’t think this home care service can get the job done?”

“I mean, maybe, but-”

“Mary, she doesn’t want to move. You guys are two of a kind." Carly circled beside me, unable to remain at rest, even for literally five minutes. Some things never change.

  “Well, now it’s not all up to her anymore. You know what the doctor said.” I gripped the chain like a lifeline.

  “Let’s go check on them. Pick up some lunch and see what's going on there."

  “I don’t know.” It did seem like a good idea.

  “Let’s just try. If you still are unsure, then we can put in the camera like you suggested, and things aren't right, try it your way.” Carly hoisted and hugged me.

   An hour later, my backseat covered in takeout bags of our mother’s favorites-spaghetti with marinara and minestrone, and sandwiches for us-Carly pulled up in the driveway of our childhood home.

 “I’ll grab the bags,” Carly said.

  "Are you sure?” She never volunteers to carry stuff, ever the chore-shirker.

  “Yep, go ahead.” 

  “Hey, Mom!” I knocked louder than usual. I re-pocketed my key when quick footsteps stopped at the door, which opened to reveal a tall, olive-skinned man with gold streaks in his chocolate brown hair.

   “You must be Mary, come on in.” I held my breath, and took a step back.

   “Yes, I am.”

   “Well, come on in, you’re just in time for lunch.” 

   “That sounds great. My sister’s coming,” I followed Miguel inside. The house looked transformed and immaculate. Floors and chairs gleamed, and all of the usual clutter-ancient medical journals, paperbacks and newspapers-rested on dusted bookshelves and side tables. A citrusy fragrance wafted through the living room, and the aroma of simmering fresh vegetables drifted from the kitchen,   

   “Hello? "Carly juggled the bags, and Miguel rushed over to take them, and the whiff of something woodsy and clean turned my head.

  “Wow, you guys got a lot of stuff.” Miguel smiled, and my heart sped up.

  “You've finally met." Her eyes shifted between him and me. "Hey, Miguel, thought we’d stay for lunch. We’ve got subs and pasta, but it smells like maybe Mom’s gonna have some pretty great leftovers for a while.” Carly shot me her what’s up with you glance, before she followed him into the kitchen.

   I walked deeper into the house and glanced at the stairs. "Is Mom resting?”

   Miguel reemerged and and winked at me. “She’s out back.”

   Carly elbowed me and led us through the patio door to our mother’s garden. She held her watering can embellished with bright yellow roses, water trickling into the soil in the bed of her herb patch.

  “I thought you only watered early in the morning,” I said. She wore her favorite pink dress and old blue clogs, and moved with relative ease. 

  “I slept in this morning and read after Miguel’s delicious breakfast.”

  “Hey. Mom, we stopped by for lunch, but it seems like y’all already have plans.” Carly hugged her and took the can. “I’ll finish later. Let’s sit.”

  I stifled a gasp when Miguel appeared with a tray of ice tea, one of which swirled with mint leaves, the way I liked it.

 “Mary, what’s wrong?”

 “Nothing, Mom. Just glad to see how well things seem to be working out here.”

  “Come and sit, darling.” I claimed the wooden chair closest to the patio door, Mom and Carly sat on the yard side of the exquisitely weathered teak table.  

  I bumped into the table when Miguel brought out the soup. 

 “Damn,” I said, pressing my napkin to the spot. 

 “Language", Mom said.

 “Sorry, it’s just a scratch, but it hurts.” I rearranged my skirt, noting the tiny drops of blood on the hem I’d missed earlier. Shit.

 “May I take a look?” Miguel had ladled soup for Mom and Carly, and knelt beside me.

 “It’s just a scratch I got earlier.” Miguel’s whisper-soft fingertips caressed the skin on my calf.

  “I wouldn’t want it to get infected, Mary. Come with me.” Miguel’s rich baritone lowered to a seductive whisper. When he lifted me, his warm hand branded my palm with a heat that radiated through my lowered entire being. Carly swatted my hip when I passed her. 

   Miguel took swabs, antiseptic and a band-aid from the medicine cabinet, his toned arms challenged the sleeve of his white polo. 

 “Thanks.” I reached for the band-aids that he placed on the counter. 

 “Allow me,” Miguel said. He draped my leg across his lap and dotted my skin with

  the solution. I shivered when he blew puffs of air on the wound.

  “OK?”

   "Getting there."

Miguel poured a few drops of olive oil onto his fingertips, and our eyes met when he slid his fingers over my calf. Get a grip. 

  I recovered and slipped my game face on again. “How are you and my mother getting along?” 

 “I’m on the mend, Miguel is great at his job, so stop worrying, Mary." My mother's glance leveled me, a what-are-you-doing hanging between us.

 “How do I know that for sure?” I smoothed my skirt over my lap. The pain had virtually disappeared. 

  “Look around you. With Carly here at night, it will be fine. Have faith.” Mom kissed the top of my head on her way back to the table. 

   When we were alone again, I said, “Thanks for all of your help, Miguel.”

  “My pleasure, Mary. Ready for lunch?”

   I nodded. Going with the flow had never been my thing. Mom didn’t need to worry, because I planned to drop in after work as much as my schedule allowed. And, if I set up a few cameras around here, none of them needed to know. Yet, as I watched my mother, healthy and content, interacting with this compassionate, gorgeous man, in her cherished home, maybe I needed to let things play out as they would, for once.