Chapter 3 - The Front Door
Nico's face changed.
"Mom," he said quietly, "not now."
"When, then?" I asked. "After the van comes?"
I called 911. I told the dispatcher an older woman was being prevented from leaving her own home. I kept the call on speaker. The dispatcher asked Mom whether she wanted help.
"Yes," Mom said, and began to cry without making a sound.
Daphne walked into the hallway, dialing someone. Nico stepped aside only when the dispatcher said officers were on their way.
I found Mom's shoes under a bench. One had no laces. Her coat was on a hook too high for her to reach. When I handed it over, she whispered, "My medicine."
I opened the kitchen drawer where she used to keep her weekly pill organizer. Empty.
"Where is it?" I demanded.
"Locked up for safety," Daphne called from the hall.
Two officers arrived with a county adult-protection worker. Daphne showed them the power-of-attorney form, speaking briskly about confusion and agitation. The worker, a woman named Ms. Boone, asked everyone to be quiet.
"Mrs. Vega," she said, "who do you want to go home with?"
"My daughter. My home isn't safe for me anymore."
"This is her home," I said. "My father paid it off."
Daphne folded her arms. "That was a long time ago."
The officers found no court order appointing a guardian. Mom was able to explain her wishes clearly. Ms. Boone documented the situation and arranged to follow up. Nobody promised that the paperwork was harmless, but nobody made Mom stay.
At the threshold, Biscuit pressed his nose against her knee. She stroked his ears and murmured, "I'm sorry, old boy."
Nico stood by the dining table, staring at the chair he had refused to let her use.
We were halfway down the driveway when Daphne shouted, "You'd better tell your daughter about the loan, Estela!"
Mom stopped walking.
May you like
"What loan?" I asked.
She closed her eyes. "Oh, Nico. What have you done?"
