“Go check on your mother, Penn. You’re the head of the family now. It’s time to start acting like it.”
While I stare in disbelief, Quentin tilts back his head and looks up at his wife. “Let’s go home, Doris.”
Doris Avery looks at me with infinite sadness. Then she lays her hands on her husband’s shoulders and nods twice.
“Let’s go, bubba,” Rusty says, gently pulling me to my feet. “Let’s find out how mama’s doin’.”
The waiting room of the Natchez ER is mostly empty at midday, even on a Friday. The only people there when we arrived looked like they were using the place for routine illnesses. When Rusty and I gave our names to the reception nurse, she asked us to wait by the door, then came out and escorted us to an empty treatment room. For a couple of minutes, I was sure Drew was going to walk in and tell us Mom had died, but Rusty kept insisting that was impossible, that my mother might well outlive us both.
When Drew finally did come in, Jenny was with him. He told us then that he was fairly certain Mom had suffered some sort of cerebral vascular event. He’d hoped it was a repeat of her silent migraine episode, but instinct told him there was something more serious going on. “I’ve ordered quite a few tests, and we’ve started them. But Peggy wants to see you before we take her down for her MRI and other scans.”
“Okay,” I say dully, trying to wrap my mind around everything.
Jenny says, “She’s scared to death, Penn. For Daddy mostly, but I think she’s actually afraid she might die for once. That’s why she wants to talk to you.”
“I’ll go talk to her.”
“Wait about ten minutes,” Drew says. “There’s a med tech in with her now.”
“Just let me know when I can go in. And thanks, Drew. Thanks for being there and moving so fast.”
“I’m just glad I was.” He starts to go, then from the door says, “I’ll be here all day, okay? We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I nod thanks, then turn to Jenny, who has begun shivering. When Rusty puts his arms around her to warm her up, she starts to cry.
“Come on, now,” I say, trying to calm her down. “Mom’s going to be all right.”
“It’s not Mom I’m thinking about. I mean . . . not the stroke, if that’s what it is.”
As I look into my sister’s eyes, I see a well of fear that appears to have no bottom. “Rusty, can you give us a minute?” I ask, not taking my eyes off hers.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right outside. Holler if you need anything.”
Rusty doesn’t wait for an answer, and soon Jenny and I are alone.
“Talk to me,” I tell her, taking hold of her hands, which are limp and clammy.
“Why did he do that, Penn? You don’t believe . . . Daddy really killed her?”
“No. I think he’s distraught over Caitlin and Walt. Viola, too, of course. He changed his plea out of an overwhelming sense of guilt. Survivor’s guilt, you know? Like the Holocaust, or wartime. He wants punishment.”
Jenny nods, but I can see she doesn’t fully accept this explanation.
“What is it?” I press. “What are you thinking about?”
“Penn, I need to tell you something else.”
“I’m listening.”
“The night Viola died, I was in England, of course. But I called the house, and Mom didn’t answer.”
“So?”
“I was worried, because it was early morning in Natchez.”
“How early?”
“Before dawn.”
I start to say “So?” again, but suddenly I understand why Jenny is upset. My mother is not merely a light sleeper; she has lived her nocturnal married life awaiting the late-night phone call heralding family tragedy. She’s always been haunted by dreams of Dad falling asleep and hitting a tree on the way to some distant house during a night call; and once Jenny and I could drive, Mom’s Pavlovian response to the telephone during those hours was forever imprinted in her brain.
“Can you be any more precise about what time you called?”
“That’s the thing,” Jenny says, her brow knitted with anxiety. “Because of the time zone difference, I didn’t think about it much in the beginning. But I called her during my noon break at school. With a seven-hour difference, that means it was—”
“Five a.m., or thereabouts,” I finish. “Viola died at five thirty-eight.”
Jenny shakes her head like a child trying to deny some dreaded reality.
“Did you just call once?”
“No. I thought she might have been in the bathroom, so I kept calling back.” Jenny flattens one hand against her chest as though to slow her heart. “When I finally reached her, much later, Mom told me she’d been sleeping and hadn’t heard the phone. God, my chest hurts.”
“Stop talking for a minute. Stop thinking, too.”
“I can’t. Penn, I think Mom was lying. She never doesn’t answer the phone in the early morning like that. I don’t think she was home. Dad, either.”
I blow out a rush of air, trying to force myself to think rationally. “Jesus. I don’t know what that means. When did you remember this?”
“It was on the plane ride over that it really started to bother me. I didn’t know what Daddy was trying to do by keeping quiet, and I was afraid to ask him. That’s why I only went to see him in jail that one time. I knew he would sense that I suspected something. I’ve been obsessing about it ever since the trial started, but I couldn’t bear to mention it to you. I was trying to trust in Daddy. For the first couple of days I was terrified, but starting yesterday it seemed like everything was going to turn out all right. But now this—”
“What about Mom, Jenny? Have you asked her about it since you got here?”
My sister nods again. “She totally blew me off again. Said she never heard the phone.”
“Maybe Dad left the TV on when he went out,” I suggest, “and that covered up the phone.”
Jenny dismisses this by closing her eyes. “You know that’s wrong. He has it blaring all the time in bed, and she still wakes up for the telephone. She’s like a mama bear sleeping through a storm, but waking up at the slightest peep from one of her cubs.” Jenny twists her neck with apparent pain, then shakes her head as though to rid herself of her thoughts.
“They’re going to call me in to see Mom in a second,” I remind her.
“I know.” Her bloodshot eyes find mine. “Was I right to tell you?”
“You had to tell me,” I assure her. “I don’t know where we’re going from here, but it’s long past time we knew the truth.”
The door opens and the reception nurse leans in. “Mayor Cage? Your mother’s waiting to see you.”
I hug Jenny, then hurry through the door.
Before it closes I hear the nurse say, “Your brother’s the mayor and your daddy’s Dr. Cage? Isn’t that something. Can I get you a Coke or some coffee, hon?”
“No, thank you.”
Chapter 72