“I’ll wait right here,” Trent said just outside my father’s hospital room door.
“Hey, Daddy.” I managed a smile as I approached his bed. I was just grateful to see his eyes half-open. They had removed the mask and replaced it with tubing.
My father tried to lift a hand, but the exertion of energy proved too much and he dropped it back onto the bed.
I eased over and took his hand into mine. “I love you. Forever.”
“A . . . n . . . d e . . . ver.” Although his voice was just above a whisper, him uttering our favorite way of saying I love you made me want to climb into his bed and die right along with him.
“You’re gonna be okay,” I said, rubbing his salt-and-pepper hair. I know I didn’t sound convincing, but maybe if I said it enough, it would come true.
He shook his head, causing my tears to flow even faster. “I-I have to t-tell you someth—”
I stopped him. “No, you just have to be quiet and get better. The doctors are working hard and they’re going to save your life, you hear me? I prayed to God.”
Though he looked absolutely worn out, my father managed a slight smile. If he were in his right mind, he probably would’ve jumped for joy. Despite the fact that he had me in church every Sunday, the minute I left for college, I started drifting away. Then, when Jared died, I’d left the church altogether. I had never reconciled a God who would allow so much pain and suffering. It’s not that I didn’t believe in God. I just had a lot of questions no one had been able to answer, so I’d drifted away from organized religion and become more of a spiritual person—which, of course, drove my grandmother mad.
“You may have left God, but He didn’t leave you,” my father had told me just last Sunday. I hoped he was right because I’d prayed all night. And hopefully, God was listening and would save my daddy.
I tried to put strength behind my words. “You always say everything happens for a reason. You’re in this hospital because God wanted to show me His healing power.”
I heard my grandmother grunt in the background. I hadn’t even heard her come in. “You’re going to come through this surgery just fine,” I continued.
“N-no, I won’t . . . but k-know I’m so . . . rry . . .” His whispered apologies brought even more tears to my eyes.
Now my interest was really piqued.
“I only w-wanted wh-what’s best.”
The nurse walked in before I could reply.
“I am sorry to cut you all off but we have got to get Mr. Hayes into surgery. The doctor is prepped and ready to go.”
Grandma leaned down and kissed my father on the head. “I’ll tell her,” I heard my grandmother whisper. “I promise.”
“Tell me what?” I couldn’t help but ask.
But before my grandmother could respond, my father squeezed her hand, then his arm dropped to his side as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I was momentarily discombobulated as I tried to figure out what was happening. But then that horrible flatline sound that I had heard in numerous movies permeated the air. I screamed. My grandmother stood frozen. Then the nurse frantically rushed us out as I heard someone else yell, “Code Blue!”
Several nurses and the doctor came racing down the hall. They shuttled us out of the room as it turned into a whirlwind of chaos.
I watched through the hospital room window, trembling in silent fear as they connected contraptions to him, pumped his chest, shouted orders. They moved as fast as my heart. And then, all of the frantic movement stopped. Dr. Toobin’s shoulders drooped and I saw him look at the clock. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but when I saw a nurse pull the cover over my father’s now-lifeless body, I reached down deep inside my soul and released a blood-curdling scream that would change my world forever.
CHAPTER 6
* * *
They say that there is life after death. I don’t know how. Because right about now, I didn’t know how in the world I was supposed to keep living now that my daddy was dead.
I know it was crazy. I knew that we all had to die at some point, but to me, my father was invincible. Maybe if I had had time to prepare, to come to grips with this, I could’ve handled it better. But right about now I was handling this in the worst way possible. Another unexpected death of someone I loved.
“You ready, babe?” Trent looked gorgeous in his white Navy uniform. He had been so patient with me this past week. I had barely been able to function. Thankfully, April and my grandmother had stepped in and taken care of all of the funeral arrangements.
“No, I’m not ready,” I replied, sitting on the edge of my childhood bed. I brushed down my black silk dress, which I knew I would give to Goodwill after today because I would never be able to wear it again. “Not ready,” I repeated. “But we can go.” Even as I said the words, I couldn’t move.
Trent reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me up. “Come on, babe. You have to get it together. We can’t be late.”
I snatched my arm away. “Really?” I snapped. Today was not the day for his need for control. I would move at my own pace.
His shoulders relaxed as he pulled me to him, a lot more gentle this time. “I’m sorry, it’s just the longer you sit here, the harder this is going to be. And we really need to get going. But I got you. I’ll be here for you every step of the way.”
Trent hugged me, I know, hoping to transfer some of his strength. It didn’t work, though my irritation at his aggression did dissipate.
With bated steps, I made my way out into the living room, where April and her husband, my grandmother, Uncle Clyde, and one of my dad’s cousins were all standing around. The air of grief suffocated the room.
“The cars are ready,” the funeral-home director said. I took in his appearance. It was obvious he was in the right line of work. With his somber expression, hollow-looking eyes, and ashy face, he looked like something straight out of a horror movie.
Everyone waited for me to lead the way, which I did.
