by Tina Martin
“Everything is fine here, Sir. No worries. If something comes up, I’ll give you a shout.”
“Urgent matters only. Okay.”
“Yes, Sir.”
As I hang up the phone, I see a nurse walk over to Shiloh. By the look on the nurse’s face, I can tell it’s not good news she’s about to deliver. There must’ve been complications that’ll probably delay Mr. Winston’s surgery. That’s my initial thought, but when I see the doctor come out as well and motions for Shiloh to step out into the hallway, my heart nearly stops beating.
“What’s going on?” Shiloh asks. Her voice is desperate.
“I’m sorry, Shiloh,” the doctor says.
I move quickly to get to Shiloh’s side. Everything is happening so fast.
“You’re sorry for what?” she asks. Her voice cracks, bends and breaks. Preliminary tears come to her eyes. She knows it’s bad.
I know it’s bad.
“We did everything we could do,” the doctor begins. “He had a heart issue that went undiagnosed for years and—”
“No,” Shiloh says weakly. “No. There’s nothing wrong with my papa’s heart. He has the best heart in the world.”
The doctor is still explaining what happened to her father during surgery. It’s in medical terminology neither of us fully understands. I hear him but I’m not listening.
Neither is she.
Before I realize it, I’m pulling her to my chest. She’s falling apart, her body shaking in my arms. Her tears drenching my shirt. Her cries filling the hallway.
“This isn’t happening,” she’s saying repeatedly. “Tell me this isn’t happening, Magnus. Tell me this isn’t happening. Please tell me this isn’t happening,” she cries.
The doctor looks sympathetic. He’s failed. Whatever happened to her father wasn’t his fault, but he takes the burden on his shoulders. This will haunt him as I imagine it does whenever anything goes wrong in the operating room.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor says and walks away with his head down. He’s sorry and there’s nothing else he can do.
The nurse goes with him.
Shiloh pushes away from me, catches up to the doctor and says, “Where is my papa? Where is he? What did you do to him! Where is he? Where is he!”
The nurse looks sad like she’s near tears. I catch up to Shiloh, secure her in my arms again and attempt to calm her down. How do you console someone who lost a loved one? When I lost Nicoletta and MJ, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to console me. So why am I trying to console her?
“Shiloh, you have to calm down,” I say and instantly hate myself for telling her what to do at a time like this.
“I have to find my father,” she says struggling to free herself from my arms.
“Shiloh, he’s—he’s gone.”
“No!” she cries harder. “He’s not gone! He’s getting his kidney. He should be brand new. Where’s is he, Magnus? Please go find out what they did to Papa.”
“Shiloh,” I say. I lay a hand on her face, touching her tears. “He’s gone.”
“No. No. Nooo,” she says. I feel her body collapse in my arms. It’s the moment when denial can no longer conciliate her. The truth starts to set in. I know it well. I’ve lived it. “No, Magnus. He’s not gone. He can’t be gone. He’s all I have. He’s all I have! I need my papa. Oh, my God. Papa—” she says in a way that sounds like she’s fainting.
She’s grief-stricken. Too weak to stand. I’m what’s preventing her from falling to the floor. That’s why I’m here. She needs me. I know what she’s feeling, and she needs me.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her but she’s inconsolable. She’s still yelling for her father. Calling out for him. Saying this can’t be happening. Over and over again she says it.
This can’t be happening…
I try my best to tame her. She resists with everything she has until her energy is depleted and all there left to do is cry in my arms and drench my shirt with her sadness.
My heart breaks for her. For Mr. Winston. He was so close to a new life. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Today was supposed to be a happy day, especially for him. How quickly it turned into a tragedy.
I suppose every death is like this – at least the unforeseen ones. It’s different when you lose someone who’s been fighting cancer for years or some other ongoing illness versus losing someone who was supposed to go in for an operation and come right back out.
He didn’t come out.
There is no healing.
No one saw it coming. She didn’t. I didn’t. The doctors expected a smooth operation per their pre-surgery chat with Shiloh. While nothing is easy about an operation, getting cut open is no walk in the park for the patient or the doctor. When they say anything can go wrong, they mean it.
Something went wrong today.
Shiloh lost her father.
“Let’s sit down, Shiloh.”
“I don’t—I don’t want to sit down. I want to see papa,” she cries. “I want to see papa.”
I don’t think it’s a good idea, but I can’t tell her how to grieve when I don’t know how to do it myself. When I’m still grieving five years later.
I talk to the doctor on her behalf, asking the man to let her have a moment with him. He says it’s a possibility, but he’s not sure how long it would be.
I try to settle Shiloh the best way I know how until then. I link my arm with hers and we walk to an emptier waiting room around the corner where we sit. She digests the news all over again. Involuntary tears easily fall from her eyes. She hasn’t stopped crying since the doctor broke the news.
“Shiloh—” I’m not sure what else to say. I know she doesn’t want to hear it anyway, so I hold her in my arms and let her cry.
