“Has she requested medical care?”
“I’ll check.”
I placed my identification on the counter.
“I want that request documented.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
A door opened behind him.
Then I saw Julian.
My husband.
He was sitting in a chair near the hallway.
His shirt was torn near the collar.
There were red scratches on the left side of his neck.
His hair was disordered.
He looked exhausted.
When he saw me, relief flooded his face.
“Val.”
He stood.
I did not move toward him.
That seemed to confuse him.
“What happened?”
He walked closer.
“Your mother lost it.”
I stared at him.
“Lost what?”
“Her mind.”
My chest tightened.
“She came at me.”
“Why were you at her house at two in the morning?”
He stopped.
Then recovered.
“I went to check on her.”
“At two?”
“She called earlier.”
“She sounded upset.”
“About what?”
He rubbed his face.
“Money.”
That was new.
“What money?”
“Valerie, this is not the place.”
“It became the place when my mother called me from a police station.”
His jaw tightened.
Then he lowered his voice.
“She accused me of stealing from her.”
My body went still.
“What?”
“She’s confused.”
“She’s been confused for months.”
I studied him.
Had my mother been confused?
No.
Forgetful sometimes.
