I, Gracie - Sharon Sala

Chapter One

It was the tenth of July—one day after Gracie Dunham's twenty-ninth birthday, and just before midnight—when Gracie called Brother Harp, the preacher from their church.

The hospice nurse she had been expecting had had a wreck on the way to their house. The hospice nurse was okay, but otherwise indisposed, so Gracie called the preacher to stand witness to Delia's last hours instead.

And he came with his wife, Ramona, and they sat with Gracie, listening to Delia gasping, choking, struggling to breathe.

Gracie was white-lipped and silent, sweat running down the middle of her back, her hands folded into fists in her lap, willing her mama to stop fighting the inevitable. Silently begging her to just give up the ghost and go find Daddy.

Brother Harp's prayers were long, loud, and vocal, as he prayed for Delia's soul to be delivered to the Lord, while Ramona patted Gracie's knee in cadence with the rise and fall of her husband's voice.

Just as the sun breached the horizon, Delia gasped, briefly opened her eyes, and pointed toward the foot of the bed.

"Hallelujah! She sees the angels come to carry her home," Harp cried.

Ramona turned, staring intently in the direction Delia had pointed, but all she saw was her husband's shadow on the wall, reflected by the rising sun.

Gracie, however, was beyond hallelujahs and prayers. The past nine years of Delia Dunham's dance with dementia had worn the life clean out of her. She was holding her breath, giving the air in the room to Mama, so she could take what she needed to let go. And then when she finally did, all Gracie could think was, Finally, Lord.

She was too worn out to cry, so Ramona cried for her. It was enough drama to wear Gracie slick. And because no one else seemed led to do it, Gracie got up and pulled the sheet over her mama's face.

At that point, Brother Harp noticed the beads of sweat on Gracie's upper lip, and the exhaustion in her eyes. She must have looked like she was about to pass out, so he thought to offer further aid.

"Gracie, can we call someone for you?"

"If you care to let Decker Funeral Home in Sweetwater know Mama passed, I would appreciate it," she said.

Ramona wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and gave Gracie a strange look.

Gracie suspected the woman was bothered by her lack of grief, but she was too numb to cry. There was nothing left of the woman who'd loved and raised her, and it was likely going to take the rest of Gracie's life to get past the memories of what these years had done to both of them. She barely noticed when Brother Harp went out into the hall to make the call, leaving the women alone.

"Bless her heart," Ramona kept saying, then stood up and moved closer to the bed, staring down at the sheet-covered body.

Gracie eyed the preacher's wife without judgment, noting only what she saw. The constant frown and lips always pursed with disapproval. The dyed black hair, and black dress she was wearing—hovering like that at her mama's bed—made her look like a turkey buzzard perched up on a fence, just waiting its turn.

Gracie shuddered.

"I'm going to get some fresh air," she said, then bolted out of the room, past the preacher, and straight out the back door into the rising heat of another day.

She was wearing yesterday's clothes, and her long, dark hair was still in the braid from the night before, but it didn't matter. Not yet. Later, she'd have to clean house and clean up. People would be coming, whether she wanted them or not. It's how things worked when someone died, even though they hadn't had a soul inside this house since the Sunday Mama had thrown a knife at their neighbor for coming to their door to tell them they had a steer out on the road. And they hadn't owned cattle in over six years, so they'd been on their own a long time. Still, she expected a few would come by, if for no other reason than curiosity.

A crow flew between the sunrise and Gracie's line of sight. The empty corrals and the drying pasture were vivid reminders that more than mama's good sense had disappeared from this place.

There were so many things she had to do now when all she wanted was to lock all the doors and sleep. There were her siblings to notify, not that they deserved it. They'd gone AWOL on