MY DADDY’S SERVICE WAS a blur. I remember the choir singing “Soon and Very Soon” and some other song that caused wails throughout the church. Several people spoke—many sharing funny moments about my father. But nothing anyone said could replace the sorrow that had consumed me.
When I wasn’t shedding silent tears, I sat stoic, praying that I would wake up from this nightmare.
As the minister closed out the service, I heard my grandmother let out a wail and that was my trigger, too. I felt the air seep from my body and everything around me went black.
I HAD NO IDEA how I got home, but when I came to, I was nestled in my childhood bed and the sun was peeking in through the blinds.
I sat up, stretched, and tried to get my bearings. I was still in my dress. The clock on the nightstand said it was 6 a.m. I pulled the covers back, got up, and headed into the bathroom to wash my face.
After I’d refreshed and changed into a maxi-dress that I’d left in my bedroom closet, I made my way into the kitchen.
I wasn’t surprised to see my grandmother at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. It was an early morning ritual that she’d been doing for as long as I could remember.
“Good morning,” she said when she saw me enter.
“Good morning.” I slid in the seat across from her. “I can’t believe I’ve been asleep for so long.”
My grandmother got up and walked over to the coffeepot to pour me a cup. I wanted to tell her I’d much rather gourmet coffee from the Keurig I’d bought her for Christmas, but since she refused to use “that ridiculous contraption,” I didn’t bother saying anything.
“Trent gave you a sleeping pill. After you fainted, you came to but you were inconsolable and out of it. He brought you here and stayed till about midnight.” She set the coffee cup down in front of me.
“I missed the burial.” I picked the cup up and took a sip, hoping the heat could stave off my tears.
“That’s probably best. You were in pretty bad shape.”
We sat in silence for a moment, before I said, “Grandma, before Daddy died, he kept saying he was sorry. You said you would tell me something. What was he talking about?”
My grandmother hesitated, like she was contemplating whether she was going to say anything. She moved over to the stove and stood with her back to me.
“Grandma, please. I need to know. What did he mean?” I had been meaning to ask her about this all week, but I’d been so out of it, I forgot about it until now.
Her shoulders sank, as if whatever it was I needed to know weighed a ton. “Some secrets are best left buried,” she said, her voice soft as she turned around.
“Secrets? Daddy and I didn’t have any secrets from each other.”
She refused to look at me as her eyes darted all around the kitchen, so I moved to stand directly in front of her.
“Tell me the truth,” I said. “Was he sick and hiding it?”
Again, her shoulders rose, then fell. Finally, she shook her head. “No, the stroke caught all of us by surprise.” She began pacing back and forth. It felt like she was just trying to escape my gaze. “Maybe we should give it some time.”
I was out of patience and time. I put a hand on her arm to stop her pacing. “Grandma, no disrespect, but you need to tell me what’s going on.”
“I don’t need to do anything but stay black and die,” she said, jerking her arm away. She paced some more, then released a long sigh. “But it’s about high time you knew. In fact, I thought you should’ve known a long time ago, but your daddy, he just . . .”
“Grandma, please?”
Our eyes met, she stared at me for a moment, then she turned and walked over to the armoire in the dining room. She pulled open a drawer, reached in, fumbled around, then pulled out a manila envelope. The intensity on her face as she walked back toward me sent my heart into a sprint.
With careful purpose, she opened the envelope and slid a photo in my direction. The woman in the picture was wearing the prettiest fuchsia dress and immediately I recognized the eyes. They were the eyes of the picture that sat on my nightstand. The same eyes that I said I love you to every night before I closed my eyes.
“Is this Mama?” I asked, my voice soft.
She nodded.
“She looks so much older.” I was still trying to process why my dad had an old picture of my mom hidden away in an envelope in the drawer. I kept my picture, but after Daddy got rid of the photo he had held on to for years, he never had any more pictures of Mama around the house. He’d said it was too hard to see her face on a regular basis.
Now my grandmother was looking me straight in the eyes. “That’s because she is older.”
“What?”
My grandmother inhaled, exhaled, and then rushed her words out. “Baby, that’s your mama.”
It was then that I noticed the date stamp in the corner of the picture. “This says March 19, 2015.”
She nodded.
Now I was utterly confused. My mother had been dead twenty-five years. “I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
“That picture is from two years ago.”
I frowned, her words trying to register in my head. “I don’t understand. Mama has been dead for years.”
My grandmother fell back into her chair as if the delivery of this news was exhausting. “No, she hasn’t.”
“What?” I said. “Grandma, you’re not making any sense.”
Another long sigh, then she said, “Your mother isn’t dead.”
“I don’t understand,” I repeated, staring at the picture again. “This is crazy. My mother is dead.”
Again, she just shook her head.
I continued: “I mean, we had a funeral. Remember?”
“No, we had a memorial service to remember her,” my grandmother corrected.
Now it was my turn to pace. I shook the photo at my grandmother as I walked back and forth across the linoleum floor. “I’m not crazy. What kind of game is this? My mother has been dead for years.”