It’s the same thing I’m doing an hour and a half later when Shiloh is finally able to see her father’s lifeless body. She falls to her knees and wails, emptying her body of all its tear production. I catch a glimpse of him and stand out in the hallway. This hits too close to home for me.
Death.
Crying.
Sadness.
Feelings of hopelessness.
It’s awakening feelings in me I don’t want to feel right now. Yet, I find the strength to push what I feel aside and focus on Shiloh. That’s why I’m here.
She needs me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Shiloh
A week goes by faster than night turns into day – in everyone else’s eyes, that is. For me, time has stopped, stilled and ended. My life will never be the same.
I buried him today, my father. My heart. A man with so many imperfections, yet I loved him unconditionally. He’s gone. A piece of me is gone.
My papa…
I can’t talk to him. Can’t hear his rough laugh anymore. Can’t tell him he has the TV up too loud or that eating fatback is bad for his health.
He’s gone.
I’m thinking this as I stand in the kitchen at papa’s house dressed in all black. There’s enough food here to last for all eternity. The table is full of pies, cakes and casseroles. I’m staring at it all – still can’t believe he’s gone. I try to find solace by filling my mind with happy memories but they only serve to make me feel sadder. Friends and people who my father considered family are in the living room laughing it up and sharing stories about him – stories from back-in-the-day when everyone knew papa as Big Al – stories about how he ran off some teenagers trying to break into the school across the street. Papa was fearless. Then they tell stories about him and mama. They remember when papa threw mama a surprise anniversary party and how they danced together that day. Papa loved to dance. They recalled how he helped people. Would give his last for anyone. There aren’t many people in this world like my papa. My world won’t be the same without him.
I’m still numb. I don’t want to be consoled. I don’t want to laugh. I don’t want to hear stories of the good times. I don’t want to be told that my father is in a better place and he’s no
longer in pain. I want to be left alone. I want these people to leave but I can’t make them. They loved my father, too. It wouldn’t be fair to kick them out. Albert Winston wouldn’t tolerate such foolishness.
He’d say, “Let them folks alone, girl and go ‘bout yo’ business.”
I smile just barely and blink out of my reverie. It’s when I see Magnus filling the length of the entryway to the kitchen. He’s looking at me and doesn’t bother looking away when I hold his crystalized-green, focused gaze. His arms are crossed. Confidence dwells in him. He’s still donned in the black suit he wore to the funeral. I wasn’t expecting him to come – even told him outright not to – but he said he wanted to. Said he wanted to be there for me. When it comes to something he wants, he never takes no for an answer.
His being there involves staring at me on occasions when he thinks I’m otherwise occupied and won’t notice. But I always know because like death, Magnus is a mystery and right now, at this particular moment, he doesn’t care that I’ve caught him staring.
He doesn’t look away.
Doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t flinch.
How did we go from enemies to frenemies? From frenemies to somewhat friends and from friends to this – to him being my strength through this terrible ordeal?
Every day this week, he’s been by here to check up on me. Asking me if I’m okay. If I need anything. Taking care of the business side of my father’s death. He helped me make the arrangements. Paid for all the funeral expenses. He organized and rented the hall where we had the wake. The food was all catered, paid for by him.
We didn’t talk much other than him asking me questions about the arrangements he was making. I changed the subject any time he asked me how I was feeling because I didn’t know how to feel – just like I don’t know how to feel now with him staring at me.
“Shiloh.”
I blink quickly, breaking away from the stare-down. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why he’s still here. “Yes?”
“How are you holding up?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. I—I don’t know.”
I hear a commotion in the living room. Someone shouting for me. Calling out for me. Crying.
I walk there to see Selah in dirty clothes and in full tears, barely able to stand up straight. This is the first time I’ve seen her this year. I walk over to her and take her into my arms. We have our differences but she’s still my sister. Her heart, like mine, is broken.
She didn’t show up for the funeral. Didn’t show up to take care of papa, but she’s family and right now, she needs as much healing as I do.
So I let her cry. Let her cry all she wants.
The few people who are still lingering around stop their Big Al storytelling and leaves with fresh tears in their eyes. The couch is clear now. I sit with Selah. She’s inconsolable. She’s my big sister but I’ve always felt older – the one who had to make everything right while she did everything wrong.
“What happened, Shiloh?” she asks, her words barely audible. “What happened to him?”
“He was supposed to get a kidney transplant, and the doctors found an underlying issue with his heart,” I explain. “It just stopped during surgery and they tried, Selah, but nothing could be done.”
“My God, how did this happen?” she shrieks. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I—I always wanted to come back here to see him, but I thought I would always have time. How could this have happened?”
I’m exhausted. I don’t know what else to tell her because I’m all cried out. I can’t tell her anything further. That’s all the information I have from the doctor. She’s asking me how it happened like there’s a reason I could give that would make sense. I can’t furnish that.
She’s still crying when Magnus walks over, places his hand on my shoulder and says, “I should head out and give you two some privacy.”
