a little Cajun French here and there. “You didn’t have to come today, but I’m glad you did.”
“De rien. I had a good time.”
“Me too. Almost as good as bobbering.”
He chuckles and opens his truck’s door. “A good bobber is hard to beat.”
After Simon leaves, I take down the party banner and carry everything to the outside garbage cans. Lindsey’s been gone for an hour and a half, and Mom’s been asleep the whole time, thank God. I would have hated for Mom to walk into the parlor to find me practically wrapped around Simon. I don’t know what she would have done. I don’t think she honestly believes Simon is her real boyfriend, but he is her “foxy man.”
I shake my head as I walk toward Mom’s room. She is territorial and I probably shouldn’t risk making out with him a second time. Third, rather. I crack open the bedroom door and peek inside. Mom hasn’t slept long, but she hates to miss I Love Lucy on the Hallmark Channel and I call out, “Mom, it’s almost time for Lucy.” I walk farther into the room. “Mom, time to get up.” Her quilt is thrown back, and she isn’t in bed. Her shoes are in the place where I left them. “Mom?” I turn toward the TV and see her on the floor by the hearth. “Mom!” She’s on her back, and one leg is bent beneath her as if she crumpled in that spot. I drop to my knees and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Mom?” Her eyes stay closed, sunken into her pale face. I shake her and a small trickle of dark red blood runs from her nose. “Oh God! What happened?” I push two fingers into her carotid artery on the side of her neck. She is cold, her lips are bluish, and I can’t feel her pulse. I grab her wrist, but I can’t find it there either. “Wake up, Mom!”
I look around, frantic. I can’t breathe. I need a phone. I have to call 911. My gaze falls on the bedside chest and I stand up and move across the room. My hands tremble so much, I can hardly yank open the drawer and grab the velvet jewelry box. I’m shaking so hard now I’m coming apart. My heartbeat pounds in my neck and head and I struggle to suck in huge breaths. I’m angry and scared and I can’t push the tiny button. “Damn it, Mom!” I get my fingers beneath the lid and rip it open. Four little red pills fly into the air before gently ping-ponging around the hardwood floor.
I race to my office and grab my phone. I try to dial as I run back to Mom’s room, but I can’t even manage 911. In the few seconds I am gone, hope echoes in my brain. I hope she got up. I hope she’s in bed. I hope I’m having a horrible dream, but when I return, she’s right where I left her.
“Momma!” I kneel beside her. Her skin is still pale, her eyes sunken, and her lips light blue. The trickle of blood has run down her cheek now. If she didn’t kill herself, what the hell happened?
“Don’t leave me,” I beg, even though I know she is already gone. Nothing will bring her back. “Fuck!” I throw my phone across the room. She has a do-not-resuscitate order. She doesn’t want an ambulance or an autopsy. She has it all planned out with Bergeron Funeral Home.
My vision blurs her dark hair and baby-blue tracksuit. The first sob rips apart my chest and turns into a long, painful wail. I fall backward on my butt. My mother didn’t kill herself like she planned. She got out of bed for some reason and fell. My cries are loud and uncontrollable and drawn from deep in my soul. I pull Mom into my lap the best I can. Her head falls to the side and blood drips in my lap. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a laborious “Mmmm… om.” Hot tears roll down my numb cheeks and neck. I pull her closer. Her head rests against my heart, and a Little Peanut party favor box sits beneath her bent leg.
I bury my face in her hair. “Don’… leeeeeave me.” Why didn’t I hear her fall? I should have heard something, but I was making out with Simon. I could have helped her. “Mom… ma.” My back