Excavate

Disdain

Sharon would never admit to the relief that she felt when Riley spent the remainder of Saturday evening and the entirety of Sunday in bed with the door closed. His presence was more of a non-presence, a specter that existed in the back of her mind, but that she didn't have to outwardly acknowledge as she resumed her normal Sunday routine with her family.

The doctor had warned them that he would be extremely drowsy, with the surgery recovery and the heavy-duty painkillers they had prescribed him.

His sleep afforded her the ability to not think about him aside from the six-hour intervals when she had to give him his next dose of medications. And if also let her feel minimal guilt for pretending he didn't exist outside of those intervals.

Being honest with herself, she needed the time between giving him doses, because the task was an emotional tidal wave.

The first time, it had taken her nearly an hour to even work up to it. The orange pill bottle clutched in her hand and a cup of water had never felt so intimidating. Glancing at the clock on the oven, she grimaced at knowing she was an hour past the doctor's prescribed schedule, but there hadn't been any sound, complaint or otherwise coming from the guest room, so it was easy to keep putting off.

It was her own guilt that finally spurred her on in the end. She closed her eyes and pretended that Riley was Audrey or Matthew needing their medications. And then the guilt bowled her over so intensely that she had to brace herself against the counter.

You're pretending he's one of your kids to convince yourself to take care of him?

It felt like a new low for her in parenting. And not the fun kind of low, like giving Andy a hotdog for breakfast because it is all he'll eat. No, this was the depressing kind of low.

The low where you can't even give your helpless son his pain meds because you'd prefer to keep on pretending that he doesn't exist.

With a self-assuring huff, Sharon grabbed the pill bottle and the cup of water and made her way to the guest bedroom. Determined, she didn't let herself hesitate when she knocked on the door and pressed her ear up to it, listening for a response. When all she heard was silence, she opened the door.

The room was dark, with slices of moonlight cutting through the blinds. All in all, it looked untouched aside from the silhouette that laid atop of the bed, over the blankets, strangely enough.

He looked peaceful.

She wanted to leave, so as to not interrupt that peacefulness, but the pill bottle felt suddenly like a stone in her hand.

Setting the cup and the bottle on the dresser next to the doorway, she turned on the lamp and the room came alight with a dim glow.

Riley's forehead creased and his eyebrows furrowed in response, though his eyes didn't open. In the light, she could see him better. He was asleep on his side with both of his arms askew in front of him. The bandages were stark white against the lamp's warm light.

She stood still as a statue, hesitant on waking him up when she heard a low groan from him and saw his eyes flicker open drowsily.

Sharon was flung into a swell of nostalgia. His sleepy pout so much resembling that of when he was a little boy she had to wake up for breakfast. The little boy that used to look at her like it was solely her doing that made the sun rise each and every day.

"Don't look at me like that Ri." She grinned at his creased forehead and protruding lower lip. His brown eyes were big and sad. Smoothing the wild curls on top of her son's head, Sharon watched as his pout morphed into a bright smile, eyes gleaming with admiration for her. She leaned down and planted two light kisses, one on each cheek.