“Wait—I need to talk to you for a minute.” I release my trembling, crying sister to walk with Magnus to the front porch. I glance down for a moment – it’s a moment of shyness, I’m sure. The paint on the porch is still peeling. I remember this is where Magnus handed me that envelope. Where the contract between us started. It’s cold. I cross my arms for warmth.
“I just wanted to say thank you for everything.” I honestly wanted to tell him I could no longer fulfill this baby contract with him anymore. Screw the money. It was never about the money. It was about my papa. Now that he’s gone, I have no motivation to continue this.
“You’re welcome, Shiloh.”
From the porch, I can still hear Selah crying, so I decide not to say anything to him about the contract.
“I have to get back in there,” I tell him.
“She’s your sister?”
I nod. “Yes. That’s Selah.”
He removes his car keys from his pocket. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“You mean send a text, right?” I ask to confirm.
“No. I meant what I said,” he says firmly. “Call me. Okay?”
“Alright.”
Keys in hand, he walks toward his car, then pulls out of the driveway.
* * *
Later when Selah has calmed down, I ask, “Where have you been, Selah?”
She shrugs. Sniffles. “Been living my life.”
Translation: I’ve been smoking, drinking and partying. Living from one high, chasing the next.
She looks worn out – like the streets have gotten the best of her. They probably have. She’s skinnier – not in a fit way, but in an unhealthy way – the kind of malnourished skinny that makes old people automatically think you have cancer.
“How long has daddy been sick?” she asks.
“You know he’s been on dialysis for a long time, Selah.”
“Oh. Right. That’s right. I remember,” she says fidgeting in her seat. She can’t sit still – can’t stop moving her hands.
“And he finally came up on the kidney transplant list but the surgery didn’t go as planned.”
“Then we should be able to sue the hospital, right? These stupid freakin’ doctors—supposed to be sooo smart and look at what they did to daddy. We need a lawyer, Lo. They gon’ pay for this—yep—somebody gotta pay up, baby.”
“They didn’t do anything wrong, Selah.”
“They didn’t?” She stands and holds her head as if she’s trying to block out some noise. “They—they killed daddy. Somebody’s coming out they pocket with something, I tell you that! What—what you think we ‘sposed to do? Let these doctors get away with murder? No. Ut-uh. No way. Somebody gotta pay.”
She sounds foolishly ridiculous. It’s always the relative who wasn’t around that comes back making demands about how something is supposed to go after someone passes. “Selah, where have you been? Papa always asked about you.”
She scratches her head. “I had things to do. I’m a busy person, you know.”
“Busy doing what? You have a job now?”
“Nah, I ain’t got no job.”
“Then what’s been keeping you from coming around?”
“Like I said—I’ve been busy, Lo. I don’t have to explain anything to you. I’m the oldest. You gotta respect me.”
“Of course,” I respond. This is Selah’s way of refusing to admit she has a problem by pretending the problem doesn’t exist. “How’d you find out about papa, anyway?”
“Some dude approached me, asked if I was Selah Winston and then he told me. He looked like a po-po or a private investigator or something.”
Magnus. He would do something like that – hire an investigator to find my sister.
“We need to sue the hospital, Lo. We can’t let them po-busters get away with murder. We gotta get this money.”
“I’m not suing the hospital, Selah,” I tell her. I already feel guilty for orchestrating this kidney transplant. At least when papa was on dialysis, he was still living and breathing. So, technically, if he wasn’t getting a transplant, if h
e wasn’t moved up on the list, if I’d never met Magnus St. Claire, he’d still be alive right now. I’m not blaming Magnus. I’m talking this through.
“How was he moved up on the transplant list so fast, anyway? Maybe if this wasn’t a rush job, they would’ve found his heart problem in advance.”
“Selah, you can’t blame the hospital staff for your absence in papa’s life. He’s gone now.”
“I can see that.”
She looks around the house. “So, how are we going to split this stuff up? Did daddy have a will?”
A will? She has to be kidding. “Broke people generally don’t have wills,” I tell her. She’s obviously looking for something out of my father’s death – something that will support her drug habit, I’m sure.
“What about life insurance? Did he have life insurance?”
“He did—a small policy that would be enough to cover his funeral expenses.” I don’t tell her Magnus covered the funeral expenses because I don’t want her to think the money is up for grabs. She can’t get her hands on this money.
“Dang. Was there anything left? My goodness.”
“Selah, we lost our father and you’re asking about money?”
“Yeah. There has to be a silver lining somewhere in all of this?”
“And for you, that would be insurance money?” I shake my head in disgust. “You—I don’t know what to say for you, Selah.”
“Bet you don’t—prolly trying to keep all the money for yourself, huh? You think you getting all this? The house? Daddy’s truck? You’re not entitled to nothing!”
“Selah, if you think for one second I’m going to let you turn daddy’s house into some trap house for you and your addict friends, you better think again. My name is on the deed. The house belongs to me—the person who took care of Papa while you were out doing your dirt! You don’t get to come back and tell me what you think you’re going to get. You didn’t do a thing for papa! All he wanted was to see you. To try and talk some sense into you. But no, you didn’t want to hear that.”
“That’s not why I stayed away—”
