Blatant Disregard

Joan sat upright on the edge of her chair, her suitcase planted firmly between her feet. Both hands gripped the handle. The living room felt unnaturally still. She glanced at the clock as it chimed, then looked out the sliding glass door between each ding. When the chime ended, she sighed sharply.

“Ugh,” she muttered. “We’re going to miss the bus.”

She drew in a slow breath, forcing herself to calm down. The spiral of worry, frustration, and doubt rose and then eased. Kim would be there any minute. This was going to be a good trip. A three-day mini-vacation. Sunshine. Ocean air. Maybe even a fresh start. Her chest fluttered. It wasn't pain, just anxiety tangled with hope.

Footsteps sounded on the basement stairs. Jeff entered the living room and sat on the couch near her. He studied her for a moment, then shook his head.

“So,” he said quietly, “you’re really doing this.”

Joan’s jaw tightened. “Yep.”

Jeff glanced at the suitcase. “Alright,” he said flatly. “Have a good time.”

A sharp knock hit the sliding glass door. Kim stood outside, pointing at her wrist. Joan jumped up, grabbed her suitcase, and headed out without saying goodbye.

Kim’s SUV idled at the curb. Norman sat in the passenger seat. Joan stopped short. “It’s hard for me to get into the back seat.”

Kim sighed, hoisted the suitcase inside, and helped Joan climb in.

They pulled away.

The drive to the Brat Stop was quick. Kim rattled off the itinerary while Joan stared out the window. When the Coach USA bus arrived, Joan was winded from the short walk. A wave of dizziness followed, but she ignored it. She always did.

On the bus to O’Hare, Kim and Norman whispered and laughed together. Joan felt invisible. As she imagined Myrtle Beach, a sharp cramp seized her leg. She knew what to do. She had to stand up, but the bus lurched and bucked. She grabbed the seat ahead and rose.

“Ma,” Kim snapped, “sit down!”

“I have a cramp,” Joan said.

Kim grabbed her arm to steady her. The pain eventually eased.

Joan sat.

“You okay?” Kim asked, irritated more than concerned.

“I’m fine.”

As the bus neared the airport, the air grew stale. Joan’s breathing became shallow. She shifted in her seat.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly when Kim glanced over.

The airport was total chaos. Christmas travelers rushed in every direction. TSA lines snaked endlessly. Joan followed Kim’s determined pace, her legs growing heavier with each step. By the time they cleared security, she was exhausted.

The walk to the gate stretched on. Kim and Norman surged ahead. Joan stopped, bent forward, hands on her knees.

Kim turned back. “You okay?”

“I just need a second,” Joan said, gasping.

Kim checked her phone. “Maybe we should send you home.”

Joan straightened. “Why would you say that?”

“Jeff can pick you up.”

“You said you’d be patient.”

“I have been patient,” Kim snapped. “But I’m not missing this flight.”

An electric mobility cart pulled up beside them. “Need a lift?”

“Yes,” Joan said.

“Mom,” Kim warned, “those cost money.”

“It’s free,” the attendant said. “Flight number?”

“AA 1432,” Kim replied.

They made the gate just in time. A man gave Joan his seat. When boarding began, a gate agent offered early boarding. Joan nodded. Kim added, “We’re with her.”

The agent fetched a wheelchair. “You don’t need to make a fuss,” Joan said.

“It’s no trouble.”

As they moved down the jet bridge, the agent said to Kim, “You know, you can do this.”

Kim scoffed. “I thought that was your job.”

Once seated, Joan clutched the flight attendants’ arms, panting, then collapsed into her seat.

As the plane climbed, the air felt thin. Joan focused on breathing slowly. Kim and Norman chatted about Myrtle Beach. When Joan tried to join in, they talked over her.

They landed in Charlotte. The airport was worse than O’Hare—long corridors, endless crowds. Joan fell behind again.

“I can’t breathe,” she said.

Kim frowned. “Again? We’re going to miss our flight.”

They made it by seconds.

Myrtle Beach was quieter, but the walking never stopped. Joan paused again and again. Kim muttered, “I knew this would happen.”

At the hotel, rain fell as they walked to the lobby. Kim outlined dinner plans and a waterfall visit.

“I think I’ll rest,” Joan said.

Kim scowled. “So you come on vacation to sleep?”

“I’m not doing well.”

“Fine!” Kim snapped. “We’re going.”

Joan collapsed onto her bed fully dressed and fell asleep gasping.

The next morning, Joan sat on the balcony watching the waves. The air smelled of salt and sunscreen. She shivered and pulled on her winter coat.

Kim knocked. “You missed a beautiful waterfall.”

Joan smiled politely.

“We have seven houses to see today,” Kim announced.

“Seven?”

“Two are for you.”

“I was going to look myself.”

