The Widow and the Rock Star

by J. Thomas-Like

  Dammit. Pepper always knew what to say.

  “You’re right. But what if, after a while, he decides it’s not what he signed on for? What if I have so much shit on my plate that he decides to bail? Where does that leave me?” I grabbed my coffee and took a swallow.

  “You need to stop obsessing.” Pepper shook her head. “You’re worrying about stuff that isn’t going to happen.” Her confidence never ceased to amaze me.

  I groaned and dropped my head into my hands.

  “That is so easy for you to say. What if I’m confusing sex with love?” There. I’d said it out loud.

  Pepper laughed and handed me a napkin.

  “Look, Viv. You’re going to have to talk to him. You can’t just stick around for no reason and then stalk him. I’m telling you the truth, and that’s all you’ve ever asked me for.”

  “Couldn’t you sugarcoat things from time to time?” I tossed the crumpled napkin at her.

  “No.” She tossed it back.

  “Well, how about some regular truth instead of the brutal honesty?” I stared at my hands resting in my lap, trying to accept reality.

  “Never,” Pepper teased. She flipped her hair back, giving the radiant smile that always melted anyone’s resolve. “You already know you want to be here. You already know it’s going to be difficult. You already know you’re stronger now than you’ve ever been. Just make up your mind and do it.”

  When I didn’t say anything, she reached across to hug me close.

  *****

  Pepper knew she was right, and she watched the truth wash across Vivienne’s face as her friend pulled out of their embrace. She remembered having to talk Vivienne into things when they were kids, but Pepper didn’t recall it ever being this difficult. Vivienne had gotten a lot more set in her ways and stubborn over the years.

  “When are you going to see Will next?” Soon, I hope.

  “Later tonight. I want to go walking on the beach at sunset.” Vivienne’s cheeks got pinker as she spoke.

  “Hmm, sounds pretty romantic to me. You sure you aren’t just a little in love with him?” Pepper pinched her thumb and forefinger together.

  “No!” Vivienne insisted, but she couldn’t quite stifle the smile fighting its way onto her face.

  “Well, if you aren’t now, you will be soon.” Pepper smirked. “I want you to say the words out loud. I am staying in California. Come on. Say it.”

  Vivienne hesitated until Pepper shook a finger at her. When she opened her mouth to speak, her phone rang. “Restricted” washed across the display, making her frown.

  “Who could that be?”

  Pepper picked at her cuticles while Vivienne took the call. Her head whipped up when she heard a gasp. She watched as her friend’s face lost all of its color and felt her own heart speed up to double time. Pepper reached out to steady Vivienne’s trembling arm.

  “Viv? Vivvy, what’s wrong?”

  “Thank you, I’ll be there as soon as I can!” Vivienne whispered. Her phone fell out of her hand and clattered to the table.

  “Vivienne, what’s wrong?” Pepper’s guts clenched and beads of sweat popped out above her upper lip.

  “It’s my mother. She’s had a stroke.”

  Chapter 44

  The cab had barely stopped in front of the hospital entrance as I threw some twenty dollar bills at the driver and leaped out. I sprinted inside to the desk, breathlessly demanding to know where I could find my mom’s room. The look of terror on my face surely kept visiting hours from applying to me. I was given the room number and directions and I bolted for the elevators, snatching my visitor’s pass. It was after one in the morning.

  The pungent odor of hospital disinfectant assaulted me the second the elevator doors opened. My nose burned with it as I hesitated long enough to scan the signs for which direction Room 402 was in. No one was at the nurses’ station to stop me and I ran as fast as I could to get to Mom.

  I skidded to a halt at the door of her private room. Three giant steps took me to her bedside. I stared at my mother, lying unconscious and paralyzed in a hospital bed, barely breathing while I tried desperately to catch mine. I flinched every time the machines surrounding her beeped, disturbing the otherwise silent room. There was an IV in both of her arms, wires attached to her chest and a large tube snaking down her throat, forcing her to breathe. Her skin was ashen, seeming to stretch across her bones. Oxygen flowed from little pieces of plastic inserted into her nostrils. Her eyes were closed and had been since she’d gone unconscious. This was the first time I’d ever seen my mother sick with more than a cold or the flu. My stomach roiled with acid and I clasped a clammy hand over my mouth to keep from throwing up.

