“Okay, Mom,” Alexa said, coming into the living room again. “We need to make more of a walkway in here for you so you don’t fall. Why don’t you keep the last week of newspapers and the last month of magazines and catalogs and let me recycle the rest?”
Wearing a T-shirt and a pair of capris, her mother sat in her recliner wringing her hands. A pile of used Kleenex sat on the chair beside her. “I need my magazines. They have coupons and recipes and good stories, and I haven’t read them all,” she said, voice filled with threatening tears.
“Then how about I recycle the newspapers and catalogs and you hold on to the magazines for now?” That would get rid of three huge stacks of paper. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
“Oh,” her mother said, frowning. “Oh, I don’t know.” She sighed as she grabbed a photo album and pulled it into her lap. She’d always found comfort in pictures of the past, and her needing to hold that album revealed her escalating stress level. “I guess.”
“Okay, thank you,” Alexa said, moving before her mother changed her mind. She grabbed a black trash bag and crouched next to one of the piles. Halfway through, a headline from last Saturday’s local paper caught her eye.
5 KILLED IN ATTEMPTED KIDNAPPING AT GREEN VALLEY RACE TRACK
Alexa’s gaze raced over the story. Green Valley belonged to the Raven Riders, and Alexa had spent many weekend nights there with Maverick watching stock-car races or the occasional demolition derbies the club hosted. Maverick’s uncle had inherited the track and the huge piece of property that surrounded it, all of which the motorcycle club now called home.
According to the article, a gang of out-of-state criminals had tried to kidnap a woman under the club’s protection, causing a shoot-out in the middle of a race.
The black band she’d seen tied around Maverick’s arm . . .
What if he’d been one of the five?
She shuddered as goose bumps erupted over her arms. But he wasn’t. You saw him with your own eyes. He’s fine.
“What are you looking at there?” her mother asked.
“Oh,” Alexa said, holding up the paper. “The shoot-out at the race track. I hadn’t seen this.” Which made her wonder why. They got the newspaper at her house, but she hadn’t seen one around in more than a week.
Her mom shook her head. “Terrible what happened. That Kenyon boy got shot and Maverick’s mother got hurt, too.”
“Oh, God. Are Dare and Bunny okay?” Alexa asked. Suddenly, she remembered the anguished look Maverick had worn that day in her office when she’d asked about the band he wore. An ache took up root in her chest for him. He’d lost a friend, and his mother and cousin had been hurt, too? And here Alexa had told him to stay away. Worse than that, she’d told him his presence could ruin things for her. Nausea curled through her belly.
“I don’t know the specifics, but I think so,” Mom said. “Bunny was treated and released. I think Dare was in the hospital for a few days. How have you not heard about this? It’s been all over the news.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Alexa said. She didn’t always read the newspaper, but Grant usually left it on her desk after he’d read it in the morning. Seeing this made her realize he hadn’t done that all week, and in the midst of everything—including the aftermath of their fight, Alexa hadn’t noticed. Was it possible he’d taken the papers so she didn’t see this? No. Surely not. Frowning, Alexa stuffed the paper she’d been reading in the trash.
Before long, the papers filled the bag, so she grabbed a second and turned to the stack of catalogs.
“I want my catalogs,” her mother said in a small voice. “I like to look.”
No, she liked to shop. “Mom, there are so many of them.”
“I like my catalogs,” she said, her voice rising. “I don’t know why that’s so much to ask.”
“You don’t need them. You order from the internet anyway,” Alexa said, grabbing a handful.
“But I like to look at the bigger pictures in the catalogs first,” her mom said.
Don’t lose your temper, don’t lose your temper. The minute Alexa did, her mother would burst into tears and refuse to make another concession for the rest of the day. And that would be totally counterproductive. Alexa needed to keep this place clean—not just for her mother’s health and safety, but because Grant would flip if he ever saw exactly how bad the inside of this house sometimes got. It was why Alexa came over here most Saturdays to clean. He’d been inside this house exactly one time since she’d moved in, and he’d nearly had a panic attack at seeing it—and that had been early on, before it had really gotten bad. So he didn’t help because he couldn’t stand the mess and didn’t like to spend time with her mother, anyway—he said she made him uncomfortable, and his discomfort made her mother nervous and anxious. It was just better to keep them separate, even though it made Alexa sad.
“Let me take these, Mom. You’ll get more in the mail. By the end of the week, you’ll have half this many right back again. You won’t miss them. Please,” she said, giving her mother a pleading look. “I worry you’ll trip and fall with so much right around the foot of your chair.” Especially since the pillow and folded blanket stacked next to her meant that she was sleeping in the chair again, too. More evidence that her bedroom had probably become unlivable.
“Why do you make me do this, Alexa? You know I like my things,” her mother said. It wasn’t a no. Progress.
“I know. But I love you. And I want you safe. It’s not safe to have all this in here.” She held up a handful of catalogs. “Okay?”
Her mom hugged herself and waved her hand dismissively.
It didn’t take long to fill the second bag. Though getting rid of the newspapers and catalogs did clear some floor space, their removal hardly made a dent in the overall state of the room. “I’m going to take these outside. Be right back.”
It was always best to remove things from the house after getting her mother to agree to part with them; otherwise Alexa would turn around and find her mom pulling stuff out of the trash. With more than a little difficulty, Alexa hefted the bags over her shoulders so they would clear the piles of junk she had to navigate on her way to the foyer.