Pat's brow furrowed. She looked up at Sylvester and Val across the table, both of them shoveling food into their mouths without a care in the world.
"How long would the therapy take?" she asked quietly.
"I've been paralyzed for six years. Could be six or seven more years at best. Maybe ten before there's any real improvement."
Pat set her bowl and chopsticks down hard.
"Mom, I don't want the demolition money. Keep it yourself."
Mom glared at her. "What's that supposed to mean? You think I'm too much trouble?"
Pat's face turned beet red, but she couldn't get a single word out.
I had no appetite. I set down my chopsticks, my voice steady.
"Mom, the compensation's been paid out. Have them hire a caretaker for you."
"I'm leaving. I can't take care of you anymore."
Mom went rigid.
"Leaving? Where?"
"The city. I'm going to find work."
"What the hell has gotten into you, Priscilla!"
Her voice shot up, shrill and panicked. "If you leave, what happens to me?"
Her eyes swept the room. "They got their share of the money. They won't just abandon you."
At that, Sylvester and Val finally lifted their heads, staring at me in stunned disbelief.