Chapter 1: The Wrong School
He was in the wrong city. In fact, he was in the wrong time zone. Instead of ocean breezes and palm trees, he was driving down a street of row houses that would likely be covered in snow before too long. Craning his neck, he read house numbers until he found the one that matched his notes.
The grey and blue house stood among many along the quiet street, each with a postage-stamp lawn in front and a short driveway to one side. He pressed the doorbell and waited. When the door opened, he introduced himself.
"Mrs. Coachman?" He said. "I'm Joshua Mitner. We spoke on the phone."
"Yes," she said. "Please, come in."
He stepped through into a sitting room, bookshelves with dusty volumes along one wall. A threadbare braided rug was in the center of the room over a dark wood floor. Mrs. Coachman motioned to one of the two chairs. Joshua stood before one of the chairs and lowered his computer bag to the floor.
"Can I get you anything?" She asked.
"No, thank you," replied Joshua.
She seated herself, and he followed suit, settling into the chair next to his bag.
"I understand you are going to attend Carnegie Mellon this fall. Is that right?"
Josh cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am. I'm starting a master's degree program."
"May I ask why you're looking for housing so late in the summer? The term begins in a few weeks."
He looked down and sighed. "Mrs. Coachman, it's a bit of a story. I'll tell it if you like."
"Please," she said. "I like to know about a student before I agree to take him in."
Nodding, he began. "I was accepted to UCLA, my first choice, and I'd already flown out, secured an apartment, talked to my faculty advisor, signed up for classes, and made a list of textbooks when I got word that my mother was sick. She had been having trouble with muscle weakness for some time, but when I was in LA she had a fall. They did tests and determined that she's suffering from a degenerative muscle disease."
"I'm so sorry," she said.
He continued. "She lives in Wilkes-Barr. She was a single mom, so it was just the two of us. I flew back and found out she was dying. She was having trouble breathing, swallowing, and even sitting up. It had been a few months since I'd checked on her, and I didn't know things had gotten that bad."
He glanced at her to make sure he should continue. "I don't want to be two time zones away. I don't know how long she'll be here, but I want to be close. So, I gave up going to UCLA, contacted CMU, who had accepted me, too, and begged to be admitted, and now I'm here."
"I'm so sorry about your mother, Mr. Mitner" she said.
Josh looked around and assessed what he saw. The house was old but well cared for, the furniture worn but clean, and something you might expect from a friend's grandmother's place. But Mrs. Coachman was not anyone's grandmother.
She was young, perhaps forty, with blonde hair and an athletic build. Her long fingers folded into her lap, showing a wedding band.
He smiled. "You're very kind. Please call me Josh."
"What will you be studying, Josh?"
Josh took a deep breath before answering. "I'm taking a degree in Computational Biology," he said.
"My!" Mrs. Coachman said. "What prepares you for that?"
"I did five years at the University of Chicago for dual degrees in Computer Science and Biology," he said.
"If you stay here, what will you expect from this house?" She asked.
He raised his palms. "Not much. I'll probably not be here much. I'll spend a lot of time in labs and the library. That's the way it was in Chicago. I'm too busy to have friends, at least the kind of friends you might bring home, so that's not going to be a concern. I guess I just need a place to spend time when I'm not at school, a place to do my laundry and a place to sleep. Oh, and I do occasionally eat," he said with a grin.
"You have a car?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied.
"You'll park it on the street," she said. "Rent is as discussed in the email, due the first of the month, with no exceptions. You'll sign a contract that gives us both a tenancy at will. My life is as I like it. If you turn it upside-down, you're gone. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," he replied with a smile.
"And stop with all the ma'am stuff. Call me Marie," she said.
Chapter 2: Mom
Josh settled into the Coachman house and then turned his attention to Wilkes-Barr. Carol Minter, a once vibrant, intelligent, and self-sufficient soul, had been placed in a hospice care facility, unable to eat or care for herself.
"Hi, Mom," said Josh as he entered her room.
Carol smiled. "Hello, you," she said, though her words were slurred.
She was seated near a window, the light pouring onto her, warming her while she watched television. Josh used the remote to switch off the TV.
The hug he gave her was awkward but heartfelt. As was the kiss on the cheek Carol gave to her son. He pulled a chair nearer to her and held her hand.
"I'm so sorry, Mom, I wasn't here when you needed me," he said, a tear in his eye. "Judy said you took a tumble down the stairs. How long were you there before she found you?"
Carol waved a hand awkwardly. "Not long. Don't worry about that. I was just a little dazed. Nothing was broken."
"Still, Mom, why didn't you tell me things were getting so bad?"
She shrugged. "You were finishing your degree in Chicago, and I felt bad about not attending your graduation. I didn't want to tell you I had a few problems and make you miss it, too."
He hung his head and sighed. "Mom, sometimes I really want to strangle you."
They both laughed, and her eyes brightened, just as they did during his childhood.
"Have you talked to the doctors?" She asked.
"Yes," he said, frowning. "They warned me this is progressing fast. I came as soon as I could."
She squeezed his hand and then released it. "Nothing you do or could have done will change anything here. I had a good life, mostly because I had you. I am so proud of you, Joshua."
He nodded and gave a wan smile. "I love you, Mom. I owe everything to you. You were my tutor from the first day of school. I couldn't have done this well without all the time and attention you gave me. And you made it fun. You always made things fun, Mom."
"Well," she said, "here's something that isn't going to be fun. I began cleaning the house when I found out I was sick. I made some progress, but I've left you with a mess. The dining room table has things that are important: photos, jewelry, and paperwork. The will and other legal documents are there. All you need is a death certificate to take care of things when I'm gone."
"Mom--"
"Quiet," she said. "We have to plan ahead. You can do what you want when I'm gone, but I suggest taking care of the things on the table and calling a junk service to empty the house of everything else. The furniture is worth nothing, and the electronics are old, though I left my computer on the table so you could erase everything when you're done. It all served me well when I was alive, but now its time is over. No guilt; just toss it all. That's what I'd do."