  Getting as much of a grip on myself as I could, I sat down and took her cool left hand in mine, struggling to find the words I wanted to say. I had already spoken with her ER doctor and he’d told me there was no hope she would recover. How could this be? I’d just spoken to her that morning! She was fine! What the hell was going on?

  “Hi Mom,” I whispered. I got no reaction. Tears welled up in my eyes and poured down my cheeks. My heart had been convinced she would sit up and talk back when she realized I was there.

  I pressed her thin, motionless fingers to my cheek and cried. My pounding head and heart sent bolts of emotional pain through my soul. I found my voice after a few minutes and began begging for her forgiveness.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have gone to California. Jake could have handled all of that shit, I didn’t need to be there. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

  I lifted my head to the ceiling.

  “Please God, please, not now. I won’t go back. I won’t leave her. Just help her. Please, help her God.”

  Nothing happened. Logically I knew it wouldn’t. Never having been a religious person or a church attendee, I had no reason to expect God, if one existed, would answer any prayers I threw out there. I didn’t deserve it. I hadn’t earned it.

  My heart felt like a lead weight inside my chest, each beat making it sink a little closer to my gut. Memories of our lives together flashed in my brain, making me cry a little harder with each one. Sitting on her lap while Dad drove us to some vacation destination spot, the rumbly feeling of her chest as she talked or sang. Shopping for a prom dress my senior year of high school. The day Bruce and I got married and she gave me a handkerchief that had belonged to her mother and grandmother. The day Dad died. When I signed the publishing contract and she cried with joy for me.

  I was glad there was no one else in the room to see me lose it. The pain filling me up was worse than anything I’d ever experienced, even when Bruce died. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Bruce in months when I found out he’d been killed. He was almost a dream to me, and the shock I felt kept me insulated from too much pain.

  Sitting with Mom, all I could think was how I’d taken her for granted, believing she’d be around forever. I was childish and foolish to think so, but the idea of losing her was one I avoided at all costs. She wasn’t supposed to be in this position. She was a good person with a full life, lots of friends and things to do. How could this have happened? I moaned and squeezed her hand harder, hoping it would garner some response, any response from her.

  Just then a nurse came in to change one of Mom’s IVs. I mopped my face on the edge of Mom’s sheet. She gave me a kind smile and went about her chore as quickly as she could. Before she left, she touched me on the shoulder. “I’m so very sorry. My name is April. Is there anything I can get for you?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak. Her kindness brought on a fresh batch of tears. I squeezed the fingers resting on my shoulder, mouthing the words, “thank you.”

  Dawn began creeping its way into the room through the cracks in the dull gray blinds covering the window. April had come and gone throughout the night to take Mom’s vital signs and change IVs, always offering to get me anything I needed. Each time I declined, thanking her just the same. Not once had I closed my ey
es and slept. As horrifying as the situation was, and as much as I hated seeing Mom this way, I didn’t want to miss a moment of it. I had always been told the last thing to go when someone was dying was their hearing. I was desperate to make sure Mom knew how much I loved her. I swallowed my fear and anger to focus on giving her all my love and devotion.

  A little after seven a.m., a crowd of doctors came pouring into the room. I only knew Dr. Naber, who was our family doctor. He’d been with Dad at the end, too. The neurologist, anesthesiologist, and some other “ologist” introduced themselves, but I was in no shape to remember their names.

  “Hello, Vivienne,” Dr. Naber said quietly, pulling me out of the chair to give me a firm hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “You shouldn’t be alone. Isn’t there someone we can call to be with you?” His hands were planted firmly on my upper arms. “A friend, maybe?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”

  I wanted to be by myself with Mom and my grief. I wasn’t ready for the well-meaning but awkward sentiments and platitudes offered by people not feeling what I was feeling.

