by Lexie Ray
For what I was about to do, I was remarkably calm. I set the loaded gun on the table and picked up the cell phone. Three little numbers. I’d called 9-1-1 for Jules once before. This, too, was for Jules. For Jules and my son.
For their future.
I took a deep breath and dialed.
“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
“I’m going to shoot myself in the head,” I said.
“You don’t want to do that,” the dispatcher said immediately. There was probably some sort of training for this, dealing with kooky or depressed callers, looking for a way out of what they had resigned themselves to do.
“No, I do want to do this,” I corrected. “This needs to happen. I understand now.”
“There’s so much to live for,” the dispatcher said. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Wanda Dupree, and there is so much to die for,” I said, making sure I was speaking loud and clear. My voice didn’t shake for a second. “My name is Wanda Dupree, and I’m going to shoot myself in the head. When I’m dead, I want to make sure that my heart goes to my daughter-in-law, Jules Dupree. She’s on the transplant list, but she needs a heart sooner than that. She needs a heart now.”
“Mrs. Dupree, this is highly irregular,” the dispatcher said. It was her voice that was shaking, not mine. I was calm as I could possibly be. This was what I was meant to do. It was why I’d been through everything. It all seemed so clear now.
“This needs to happen,” I said. “I’m going to give you my address. When the EMTs get here, I’ll have the front door open. They’re to come right in, and I’ll be in the bathroom. Do you understand?”
“Mrs. Dupree, you’re going to be fine,” the dispatcher said. “We’re sending people over to help you right away. Why don’t you just stay on the phone with me for a few minutes, until they get there?”
“The EMTs are on their way?” I asked, looking at the clock. How long would it take for them to get there?
“Yes, Mrs. Dupree,” the dispatcher said. “Now, talk to me about your daughter-in-law, Jules. I don’t think she’d want you to shoot yourself. Do you?”
Probably not. If anyone wanted me to shoot myself, it would be my son. Marshall just couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive me for my transgressions. In time, perhaps he could’ve moved past the nightclub and everything I’d done there. But he’d never forgive me for leaving him to begin with—no matter what the reasons had been. I was sure I didn’t even remember what they’d been anymore.
“Mrs. Dupree?”
“This is the right thing to do,” I said firmly. “I’m ending the call now. I have some things to do.”
“Mrs. Dupree, don’t—”
I mashed the button to disconnect and dialed Marshall’s number, picking up the gun and walking to the bathroom. I needed him to understand what I was doing and why I was doing it. I needed him to know that I could do things right sometimes.
“Mom, now’s not a good time,” he said, his voice hurried, not a trace of the sweet child I’d raised. Marshall was a man. I’d missed his entire childhood chasing some fool dream. God, how stupid could I have been?
“How’s Jules doing?” I asked.
“They’re not optimistic,” he said, his voice breaking. My heart broke for my baby boy. My only child. My man. He would be fine, I knew. He’d done so well for himself without a lick of help from me. He would continue to be strong. He had his Jules to support him. And after I did what needed to be done, he’d have her around for a lot longer—and the opportunity to finally start a family.
“It’s going to be all right,” I said, flipping on the lights to the bathroom. This was going to be messy, but maybe it wouldn’t be such a chore to clean it up in here. The walls were all tile. They could probably just snake the hose in through the window and spray everything down.
“You’re not listening to me,” Marshall said, his voice raw with grief and desperation. “They’re saying she’s not going to make it, Mom. This is what we were afraid of. It would take a miracle now, that she would somehow have to shoot right to the top of the transplant list. It’s not happening for us. It’s not.”
“I’m working on your miracle right now, Marshall,” I said. “Don’t you worry, baby. Mama’s gonna come through for you. I know I haven’t been a good mother for you. I know I’ve failed. But this is one thing I can do right. This is one miracle I can make happen.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the call, and I could hear the faint background sounds of the hospital. Beeps from a monitor. A nurse’s murmur. The hiss of oxygen. I imagined my son sitting by his beloved wife’s bedside, praying for some kind of reprieve from the sentence that had been handed down.
Relief was coming. It would be there in minutes, with luck.
“What are you talking about, Mom?” he asked, his voice wary. “If you’ve been drinking again, I swear to God that if you’re not out of the house by the time I get home, I will throw you out of there. I don’t care if you’re my mother. I don’t care if you gave me life. I will throw you out.”
“I haven’t been drunk since prison,” I said patiently. “The steps worked for me, Marshall. I thought you knew that.”
“I thought I did, too,” he said. “But now you’re calling me, talking all this crazy talk, and I don’t know what to think. My wife—my Jules—they say she’s going to die.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “She will get a new heart tonight.”
“How can you be so sure?” Marshall whispered. There was my little boy. The one who hoped for things. Who asked his Mama to solve his problems. Whose hurts could be solved with a Band-Aid and a kiss. I ached for that Marshall. I ached for there to be some way to turn time back, to go back to when I could scoop my little boy into my ears and kiss him until he screamed with laughter.
There was no magic time machine I could slip into or spell I could say to make it happen. But I could be there for him now. I could be the mother he needed—the solution to his problem.
