Chương 6
That feeling immediately became anger because stupidity was easier to tolerate than fear.
“I need copies of everything.”
“I can’t give you confidential company records.”
“You just told me about them.”
“That was already farther than I should have gone.”
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
Her agreement stopped me.
Margaret continued more quietly.
“You have every right to be angry with me.”
“I’m working on the list.”
“I imagine it’s long.”
“Your son is currently winning.”
“I imagine he is.”
I looked through the glass at my reflection.
The swelling on my cheek had darkened.
“What do I do?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Sit with your mother.”
“And the money?”
“Will still be missing in the morning.”
“The company?”
“Will still be dysfunctional in the morning.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Margaret sighed.
“Change your passwords, preserve whatever personal financial records you can lawfully access, and do nothing else until you’ve slept.”
“You think I’m going to sleep?”
“No, but I’m seventy-one and obligated to give irritating advice.”
A movement behind me made me turn.
Carmen stood at the lounge entrance.
Her expression was gentle and urgent.
I stopped breathing.
“Margaret, I have to go.”
I ended the call before she answered.
Carmen did not say anything.
She did not need to.
I ran.
My mother’s eyes were open when I reached the room, but they seemed to be looking beyond me.
I took her hand.
“Mom.”
Her gaze shifted.
There was recognition.
Thank God, there was recognition.
“Hey,” I whispered.
Her mouth moved.
I leaned closer.
“Too loud.”
I laughed once, and it broke in the middle.
“Sorry.”
Carmen came in behind me and checked the medication pump.
My mother watched her with faint irritation.
“No fuss.”
“I know, Evelyn,” Carmen said.
“You always say that right before making a fuss.”
My mother’s mouth twitched.
Carmen adjusted something and stepped back.
“I’ll be right outside.”
When we were alone, my mother looked at me.
“You still here?”
“Where would I go?”
“Home.”
The word caught between us.
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“Not that home,” she murmured.
I sat on the edge of the chair.
“I don’t know where home is right now.”
“That happens.”
Her breathing had become uneven.
I held her hand with both of mine.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I know.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Nobody is.”
Tears blurred her face.
I wiped them away angrily.
“I hate this.”
“Good.”
I stared at her.
She managed the faintest smile.
“Would worry if you enjoyed it.”
A laugh escaped me and turned immediately into a sob.
She waited for it to pass.
Then she said my name.
Not Alex.
“Alexandra.”
Only my mother used the whole thing without making it sound like paperwork.
“I’m here.”
“Don’t become hard.”
I bent closer.
“What?”
“Easy mistake.”
Her eyes drifted shut and opened again.
“When people hurt you.”
I shook my head.
“Mom, don’t.”
“Listen.”
“I am listening.”
“No, you’re arguing.”
“I got that from you.”
“Unfortunately.”
Her breath rattled.
I squeezed her hand.
She looked at me with an effort that seemed enormous.
“You can leave somebody and still love them.”
My throat closed.
“You can love somebody and still leave.”
I could not answer.
She looked toward the window.
Dawn had not arrived, but the black outside had softened slightly toward blue.
“I wasted years being angry at your father.”
“You had reasons.”
“Lots.”
A tiny shrug.
“Still wasted them.”
“He left you.”
“Yes.”
“He cheated on you.”
“Yes.”
“He was an ass.”
“Frequently.”
I wiped my face with my sleeve.
“You’re really choosing now to rehabilitate Dad?”
“God, no.”
Her eyes sharpened briefly.
“He remains an ass.”
I laughed again.
“So what are you saying?”
“Don’t let Elijah decide who you are after Elijah.”
The words came slowly.
Each one cost her something.
I lowered my forehead to our joined hands.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Her fingers moved against mine.
“You already have.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Every day I wasn’t there.”
I wanted to argue.
I wanted a list.
I wanted proof.
Instead I sat beside her while the spaces between her breaths grew longer.
At 4:43 in the morning, my mother died with my hand wrapped around hers.
There was no final revelation.
No beautiful last sentence.
No sudden peace descending over the room.
One breath came.
Then another did not.
I waited for it anyway.
Carmen entered quietly.
She placed two fingers against my mother’s neck, listened with a stethoscope, and then looked at the clock.
I hated the clock for continuing.
Carmen asked whether I wanted time alone.
I nodded.
After she left, I sat there for nearly forty minutes.
At some point, I noticed my mother’s left sock had twisted halfway around her foot.
She had always hated twisted socks.
I fixed it.
That was the first thing I did after my mother died.
I straightened her sock.
Then I sat back down and cried until my chest hurt.
At seven, my sister called from Boston.
Megan had been trying to get a morning flight after her connection was canceled.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Is she—”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then a sound I had never heard from my sister.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Was she alone?”
“No.”
“Were you there?”
“Yes.”
Megan began crying.
I told her about the twisted sock.
I did not know why.
She laughed while crying because she understood immediately.
“God, she hated that.”
“I know.”
“Remember when she made Dad pull over on I-90 because her sock was bothering her?”
“I’d forgotten.”
“He thought the car was broken.”
For several minutes, we talked about socks.
It was easier than talking about death.
Eventually Megan asked, “Where’s Elijah?”
I looked at my bruised reflection in the dark window.
“California.”
“Why?”
“I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Alex.”
“Please.”
She went quiet.
“Okay.”
May you like
After we hung up, I checked my phone.
Twenty-three messages.