  I tried to listen as the doctors explained Mom’s condition. Medical terms floated into my ears, things like cerebrovascular accident, hemorrhagic stroke, and ruptured cerebral aneurysm. I had an abstract ability to understand what they were saying, but my heart blocked all of their words. My mom was brain dead, that was the long and the short of it. They could keep her on life support for as long as I wanted, but it wouldn’t help. She wasn’t coming back. I asked about whether or not she might be “locked in,” a condition I’d heard about when stroke victims were fully aware of their surroundings but unable to respond.

  Dr. Naber quickly disavowed me of that notion, assuring me every test had been run to detect any brain function. There was none. Hope leaked out of me through new tears.

  Dr. Naber asked me if I had any questions. What was there to ask? He couldn’t tell me why this had happened, or what I was going to do without her.

  I hugged myself, shaking my head at the gaggle of medical professionals. I couldn’t speak. I was exhausted from the flight and being up all night; I just wanted them all to leave. Dr. Naber must have sensed I was reaching my breaking point because he ushered them all out of the room. Before he closed the door, he offered me one more sad, sympathetic smile.

  “I’ll come back to see you later, okay?”

  All I could do was nod and wave goodbye. I sat back down to hold Mom’s hand again. I never felt so helpless in all my life. When Bruce died, I was a child. As sad and mournful as I was then, and for the next seventeen years, it was nothing, nothing compared to this. Even when Dad died, Mom was there to hold me up. But now I was going to be alone, truly alone, for the rest of my life. I had no one.

  I laid my head down on the bed beside her and lifted Mom’s hand to rest on my head, pretending for the last time that she was comforting me.

  *****

  When Nurse April was clocking out from her shift, she came in to say goodbye.

  “You should go home for a while. There’s nothing you can do.”

  “I can’t leave her.” I hiccupped, and then clasped my hand over my mouth with embarrassment.

  April stood beside me and smiled.

  “She knows you’re here. She knows you stayed all night. Tell her you’ll be back.”

  I wanted to protest, but exhaustion was weighing me down. I needed a shower, my deodorant and perfume having worn away hours ago. My hair was a tangled mess and my clothes reeked. I still wore the light tee-shirt and shorts I’d put on two days before to meet Pepper.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am,” April said. She put her hand on my back and encouraged me to stand up. “Go home and get some sleep. Then a shower and some food. She’ll be here waiting for you, I promise.”

  “All right.”

  The first step away from the bed was the hardest, but once I got going, forward motion took over. April stayed with me as we rode down the elevator from the third floor. Then she walked me out to the cab stand in front of the hospital. The sun shone brightly and was hot as it bore down on me. She gave me another hug.

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Thank you.” I gave her a weak smile. It was all I could do. I fumbled inside my purse for my sunglasses to block the yellow rays from my bloodshot eyes.

  I was too tired to think as the Yellow Cab sped along I-94 toward St. Clair Shores. I must have zoned out, because it seemed like the ride only took a few moments. I paid the fare with the last of my cash and the cab sped away.

  I was trudging to the front porch of my shotgun ranch, knees wobbly, head throbbing with fatigue and heartbreak. Squinting, in spite of my dark glasses, I reached a hand into the pocket of my pants, thoroughly convinced my keys would be there so I could get inside.

  “Dammit.” I remembered then that Pepper had rushed me straight to the airport from Starbucks so I could fly home. I hadn’t gone back for my luggage. I’d had my driver’s license and credit cards with me, so my suitcase was not a necessity in my haste to leave California.

  Turning around, I stepped back onto the driveway, around my car, and then headed through the gate toward the back door, stumbling into the garbage can.

  “Dammit!” The stink of week-old garbage swirled around me. I wanted to kick the shit out of the mess surrounding me, but somehow managed to control the urge. Pushing the bag back inside with my foot, I replaced the lid and righted it.

