What Matters Most by Melody Carlson

which had always been long and blond, was now shorter and mousy. Her lips, which she used to get puffed up with collagen, now looked thin and wrinkled, and her eyes, though clearer than I recalled, looked sad. I actually felt a small stab of pity. Even so, I was determined to hold my ground on keeping her safely at a distance. “I’m sorry you can’t stay at Uncle Allen’s,” I said again. “I hope you understand.”
    “It’s no big deal,” she said defensively. “I have a place to stay.”
    “But only for a few days,” I reminded her as I parked at the nursing home.
    “I thought your friend was a teenager,” she said as we went inside.
    “She is.”
    “But this is an old folks’ home.”
    I quietly explained the situation, smiling like usual to people who mostly didn’t respond, as I led her down the corridor. When Marissa wasn’t in her room, Shannon acted like that got us off the hook. “Guess we can go now. Want to get something to eat, or we could—”
    “Not yet,” I said. “Sometimes she’s in the activity room.”
    As it turned out, she was in the activity room, along with her dad. “Hi, Mr. Phillips,” I said as we joined them. “Hey, Marissa.”
    She grinned at me and said, “Hey.” Then she frowned at Shannon, and I quickly introduced everyone, ending with, “Mr. Phillips, this is my mother, Shannon Stark.”
    He smiled and shook her hand. “But my friends call me Adam.” He turned to me. “You should call me Adam too, Maya.”
    Now for some reason this caught me off guard. As did the way Mr. Phillips, make that
Adam
, was looking at Shannon. And then I realized that for a woman her age, which she lies about, she’s not bad looking.
    “Maya,” Marissa commanded me. “Come here. You and I walk.”
    “Sure,” I said, quickly going to her side so she could steady herself as needed. “Walking is good.”
    Soon we were out of earshot, and I could tell Marissa wanted to know about Shannon. “Your mom…Maya…your mom bad. Bad mom?”
    I let out a big sigh. “Do you remember what I told you about my mom?” I asked, curious as to how much memory she really had.
    “Your mom bad. My mom bad.”
    I kind of nodded. “My mom has made some bad choices.”
    “I made bad choices,” she admitted.
    I kind of laughed. “I guess we’ve all made some bad choices.”
    Now we were by her room, and she went right in. “Play video game,” she commanded me.
    “Sure.” The truth is, I was relieved to be away from Shannon. However, I was curious as to what she might be saying to Marissa’s dad. I was also curious as to why he was here. Since Marissa’s accident he usually worked the day shift during the week and visited Marissa in the evenings. But today he wasn’t even in uniform.
    “Your dad’s not working today?”
    “Not today.”
    “That’s right.” He and Shannon came into Marissa’s room. “I’ve changed to a four-day workweek.”
    “Oh?”
    “I’m trying to figure out a way to bring Marissa home. If I only work four—”
    “Marissa home!” she said with enthusiasm. “Marissa go home.”
    Just then I remembered the recorder that I’d bought for heryesterday after church. So I explained I needed to get something from my car and hurried out. And here’s the strangest thing. While I was gone for less than five minutes, Shannon offered to help care for Marissa in the Phillipses’ home in exchange for room and board, and Marissa’s dad had agreed! When I came in with the recorder, they all seemed quite pleased with themselves. Even Marissa, but then she’s suffered brain damage.
    “She won’t be released from here for another couple of weeks,” Adam explained to us. “But that will give you a chance to get to know her,” he said to Shannon. And she just nodded like no big deal. Like she cares for brain-damaged teenage girls all the time. Like she has a clue…or is interested in anything beyond a roof over her head.
    The only bright spot in all this was that