Just This Once Read Online Free

showed you?” Wynne was growing frustrated at the futility of it all. “Then you should do that first. If it doesn’t work, don’t use that toilet anymore, and call a plumber first thing in the morning.”
    The digital clock read 11:45.
    “Mom, I can’t do a thing for you tonight. I’m in Orlando,” she explained. “Yes, my cell phone works here, same as always.” Obviously . “I know you didn’t know, but this is my week to travel. I won’t get home until Wednesday night.”
    Wynne threw the covers back and stretched out for the water bottle on the desk. “No, I have to work on Thursday. I can come by Thursday night, but you should call a plumber tomorrow if the plunger doesn’t work.” With her foot, she dragged her purse closer and retrieved the ibuprofen.
    “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe Sophie put something in it,” a reference to her 2-year-old niece. “Who knows?” Two tablets…make it three. “Probably a hundred bucks or so, maybe more if they have to stay a while. But what else are you going to do?” Wynne was exasperated. “You can’t just leave a toilet overflowing in the house. It’ll ruin the floor and the ceiling underneath it. Keep it mopped up and call a plumber first thing, okay?”
    Settling back into bed, she cradled the phone underneath her chin. “Mom, I have to get back to sleep. I have a long day tomorrow,” she pleaded. “I know this was an emergency. Just do what I said. It will be fine….Yes, I love you too. I’ll come by Thursday night. Goodnight, Mom.”
    Wynne sighed deeply as she returned the phone to its cradle for charging. One would think that Katharine Connelly — Kitty to her friends — was the most helpless person on earth. When Wynne’s father died six years ago, her mother had come completely unglued. Within a year, her house was in disrepair, her finances a mess; the woman could barely decide what to wear each day.
    Wynne painstakingly balanced the household checkbook, arranged for a housekeeper to come by twice a week, and contracted with a handyman to make the necessary repairs.
    On top of that, she started calling her mother two or three times during the day, just to keep her company and make sure everything was okay.
    Growing up, neither Wynne nor her younger sister Janelle had realized the degree to which their mother had shaped her entire existence around their family. When both daughters left home, her devotion to her husband had kept Kitty grounded; without him, she was aimless.
    Wynne had hoped for something of a reprieve last year when Janelle had moved back to Baltimore, unmarried but with a daughter of her own, Sophie. But Janelle had her hands full with nursing school, not the mention to the demands of a 2-year-old.
    There was certainly one thing she didn’t mind about the travel to Orlando: it was, for the most part, a respite from the day to day worries of managing her mom’s life. It wasn’t that Wynne didn’t want to help her mother through this difficult time, but after six years, Kitty Connelly hadn’t made a lot of progress toward living on her own. Part of the problem was that 90-year-old Tudor house.
    ———
    Paula pulled the pin on the leg extensor and reset it at 35 pounds. It was a pain following the Incredible Hulk around the weight room, but she got a small measure of satisfaction knowing that he would follow her on his next circuit and would also have to reset the pins.
    “How’s work been, Val?” Val Harbison was Paula’s best friend, and the manager of Flanagan’s, a downtown sports bar. The two met five years ago at an accounting workshop organized by Orlando’s expansive travel industry. Right off the bat, they liked one another. It was easy to commiserate about the lack of a social life, as both women were locked into working evenings and weekends. That ruled out clubs and parties, and left them mostly with meeting people through work. On weekdays, the two women met to work out in the fitness room at Paula’s