I felt myself blush. “It’s silly I know. She can’t hear me. Can’t understand.”
“Nonsense,” Jean admonished. “No one really knows those things, and besides, the death process, in my opinion, is less about the person passing away and more for the ones they leave behind. So if it gives you some type of closure, if it will allow you to sleep better tonight and all the nights after it… you read to her. I can change these bags all night.”
Her kindness caused tears to burn the backs of my eyelids. “Thank you. Mom had a hard life. If I can help, I’d like her to have a peaceful death.”
Jean nodded. “I heard what she did for a living. It’s not my place to judge.” She met my eyes. “Must have given you an interesting childhood.”
I barked out a laugh, then looked at Mom to see if I’d disturbed her, which was silly. “Yeah. Don’t they say that the genetics for mental illness is fifty percent genetics and fifty percent environment?”
She rolled her eyes. “Depends on the study you read as to what the statistics are.”
I sighed. “Well, no matter the statistics, I grew up thinking I was totally screwed.” I realized how that sounded. “And not in the Biblical sense.”
Jean laughed. “Honey, most of us have so many skeletons in our closets that we don’t dare open the door. So, statistically speaking, we’re all screwed.”
I guessed that was true.
I patted my trusty laptop. “That’s why I like to write. In my books, the heroes and heroines become less and less screwed up over time, and every single one of them get a happy ending, no matter how rakish or whorish they were in the beginning.”
“Are you giving your mama a happy ending in your book?”
Emotion hit me again. “Yeah, sunsets and all.”
Jean walked around the bed and rested a hand on my shoulder. “That’s good, honey. Just be sure that when you’re writing your own ending, it isn’t just in a book. Live it.”
I was strangled, my throat moving but not working. I swallowed hard and forced a smile. “So I should ask, ‘What would my heroine do?’”
Jean cackled. “Exactly. Maybe you should make a bracelet up for that or something. My mama always told me to take the advice I’d give to my best friend.”
I smiled. “I like that. Your mother is very wise.”
She lifted a finger to her lips. “Shhh… don’t let her hear you say that. But it’s true. We treat just about everybody better than we treat ourselves. I call it the witch in my head, except I don’t say witch, if you know what I mean.”
I grinned. On one of the saddest days of my life, I was grinning. “Yeah… I do know what you mean. I say things to myself I’d never say to someone else.”
“Exactly. I’m going to take a little break and let you get back to finishing your book. I’ll check back in on you in a bit.”
“Thank you.”
I returned my focus on the laptop, attempting to remember where I’d left off. When I found my place, I began to read again.
“And if they don’t hang?” Lisbeth asked, needing assurance that he would let this go. That he would stop looking for retribution and look forward to a new future for them. Afraid of his answer, she stepped away, picked up the brush from her mirrored vanity and began to comb her long hair.
“What do you think of the Americas?”
The question came as such as a surprise, the brush fell from her hand as she whirled to face him, search his eyes. She needed to see if he only teased her or if his words rang true.
“Could we?” She didn’t dare breathe. Unwittingly, her hand went to her stomach, to the babe growing in her womb.
The Americas would provide safety. A new life. The fresh start she’d always longed for.
“Yes, my love. I’ve given it much consideration and have come to the conclusion that my home is wherever you are. You and our babe.”
The small being living inside her fluttered, as if showing his or her approval.
I looked up from the computer screen. Not for the first time, I wondered what Mom was thinking when she took that bottleful of pills. Was she thinking fresh start too? I liked to think so. It was easier for me to think of her swallowing those pills looking forward to a brighter existence than believing she took them trying to escape the demons on earth.
In one study, it was believed that seventy-five percent of sex workers have attempted suicide, and sex workers have a mortality rate forty percent higher than the average person.
Looking back at my screen, I returned to fiction. It was so much more pleasant than reality.
“Thank you, Byron.”
He smiled and held out his hand. “Come closer, my love.”
With all the weight of the world lifting off her shoulders, she practically floated in his direction and placed her hand in his. “Is this close enough?” she teased.
He pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. “You’ll never be close enough.”
And after a fortnight passed, he held her in the safety of his arms as their ship set sail to a land that was fresh and new. With him by her side, she’d never felt so protected.
Facing into the direction of the wind, Lisbeth allowed herself one… and only one… look back.
“Goodbye, cruel world. I know where I’m not welcomed.”
Breathing in deeply of the ocean air, she faced forward again, linking her fingers with those of her husband.
Today, she would discover what it was to have a home.
Tears fell on the laptop, causing the words to blur in front of me. I clicked to the next page.
Dedication
To Cynthia
Be free. Find the peace you deserve.
Very slowly, I tucked the computer away in its protective sleeve and stood for the first time in many hours. Leaning forward, I stretched out the tight muscles in my back.
“Miss Meadows?”
I turned to the door to find the nurse hovering just inside. I smiled at her and wiped away the tears. “I’m ready.”
Her smile was filled with compassion. “I’ll get the doctor and be right back.”
She was. In only a few minutes, I was signing the form that would end my mother’s life.
Beep… beep… beep.
I closed my eyes, listening to her heart beating for the last time. Opened them and nodded to the doctor.
He flipped a switch.
Beep… beep………… beep………….. beep.
And that was it.
The vessel that had contained the vibrant Cyn Meadows transitioned into a shell.
And I was an orphan.
I touched her hand. “Be free, Mom.”
When I turned away, Leslie was standing in the doorway. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.
Our fingers linked as we walked away from the hospital, through the throng of reporters, and to her car.
Be free.
There was a lesson in that.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gray
The last evening Los Angeles sunbeam shone down on me as I straightened my tie, feeling constricted and uncomfortable in my new suit.
I nodded to the driver. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be.”
It could be a few minutes or a few hours.
“That’s fine, sir. Simply text when you’re ready and I’ll meet you here.”