“You should still talk to her. Some studies say that even though the person’s unconscious, they still hear what’s going on around them.”
“She hasn’t eaten.”
“She’s comfortable,” she assures me quietly.
“She hasn’t eaten or had any water. How long can she live like this?” I whimper as reality sets in. This is it.
“No one knows for sure,” she says, coming to sit in the chair next to the bed.
Four days. Four days is how long it took for my mom to take her last breath. Four days of recounting all the stories that I could remember about her and dad, about us as a family. About anything I could think of. I didn’t know if she heard me, but I couldn’t stop the stories, or the tears, as I listened to her breathe while memorizing the sound, the timing, and the flow until she had taken a breath and silence filled the room. I waited for a long time to see if she would take another, but none came. I don’t know how long I laid there looking at the ceiling before people came into the room, as the sound of alarms were going off.
I didn’t cry. I couldn’t even move. It felt like it was all a dream, like none of it was real. I lay there looking up at the ceiling, fighting to breathe, and then Austin’s arms wrapped around me and carried me away. I buried my face in his neck, the smell of his skin calming something deep inside me as he sat with me in his lap, holding me close, talking softly until I was able to breathe again.
*
“What do you want me to do with these cookies that Mr. and Mrs. Grates dropped off?” Ben asks, stepping into the kitchen, where I’m washing dishes.
“Just set them there with all the other stuff,” I mutter, looking at the table that is covered in food, cookies, and cakes.
“You’re never going to be able to eat all of this,” he tells me—something I already know. Since the day I got back to the house, people have been dropping off food left and right. I had no idea my mom even knew so many people, and I wondered if they knew it was only me here now.
“You know she never talked about Cordova,” I say quietly, looking down into the soapy water.
“Pardon?” Ben asks, moving stuff around on the table so he can set the plate down.
“She never talked about here. At first, when I left home, I would ask how people were, and she would give me small updates about who was doing what, but then those details dwindled down to nothing. After a while, the only time she would talk about the people here is when she’d slip up and mention something about someone.”
“Really?” he asks, looking at me over his shoulder.
“I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t, and I was too afraid to bring it up, because I thought there was something big she didn’t want to share, like she had a boyfriend or something.” Or like Austin was married with kids, I think.
“Maybe she didn’t want you to miss it here.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I agree, putting the dishes I just washed away, while whispering, “I wish I would have come back years ago, instead of being so afraid to face this place and the people here. I wish a lot of things.” I feel my throat close up, then feel Ben at my side and his arm wraps around my shoulders.
“I think all parents believe they know what’s best for their children, even when they don’t, even when they’re letting their own fears dictate their thinking.”
“What could she have been afraid of?”
“I don’t know, Lea,” he says softly before placing a kiss on my temple and stepping back. “You know, I really am glad you’re staying in town.”
“As of today, my plan is to stay in town,” I tell him, watching confusion wrinkle his brow.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know what is going to happen in the future,” I whisper, leaving out the real reason I’ll leave one day, and that would be the day Austin tells me he’s going to start a life with someone else. I know there’s no way I can be here for that.
“You won’t leave Austin again, like you did before, right?”
“Of course not.” When I leave, Austin will be happy and moving on with his life, and I will do the same. Somehow.
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“What if I had a small party here tomorrow?” I ask, changing the subject. “It would be a way to get rid of some of this food, and maybe it would give people some closure at the same time.”
His eyes narrow, but I turn away when I see Rhonda out of the corner of my eye standing in the kitchen doorway.
“It’s a great idea,” she says softly. “I’ll just make a few phone calls and get everything set up.”
“Great,” I agree, watching her turn and leave.
“I’m gonna call Austin and let him know what’s going on,” Ben tells me.
I give him a smile then walk to the table, pull out one of the chairs, and take a seat, feeling exhausted. I haven’t gotten any real sleep in the last few days. Every time I close my eyes, my mind replays my mom’s last breath over and over, like a bad record. I want to ask Keith if he can prescribe something that might help, but at the same time, I hate the idea of having to drug myself.
“The phone chain is in effect. I told people to come around five and that they shouldn’t bring anything with them,” Rhonda says, taking a seat across from me. “You look tired.” She observes me closely.
“I haven’t been sleeping much.” I shrug, pulling one of the cookies off the plate, breaking it in half, and then taking a bite. “Every time I lay down, my mind wanders.”