  Turning around, the concrete step was loose and I’d hidden a key behind it. Jiggling it away from the house, I could see the silver metal shining right where I left it. I bent down to reach for it and my knees gave out. I crashed down, skinning both of them and the palms of my hands as well, as I sprawled flat on my stomach.

  “Motherfucker!”

  I lay prone for several minutes trying to find the strength to get up. I didn’t want to have to crawl up the step and try to fiddle with the key on my already injured knees.

  “Come on Vivienne,” I hissed. “Get the fuck up!”

  By sheer force of will, I lunged myself up and barely stayed on my unsteady feet. Using the side of the house for support, I leaned against the cool steel of the door. I got the key in the lock on the first try and let myself in.

  I flung the door open and it banged against the wall, trying to come back to hit me. Reflexively, I stopped the onslaught of metal and gently propped it open. Stepping up from the landing and into the kitchen, I was slammed by the sight of my home. While I was gone, Mom had come by to clean the place up.

  There were no dirty dishes in the sink and the dishcloth was neatly hanging over the faucet, instead of lying in a damp lump like I usually left it. There was no trash in the garbage can and a fresh bag lined the inside, where I would have probably forgotten to put one in. All the counters were spotless and clean. The scent of Mom’s product of choice, Clorox Cleanup, hung in the air. Walking through the kitchen and into the living and dining room, I could see the rug was freshly vacuumed and all the furniture surfaces were dust free. There was even a bunch of fairly fresh lilacs in a vase on the dining room table. Mom’s favorite flowers.

  I crumpled to the floor and covered my face with my hands. Knowing that one of the last things my mother did was clean my house crushed me. Clutching at my chest and throat, I tried to fill my lungs, but the air wouldn’t come. It couldn’t push past the sobs.

  The gentle tears I’d shed in the quiet of the hospital turned into wailing like a wounded animal that knows it’s caught in a trap and is going to die. With no one there to help me calm down, I howled and moaned until I passed out.

  When I finally came to, my eyes were crusted shut from crying and I had to force them open with my fingers. Gazing at the wall clock, I saw that it was past one in the afternoon. I’d been on the floor for more than four hours.

  I got up stiffly, massaging my knees and back, willing my body to move a
gain. I tried not to look around, afraid I would notice more things Mom had done. I couldn’t fall back into another fit like before. I needed to get myself cleaned up and back to the hospital.

  I had turned my phone off when I boarded the plane at LAX. When I powered it up, I thought it was going to spontaneously combust with all the missed texts and voicemails. Both Pepper and Will had blown up my phone. My vision blurred as I realized I had two people who cared about me that much. I slumped onto the couch with the phone in my hand. As much as it offered me some comfort to think of them, the morbid thoughts came hand in hand. Two more people who would eventually leave me. People get sick. People die. I couldn’t call them. Watching and waiting for Mom to die was enough.

  *****

  I scalded myself with the hottest shower I could stand. I bandaged my knees and dressed in the first pair of shorts and tee-shirt I could find. I threw my dripping hair into a ponytail. My phone was on fire again with more texts and missed calls. I checked to make sure none were from the hospital. Not wanting to, but knowing it was what I had to do, I shot off a quick text to Pepper.

  Mom had a massive stroke. In ICU. Not sure what’s going to happen. Will be in touch soon.

  Then I copied the text and send the same message to Will.

  I turned off the phone before I could receive any replies or be forced to ignore any incoming calls from them. I could barely take care of myself at this point, how could I be expected to reassure them or accept their comfort?

  I plucked my spare car key from the rack hanging in the kitchen and headed out to my trusty Ford pickup. Fortunately, the hospital was only twenty minutes from my house, as long as I did eighty miles per hour, and soon I was seated beside my mom once more.

  Dr. Naber came and went twice a day for the next two days as I kept vigil. On the third, when he showed up for his morning rounds, I only had to nod my head and he understood. I asked him if he would be there, and he said yes. He would come right after he finished his rounds.