Unintended Consequences - By Marti Green Page 0,50

briskly, “Dr. Bergman.” Sunny, finely attuned to the cries of a child, had learned to maintain a state of sleep through those calls, but something in Eric’s tone broke through her sleep.

“I see,” she heard him say softly. “When did it happen? No, of course, I’m sure you did everything you could.” Quiet, and then Eric’s voice again. “That would be a great help, thank you. We’ll get the first plane out.”

“What’s wrong?” Sunny asked as she opened her eyes in the darkened bedroom.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying? What’s wrong?

“Your mother. She’s had a heart attack.”

A state of disbelief seized Sunny. She bolted upright in bed and let herself be pulled into an embrace by Eric. “Is she okay?” she whispered, too afraid to speak the words loudly.

“No. I’m sorry. She passed away before the ambulance arrived.”

“But … but … it can’t be true. Mom’s heart is fine. She’s always been so strong.”

“Sometimes it happens like that. With no warning.” Eric held Sunny tight as the realization of her mother’s death sunk in and her body shook from crying. A loud wail arose from her body. She kept shaking her head and murmuring “no.”

Eric stroked her hair until the sobs subsided.

“What will I do without her? She’s my rock. I need her.”

“I know.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“Nancy. Your mother called her when she started having chest pains. She wanted to believe it was indigestion, but Nancy insisted she call 911. Only it was too late.”

Nancy. Her mom’s longtime friend. Almost like an aunt to Sunny.

Sunny tried to be strong, but tears erupted once more. Her father had died six years earlier. On her wedding day, when she walked down the aisle, she’d forced herself to hold back the tears that were so close to the surface because it wasn’t her father by her side. “I have no one left,” she said between sobs.

“You have me and Rachel.”

“Yes, but it’s not the same. I’m an orphan now. I’ve lost my history.”

Eric stroked her arm and whispered comforting words to her. They didn’t even try to return to sleep. He held Sunny in his arms until the outside light streaming through the blinds announced that a new day had begun.

The taxicab turned onto Aspen Road and Sunny felt her chest tighten. She had expected to return to her childhood home two weeks later for the Easter celebration. Her mother always waited in her plump window-side chair watching for her arrival. Now an empty house awaited her. Instead of a grandmother smothering Rachel with kisses, they’d walk into a deathly quiet home.

Nancy had made the funeral arrangements and contacted the few friends and family members who were left. Sunny had felt too numb to make decisions and was relieved to turn those responsibilities over to others. Now, as the taxicab turned into her driveway—her mother’s driveway—tears once again began to roll down her cheek.

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” Rachel said. “I’ll kiss the boo-boo and make it all better.”

Sunny wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand and wrapped her arm around Rachel. “You’ve already made it better. See? No more crying.”

Eric paid the driver while Sunny and Rachel gathered their belongings and got out. The sun’s rays were strong, the glare startling to Sunny. That’s wrong. It should be a gloomy day, not sparkling. Yet everything did sparkle. The house, the lawn, the luxuriant gardens her mother had loved to tend. Holding Rachel’s hand, Sunny unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Pictures of her family adorned the foyer walls.

Eric came in behind them. “Why don’t you just relax? I’ll call the funeral home and let them know we’re here. We have a few hours before we’re expected there.”

It seemed surreal. Everything in the house looked the same as Sunny remembered: the gingham curtains in the kitchen that she’d helped her mother sew; the lace doily they’d picked up at a garage sale, on the dining-room table; the slipcovered sofa in the living room. Somehow, she’d thought it would be changed, different without her mother’s presence. She walked from room to room, touching items in each. It gave her a sense of connection, connection to her mother, connection to her childhood.

The funeral service would be held the next day, a graveside service with just a small group in attendance. Her mother had retired from nursing a few years earlier and hadn’t remained in touch with her former colleagues. “I want to travel while I’m still young enough to get around on