“That’s what we led you to believe. That’s what we wanted you to believe.”
I stopped pacing and stared at my grandmother in disbelief. “She’s alive?” I don’t know which was greater, the pain of my mother dying or the pain of knowing she was alive.
“What happened to her?” I demanded to know. “Where is she? Was she kidnapped? Did she have amnesia?” A lifetime of Lifetime movies ran through my head, searching for some viable explanation.
“Sit down,” my grandmother said.
“No, I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what’s going on.” Normally, I would’ve never been defiant to my grandmother, but these were extenuating circumstances.
My grandmother must’ve given me a pass on my defiance because she simply said, “Your mother ran away.”
My brow furrowed as I said, “Children run away. Mothers don’t run away.”
“Your mother did.”
My grandmother sipped some more of her coffee, then continued talking. “For the longest, I could tell your mother wasn’t happy, but your father loved her so much. I think he thought he could force her to be happy. And for a minute, after you were born, you brought her some happiness. And then, it’s like the light went out in her eyes. She just didn’t want to be here. Obviously, this wasn’t the life that she wanted.”
I fell back against the kitchen counter, trying to process everything my grandmother was saying. “Okay, so then she gets a divorce.” I had a lot of friends whose parents were divorced. Most of my friends’ parents were divorced.
“Your mother knew that if she filed for divorce, she wouldn’t be able to take care of you,” my grandmother replied.
“That’s crazy. They could’ve shared joint custody. Daddy would’ve paid child support.” I paused. “Did Daddy do something to her?”
“Now, you wait a minute,” Grandma said, getting angry. “It wasn’t your daddy’s fault. Sarah didn’t want joint custody. She didn’t want any custody. She wanted out. So she left to visit a friend one day and just never came back.”
“Huh?” I had heard stories of back in the day, fathers who went to the store for bread and never returned. But this, a mother abandoning a child? That was insane. Mothers don’t abandon their children.
I finally sat back down at the table. “So, my mother decided she didn’t want to be a mother and you guys thought the answer was to pretend she was dead?”
“I didn’t say it was right. Your daddy didn’t want you to have to deal with the thought of your mother abandoning you.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I refuse to believe this.”
She took another sip of her coffee. “Well, you can believe it, or not. But you know I don’t lie. No need to.”
I glared at my grandmother. “Except when it comes to making me believe my mother is dead.”
The stunned expression on my grandmother’s face made me immediately regret my words. But before I could apologize, she pushed back from the table and stood up.
“I’m going to chalk your disrespect up to grief and shock. But I’ll leave you be now before I have to attend another funeral.”
Anger pierced her steps as she made her way out of the kitchen. I would definitely apologize later. Right now, my mind was consumed with emotions—grief over losing my father, and excitement over the idea of finding my mother. The problem was I had no idea where to begin looking for her.
CHAPTER 7
* * *
For the past week, it had been a monumental effort just to do the most basic of tasks. I’d gone home and tried to get myself together, but when I saw the pile of clothes in my bedroom, I remembered that I hadn’t washed since my father died. I went to toss a load of colored clothes in the washing machine, then poured bleach into the water.
I immediately realized what I was doing and was able to snatch some of my clothes out of the washer, but not before ruining my favorite jeans. I knew there was no way I’d be able to do anything with this rev
elation about my mother hanging over me.
Both April and Trent had called to check on me, but I needed to be alone. I hadn’t told either of them my grandmother’s news because I was still processing everything. But I knew that after yet another sleepless night, I had to find answers.
In fact, I told myself that I was going to get answers if it was the last thing I did. It seemed that my grandmother had given all that she had to give. I don’t know if she was mad about my comment—even though I’d apologized. But she was adamant that she didn’t know any more than what she’d told me. She didn’t even know where the photo she had shown me had been taken. I’d studied it for hours, searching for some type of clue. Of course, there was nothing there. It was just a generic snapshot of her sitting on a park bench. But someone had to have taken the picture. Maybe my father had hired a private eye and he’d found my mother, and had taken the picture.
If my grandmother didn’t have answers, I needed to head to the one other person who surely would—my father’s best friend of forty years, Clyde Samuels.
That’s why I had just pulled into his dilapidated driveway, which was stocked with old lawn mowers, ice makers, and everything in between. He was a Mr. Fix-It Man who never quite got around to fixing things, but that didn’t stop him from collecting things to work on later.
“Well, hey, baby girl,” he said as I made my way up the walkway. He was sitting on his front porch working on an air conditioner.
“Hi, Uncle Clyde.” I kissed him on his cheek, his stubble scratching my lips.
Uncle Clyde was single and loving it. I couldn’t for the life of me understand how an eighty-year-old man could pull in the women like he did. But ever since his wife died twenty-three years ago, that’s exactly what he had been doing.
“Isn’t this a pleasant surprise?” he said. He used his wrench to pat the chair next to him. “Sit. So what brings you by?”
I moved the toaster out of the way and took a seat. “I know I was out of it at the funeral, but I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”
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