“I’m so sure because it’s going to be my heart,” I said. “I’m going to give my heart to Jules.”
I heard sirens and bit my lip. So soon. The EMTs were nearly here.
Time had been such a funny thing for me—an ally and an enemy. When I had pissed my life away drinking so much, I’d blown through time without so much as a backward glance. And when I was in prison, the seconds crept by like long minutes if I wasn’t occupied with something. But now, when I was trying to tell my son the most important thing I’d ever told anyone, time was flying by. Time was flying by, and I needed it to slow down. I needed to make my son understand.
“I don’t get it, Mom,” Marshall said. “You can’t just give your heart to someone. That’s not how it works. There’s paperwork. Lists. Bureaucracy. Laws. It’s a pretty idea, what you’re trying to do. But don’t be ridiculous. Don’t do something stupid.”
My son, the problem solver. It made me proud of him, proud that he was my son. He was going to be just fine. I’d see to that.
“I am leaving very clear instructions,” I said. I picked up a gallon-sized plastic bag from the bathroom countertop and checked the seal again. It was probably the third or fourth time I’d checked it, but I wanted to be sure. There wasn’t any need to get the documents soaked with blood. Inside I’d placed my will that I’d had drawn up. It stipulated all of my wishes. Maybe I hadn’t had much money to give Marshall—at least not the money I’d wanted to have for him. But maybe this would be better than a wad of money—knowing that he’d be able to spend more time with the woman he loved.
“Mom, this is ludicrous,” Marshall said. I could practically see him running a hand through his hair, pacing around in Jules’s hospital room. “We both know you’ve had some problems. But this isn’t the way. Hurting yourself is cowardly.”
“I’m doing this for you and Jules, Marshall,” I said. The sirens were screaming now, and I could see blue and red lights reflecting
off the walls in the hallway. It was time. The EMTs were here.
“We’ve had our differences,” Marshall said raggedly. “But killing yourself won’t solve anything. We—we can work harder. I can work harder.”
“That’s not what this is about, baby,” I said, stepping into the empty bathtub and settling myself down in it, making sure my plastic bag of papers was positioned in my lap. I needed to hurry. I didn’t want to mess this up by someone trying to wrestle the gun away from me. I needed to make sure this was perfect.
“Then what’s it about, Mom?”
“I screwed up your past, sugar. I know that. But I can help make sure that you have a happy future. I can make Julesbetter, make it so you get to spend more time with her. So you can make a family.”
The front door banged open. “Mrs. Dupree? Mrs. Dupree?”
“In here,” I called. “I’m back here, in the bathroom.” I took the safety off the gun and took a deep breath. My hand was steady. My heart felt light.
“Don’t, Mom,” Marshall begged. He was crying. I was sorry for that. It likely wasn’t the first time I’d been the cause of his tears. But it was time to make up for all of that.
It was time to prove to my son just what I was willing to do to ensure that he had the life that I knew he deserved.
“I love you, baby,” I said, and put the gun against my temple.
“I—I love you, Mama.”
I ended the call. I didn’t want my son to hear the sound of my life ending. He didn’t need to think about it like that. I wanted him to think about it as a beginning.
A squeeze of the trigger as the first EMT popped his head into the bathroom. Time slowed down into a bright white flow of images, random moments without any reason or order.
Marshall as a little boy, grinning toothlessly.
The inside of the nightclub in the daytime, shafts of sunlight illuminating certain tables, certain spots on the dance floor.
The look of the crowd from the stage in the nightclub, my hands wrapped around a microphone, singing.
The lawyer who wouldn’t look at me but ended up saving my life.
Marlee smiling at me, encouraging me to pursue self-improvement.
My girls surrounding me, laughing, happier times at the nightclub.
Hugging Marshall as a grown man, Jules smiling at me from behind his back.
Then, nothing.
Epilogue
Jules opened her eyes slowly, the bright lights of the room making her vision swim. She blinked again, and again, until she could see clearly. Marshall was there, his face in his hands, his shoulders slumped. Worried—he had been worried. And Jules had been the culprit. Oh. She needed to reassure him, tell him she was all right. She was awake, now. He could stop worrying.
She reached over and ran her hand down his forearm, making him jerk upright.
“You’re awake!” he exclaimed, and she could see the tired trails of tears down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Jules said, smiling at her husband. “It must have been bad.”
“It was bad,” he said. “It was real bad, Jules.”
“It’s over now,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “For however long, it’s over.”
“It’s over for good,” Marshall said, turning her hand in his and kissing her palm.
“For now,” she said again. There was no use getting their hopes up. It had happened before, and it would most likely happen again. Jules knew what this was.
“No, honey,” Marshall said gently. “You have a new heart.”
Jules blinked a couple of times before looking down at herself to try to ascertain whether it was true. Thick bandages covered her chest, but she felt relatively all right for the apparent procedure she’d just gone through. In fact, she felt better than she had in a long, long time.
“I don’t understand,” Jules said. “I thought that I was still a long way away from being at the top of the list.”
“You were, but something happened,” Marshall said. “Something that’s—I don’t know how to say this.”
Jules shook her head, raised her eyebrows, stared at her husband until it became clear to her that he wasn’t going to volunteer any more information willingly.
