His voice trailed off. We both knew what was unsaid. If I'd known she'd been falling a lot, I'd have forced her to move in with me earlier.
'Well, I appreciate all you've done for her. Thank you.'
Mr. Griffin shrugged. 'Beautiful woman, your mother. Nice to finally meet you. She talks about you incessantly.'
'It must be irritating.'
'Not at all. I'd love to hear your version of how you got that guy who killed all those women, the Gingerbread Man. The way your mom tells it, that private investigator fella, the one who was the hero in the TV movie, he really didn't do a damn thing.'
'True.'
'And you're much prettier than that fat actress they got to play you.'
'Thank you, again.'
'Though I will admit, that scene in the sewer, where you grabbed that fella's leg and begged for him to save you . . .' Mr. Griffin chuckled. 'That was pretty funny.'
I frowned. That wasn't how it happened, but I figured I got off easy. In the original screenplay, the writer had me wet my pants in that scene. I had to threaten legal action to get that taken out.
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you.'
'It's fine.'
Mr. Griffin grinned. 'It's hard, having your pride trampled on.'
Then he winked at me. Clever old coot. I was about to explain the difference between having a bruised ego and having a broken hip, when a beeping sound interrupted us.
'My phone. Pardon me.'
He removed a cell from his baggy shorts.
'Hello? . . . Hi, how are you feeling, Mary? . . . Yes, she's here right now. . . . Hmm. I see. Would you like to talk to her? Perhaps you should tell her that yourself. I wouldn't feel comfortable . . . Yes. Okay. I understand. I'll talk to you tomorrow.'
He folded up the phone and put it away, his wrinkled face pained.
'Just tell me.'
'Your mother said that she'd prefer it if you didn't stay at her place.'
I think I flinched.
'She's just angry right now, Jacqueline. Angry and hurt. I'll talk to her.'
'She was stuck on the bathroom floor, in pain, for four days--'
'I know.'
'--lying in her own mess--'
'I know.'
'She could have died, Mr. Griffin. I can't let that happen to my mother again.'
Mr. Griffin put a hand on my shoulder, patted.
'You have to understand something about getting old, Jacqueline. We can't hold on to our health. It's impossible. But we try like mad to hold on to our dignity.'
My eyes teared up, but I refused to cry.
'I just want my mom to be safe. Dignity doesn't matter.'
'But it does, Jacqueline. Once dignity is gone, the will to live isn't far behind.'
I walked away, heading for my overnight bag.
'Fine. I'll stay at a hotel.'
'You can, but your mother was quite clear. She refuses to speak to you until you stop bullying her. I'm sorry.'
I clenched my teeth and my fists, wanting to scream. Instead of picking up my carry-on, I walked past it and headed for the bathroom. Seeing where it happened, seeing the mess, would help steel my resolve.
The bathroom was spotless.
'I cleaned it up earlier.' Mr. Griffin put his hand on my shoulder again. 'She'll come around. Just give her time. Asking for help just isn't your mother's way.'
I spun, ready for a fight.
'Neither of you seem to think she needs help.'
Now it was his turn to look sad.
'Oh, she does. Yes, she does.'
'So you agree with me?'