“I already did,” Kim snapped.

“I’m capable of deciding for myself.”

Kim scoffed. “People retire here all the time.”

“I never said I wanted oceanfront.”

“So now you’re changing your story?”

“I’m tired,” Joan said. “Go without me.”

Kim exploded. “Why did you even come?”

“I told you I can’t rush.”

“Everything revolves around you!”

“No,” Joan shot back. “It revolves around you.”

“You need help,” Kim said, tears forming. “You can’t manage alone.”

“That’s not true.”

“You forget things.”

“Don’t bring my sons into this.”

“They poisoned you against me.”

“I can see who you are,” Joan screamed.

Kim left, slamming the door.

They barely spoke for the rest of the trip.

On the return day, Kim and Norman walked ahead, leaving Joan behind. At the terminal, Joan asked for a wheelchair.

“You should’ve requested it earlier,” the agent said.

“I have COPD.”

A man arrived with a wheelchair and pushed her to the gate. Kim glared from her seat.

On the flight, Kim and Norman whispered to an attendant and were seated away from Joan.

The plane lifted smoothly, the cabin lights dimming as it leveled out. About halfway to Denver, Joan suddenly sat upright. She gripped the armrests, each breath shallow and burning, like air that couldn’t quite reach her lungs. She tried to stay calm. Her lips pursed, and she made tiny, slow breaths, but panic crept in anyway.

The passenger beside her finally noticed. “Are you okay?”

Joan shook her head. “I—I can’t catch my breath.”

A flight attendant rushed over, then another. Joan’s lips were turning blue. “I need oxygen,” she gasped.

They fitted her with a mask, but her breathing stayed ragged. One attendant hurried to the cockpit. Moments later, the captain’s calm voice came over the intercom.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a medical emergency onboard and will be diverting to St. Louis. Please remain seated.”

Kim looked over, annoyed. When she realized it was her mother, she stood up.

“Please sit down,” an attendant said.

“She’s my mother.”

“She’s having trouble breathing. We’re landing so she can be taken to a hospital.”

“She’s fine,” Kim snapped.

The attendant stared at her. “Her lips are blue. She’s not fine. Sit down.”

Kim buckled in. Norman leaned over. “What’s going on?”

“She can’t breathe...again.”

The plane descended quickly. As soon as it landed, paramedics boarded. They worked fast. They gave her oxygen, checked her vitals, and asked her questions that she could barely answer.

“She has COPD!” Kim yelled.

“Who are you?” a paramedic asked.

“Her daughter.”

“Come with us.”

Cold air hit Joan as they loaded her into the ambulance. The siren wailed, carrying them to the hospital.

At the hospital, staff spoke to Kim in clipped, professional tones. At first, they planned it to be an overnight observation. Kim asked about insurance, timelines, and transportation. She never asked how Joan felt.

Kim called Greg and Jeff. She told them not to worry. They drove to St. Louis anyway.

Joan was admitted to the ICU. She died that night with Kim beside her. Greg and Jeff were still on the road.

When they arrived, Kim ran to them crying. “She didn’t make it.”

They collapsed. They then looked at her with an indescribable hatred. What had she done?

Eventually, the logistics of getting Joan home were handled.

At the funeral, the air smelled of lilies and furniture polish. Greg and Jeff stood near the casket, sad, still angry, and shaking.

Kim stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes dry.

“She wouldn’t have wanted to suffer,” she told one mourner.

“At least it was quick,” she told another.

Then she talked about an African safari she and Norman planned to go on with her inheritance.

Greg couldn't stand it any longer and approached her. “You have zero class.”

“DO NOT do this here,” Kim said.

“You flew an eighty-one-year-old woman with COPD through two connections during Christmas travel, and worse, against medical advice.”

“I was trying to help her.”

“You were trying to control her,” Greg snapped. “And you killed her doing it.”

Jeff grabbed greg's arm and pulled him back.

“You’re grieving,” Kim said.

“No,” Greg replied. “I’m calling you out.”

“She wanted to go.”

“She wanted you...YOU!” Greg yelled, “All she wanted was a relationship with her daughter, and all you did was treat her like a burden.”

Kim said nothing, for once, and for once there was no one there to defend her.

After the burial, Greg and Jeff went to Dave’s Triangle. The bar was quiet and dim.

“I keep replaying it,” Greg said. “Why? She’s such a bag of shit.”

“Don’t waste your energy,” Jeff said.

“I hate her.”

“Let it go, for your own good.”

Jeff paused, then said, “Look at it this way. With Mom gone, we’re no longer obligated to keep Toxic Tonya in our lives.”

Greg nodded. He raised his glass to his brother, weight eased, and said, “But we'll always have each other.”

The two brothers clinked their glasses. It wasn't a toast. Just an acknowledgment.