“It was a miracle, whatever it was,” she said, watching his reaction closely.
“In a way,” he said, choking on the words.
Jules could appreciate that he was emotional. She’d gotten her life back, and they could start planning for a future they used to not have.
“If I can’t get it out of you, Marshall, then Mama’ll tell me,” she said. “Can you go get her for me? I’d like to see her.”
He sobbed. Her calm, in-control husband sobbed, his grip on her hand constricting.
The new heart within Jules’ chest fluttered. She hoped it was allowed to flutter.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
And that was how she found out just whose heart was fluttering inside her body.
* * * *
“Chloe Wanda Dupree!” Jules exclaimed as her daughter ran bare-ass naked down the hallway, dripping wet from her bath and giggling madly. Jules made a brave attempt to smother her own laughter, but it was impossible. She couldn’t hardly stay upset at her little miracle baby. The child was a handful, but it was pure joy. Pure joy to have laughter in the house again.
“Mommy’s gonna get you!” Jules said, jogging after the little girl. Lord, she couldn’t believe that the child was going to be three in just a few months. There were some days that Jules was sure Chloe was still a tiny baby, not a growing little girl, chattering away, soaking up information like a sponge. Some nights, she even dreamed that she was still pregnant with her, the swell of her belly housing the precious life inside of her.
Jules halfway hoped that the dreams were a sign that she was pregnant again. She was ready for Chloe to have a little brother or sister. Jules was going to fill this house with babies if she had her way.
“I got you!”
Marshall emerged from Chloe’s bedroom, hoisting the towel-wrapped child in his arms and covering her with kisses.
“You can’t just go running around all wet, baby girl,” he fussed lightly, blowing little raspberries on her tiny shoulders.
“I done,” Chloe chirped. “No more bath.”
“You gotta tell Mommy and me, then,” Marshall said, rubbing the towel over her. Jules smiled as she got a pair of pajamas out from the dresser drawer in the room. Together, she and her husband dressed their daughter, tickling and kissing her as they went.
“Watch a movie?” Chloe wheedled, raising her eyebrows at Jules.
“I don’t think so, missy,” Jules said, raising her own eyebrows back. “It’s bedtime. We can watch a movie tomorrow.”
“O-kay.” The little girl sagged a little in disappointment, but giggled again when Marshall blew a raspberry in the crook of her neck.
“Now, now,” Jules said. “Daddy’s gonna get you all riled up. Hop into bed. Let’s go, on the double.”
“G’night, Mommy,” Chloe said, kissing Jules. It never failed to make Jules’ heart melt. Never.
“Good night, baby.”
“G’night, Daddy,” the little girl said, kissing Marshall. She made Marshall look young again, erased the lines of worry and stress from his face.
“Good night, baby.”
“G’night, Granmama.” Chloe carefully took the framed photo of Mama and kissed her on her smiling mouth.
“Granmama says ‘good night,’ too,” Marshall said. “Did you hear her?”
“No,” Chloe said, shaking her head and frowning before putting the photograph back on the bedside table. “No, I don’t hear her.”
“Well, you can’t listen for it with your ears, silly,” Marshall said, covering Chloe’s ears with his hands.
“Ears for listening,” Chloe protested, trying to wriggle away. “Why I no hear Granmama?”
“You gotta listen in here,” Marshall said, patting the child�
�s chest, “in your heart. That’s where Granmama talks to you.”
“In you and Mommy’s hearts?” Chloe demanded, looking up at Jules.
“Especially in Mommy’s heart,” Jules said, laying her hand over her own chest. The heart that beat just below her palm was truly a miracle. Jules wanted to honor the memory of the woman who had made her family’s future possible. It had been almost four years since Jules’ transplant, but Jules still gave thanks every day for Mama. Without her, none of this would’ve been possible.
Marshall gave Chloe one more kiss before rising and walking to the door with Jules.
“Granmama’s watching over you,” he reminded the little girl, pointing at the framed photo, as he did every night.
“I know,” Chloe said. “G’night.”
They closed the door to a crack and went to the kitchen.
“Funny thing happened today,” Marshall said with the feigned casualness that told Jules what he had to say was anything but casual.
“What was that?” she asked, running some water over the dishes from dinner before loading up the dishwasher.
“Somebody called Mama’s cell phone.”
Jules didn’t say anything at first. Marshall still paid the bill for the device even four years after her gift to Jules. Jules would let Marshall keep the cell phone for as long as he needed it. She looked at her husband as she put the casserole dish into the dishwasher. He was silent, thinking.
“Did you answer it?” she asked, pouring the dish soap into the dishwasher’s receptacle before closing the door and turning it on. They moved into the living room, away from the dull roar of the machine.
“No,” Marshall said. “I missed the call. They didn’t leave a voicemail.”
“Oh.”
They sat down on the couch and Marshall picked up the remote control for the television. He rolled it around in his hands, fidgeting with it without pressing the power button.
“Who do you think was looking for her?” he asked, peering at Jules.
She shrugged. “It could’ve been anyone,” she said. “Her lawyer, maybe. Someone from her past. You know Mama knew a lot of people.”
