Blythe House sits in her car. She just stares at the apartment. Her son's apartment. Her mentally challenged son's apartment. Which he shares with his caretaker-slash-friend. Wilson. Wilson who takes care of her son as a friend should. Wilson is a good friend. She tries to tell herself this but, her hands are shaking.
Don't get her wrong, she loves seeing her only son, especially since her husband had died, but, her visits always leave her with a feeling of unease. She takes a deep breath until she is calm enough to exit the car.
She is at the door before she knows it. She takes another deep breath before ringing the doorbell. She hears the tones chime within then, some shuffling and a single muffled voice. Wilson opens the door to great her.
"Happy Mother's Day, Blythe" he tells you. He takes her coat and attempts to make some small talk that Blythe really doesn't pay attention to. Finally, he leads her to the living room. In the living room , sitting on the couch by the far wall, is her son. He'd always been skinny but, now he seemed to be wasting away. His dress pants were being held up by his belt, tightened to the last notch. His ribs seemed to be just beginning to show under his long-sleeved dress shirt. He doesn't notice when his mother entered the room. He was staring at a place behind her, over her left shoulder.
"Greg" she calls to him gently.
He still doesn't notice her.
"Greg" she tries again,
stepping closer to him slowly as if he was a wild animal. Wilson
watches as House continues to stare blankly into space. He lets
Blythe try a couple more times before he takes charge.
"House" Wilson says with a touch of anger that most people would miss. House however flinches as he snaps back to reality. "Your mother is here" Wilson elaborates. House stares at Blythe for a few moments before he stands up.
"H…a…p…p…py M…m…m…oth…er…r…r…r's D…ay M…o...m" House stutters out before he hobbles over to wrap his arms around his mother. She's too surprised to move at first but, then she pulls her son into a tight hug. They stay like that until Wilson clears his throat. At this they separate. House heads back to the couch, Blythe sits in the chair across from it, and Wilson joins House on the couch.
They sit and make small talk with Wilson doing most of the talking. Blythe isn't really paying much attention. She nods at the right times, answers questions when asked, and makes listening noises when it is expected of her. She can't stop her mind from wandering. She thinks about the faint scent of cleaning chemicals that always fills the apartment when she visits. At first she had just assumed that Wilson had been just trying to make a good impression, the way many daughters-in-law do when their mothers-in-law visit but, then she'd gotten the idea that it might be something else.
On the carpet, hiding mostly under one of the chairs was the very faded outline of what Blythe was almost sure was a blood stain. She wouldn't have even noticed it if she hadn't accidentally dropped something directly on it when Wilson had been in the kitchen. Now that she had noticed it she couldn't stop seeing them scattered across the room. There were half a dozen similar marks scattered around the living room. She couldn't take her eyes off of them.
She tried to look at something else but, she couldn't take her eyes off the new stain. It was under the table, mostly hidden by one of the legs. It hadn't been there the last time she visited. Her mind went wild with scenarios as to how the stain had gotten there. The scenarios started with innocent accidents before quickly becoming more and more violent.
She's jarred out of her bloody thoughts when Wilson places a tray of sandwiches on the table. She catches the tail end of a funny comment he makes. She laughs politely even though she didn't catch enough of the joke for it to be funny. She scolds herself for drifting off and tries to pay more attention.
She succeeds in following the conversation for awhile until something about her son catches her eye. She sees him reach for a sandwich with shaky hands and brings it up to his mouth to take tentative bites. It brings a smile to her face to see him eating. The smile drops from her face as her son's sleeve falls slightly revealing his discolored wrists. She's shocked at the heavy bruising that quickly disappears back under the fabric of her son's sleeves.
She returns to the conversation just as Wilson asks a question about her husband. She answers his question the best she can. She tries to remain focused on the conversation, anything to distract her mind from trying to picture what else is hiding beneath her son's clothing. She makes it through the rest of lunch without any further incidents.
After lunch she bids Wilson good bye and gives her son another short hug before heading back to her car. She barely makes it into the car before she feels a breakdown coming. She buries her head in her hands and begins to chant "Wilson is a good friend" over and over hopping that saying it enough will make it true. It reminds her of years ago when she chanted "John is a good father" for the same reason.