Page 110 of Error Handling

Mary is as tall as my dad. She’s a big-boned woman with thick ankles, and a typical post-menopausal pear shape. Her bright green fanny pack emphasizes her broad hips.

“Lloyd wanted to see your apartment and look at your paintings. I told him we could be sitting here all day, but you know how he is.”

“You should have texted. I was on my way to Folly Island. I only stopped here because I forgot a bag.”

“Daniel said your mom wasn’t coming until tomorrow,” Dad says.

“I changed my flight,” my mother hollers from the car.

Dad grunts.

“Great. Here we are, then,” I say. “One happy family.”

“Two happy families,” my mother corrects.

Mary walks over to The Cube and pokes her head into the passenger side. “You better get out of there, honey. You’re red as a beet.”

I watch my mother’s hands flutter through the windshield.

“She’s wearing a turtleneck and sweatpants,” I say to my dad. “I’m afraid she’s going to pass out.”

“Pat,” Dad says. “Get inside before you faint. You know you faint when you get too hot.”

Mom glares at her ex-husband through the glass.

“You’re hot, hon. Here, take my arm.” Mary offers her arm, but Mom won’t grab it.

I walk over to help. “We’ll all go inside and cool off, Mom. It will be fine.”

“Not with that man. I refuse—” Mom’s eyes roll back, and her head lolls on her neck.

“Mom!” I yell.

Mom perks back up. “What? Why do you keep yelling?”

“Get out!” This is worse than wrangling Dolly out of my car after a Sunday ride.

“It’s all right. You’re going to be fine.” Mary tugs on my mom’s arm and manages to get her torso out of the car, after which Mom gives in and engages her legs. Or tries. Her knees buckle beneath her.

Dad tries to grab her other arm.

“No. Get! Get off me.”

“He’s just trying to help,” I grumble.

I help Mary support Mom’s weight. We manage to get her up the front steps, down the hall, and onto the couch.

I immediately fill a glass with ice and top it with water from the bathroom sink. I hand it to my mom and tell her to drink, and then I go into my bedroom and dig through my dresser to find my smallest T-shirt, which will still probably be too large onmy mom. I grab a pair of drawstring khaki shorts and head back into the living room.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” I say.

Mom lifts the glass to her lips with shaking hands.

“Do we need to call an ambulance?” I ask.

“I don’t think so,” Mary says. “I was a nurse. I think we just need to cool her off. Patty, can you change into these clothes?” She raises her voice a notch when she speaks to my mom.

“I’m not hard of hearing! And no, I can’t change clothes with Lloyd in here.”