Shameless(3)

As I heave into the trash, that conversation with my mom races through my mind. Because when I told her to hang tight, that I was coming to see her, she drop-kicked me with something else. That upon learning the news that my brother, his wife Melissa, and their baby Isabella died in a freak car accident, my father had a heart attack and is in intensive care.

I close my eyes and force myself to breathe through the fear of losing my father. Through the regret and guilt of how I treated Cal. Through the shame.

The moment registers like the event horizon of a black hole, yawning before me like an abyss.

“Sir, are you okay?” a nurse asks me as I heave into the trash for the third time.

I wave her off, shivering when a cold sweat breaks out along my back and neck.

Cal is gone. My baby brother is dead.

Why didn’t I call him back? Why couldn’t I get my head out of my ass? I don’t know the details of the accident, but I can’t help but wonder if anything would’ve been different if I’d just picked up the goddamn phone. Would it have saved them somehow? Could it have kept them home?

A chilling thought grips me. Was the accident my fault?

The loss of my brother reverberates through me until dry heaves upend my stomach and make me contemplate curling up on the filthy hospital floor.

By the time I reach the hospital room I’m pretty sure I’ve puked out my spleen, but the sight of my unconscious father with tubes sticking out of him makes me ignore my own misery.

My mother turns to me. Behind those puffy eyes, I see a flicker of relief. She’s hovering over my father, who is pale and hauntingly still. In three long strides I’m by her side, and I tuck her against me where she cries quietly.

“I’m here, Mom,” I whisper into her hair.

I inhale her rose perfume, which reminds me of family dinners and laughter and love. Closing my eyes, all I can see is my little brother’s face. That grin he’d give me when he broke my stuff. His light blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed. That mess of sandy brown hair he could never tame.

And God, the weight of not being there for him is crushing.

I grip my mom tighter. Her tears soak my shirt, and I hold her until her sobs still to whimpers.

Once she’s calmed down, we sit by my father’s bed, and she wraps an icy hand around mine. Her lower lip quivers as she smiles sadly toward the bed. “I… I can’t leave him. The doctor wants to do the surgery as soon as possible, tomorrow or the day after. I can’t leave your father…” She starts to sob again. “But I want to be there for my baby.” She always thinks of Cal as her baby even though he’s twenty-five.

Was twenty-five.

Goddamn it.

“Mom, what needs to be done in Texas?” I ask gently.

She shudders, and I wrap an arm around her. “I don’t even know,” she whispers. The tears start again, and I realize there are funerals to plan. Belongings to pack up. Legal issues to address.

“Did Melissa have any family?”

My mom hiccups. “Probably. They should get the farm. It was... it was her father’s before he passed. Or her uncle’s or something. Melissa’s friend is there now. Kate or Katherine or maybe it’s Sandra? But she’s watching the property.”

Nodding, I rub her shoulder and do what I’ve always done. “I’ll take care of everything in Texas. You just look after Dad. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”





2





Katherine





I’m bolting out of bed when I hear Isabella’s whimpers on the monitor. She’s been doing this every morning, waking up in tears, crying for her parents. Pobrecita. I try to console her, but half the time I end up crying too.

I nestle her in a fleece blanket before settling in the rocker by the window. Her little body trembles as she calls out for her momma, and my heart breaks for the millionth time this week. Tilting my head back, I blink quickly and try to hold back my own waterworks.

Keep it together, Katherine. Just a little longer. He’ll be here soon.

My eyes are still swollen and itchy from last night. Seriously, how can I cry any more?

Easy. Lose two of your best friends in one night. That’s how.

Just like that, my face is wet, and I give in, but this morning they’re silent tears as I rock the baby and watch the sunrise on the horizon. At least we celebrated her first birthday a few weeks ago. At least she had that with her parents.

Eventually, the sound of Sampson banging on the barn tells me it’s time to get my rear in gear. Sleep or no sleep, I have to get the chores done.

The banging gets louder.

Stupid horse. I’m so freaking furious at him, I want to ship him off to a glue factory.

Yes, the animal lover in me is horrified at the thought, but the rest of me, the part of me seething with rage at how everything happened, isn’t surprised such a morbid idea crosses my mind.

I pause to take a few deep breaths, hoping all that yoga-will-center-you crap helps me feel a little less unhinged.

After changing Isabella’s diaper and dressing her in a cozy bodysuit, I feed her and strap her to my chest. Together we make the rounds on the property. As I trudge along, I bury my nose in her soft hair, and she nuzzles back, her chest heaving a small sigh.

But when we reach the chicken coop, she lifts her head, and her eyes brighten. She loves these little guys. A moment later, the girls come running, their clucks a musical chorus in an otherwise quiet morning. Isabella claps her pudgy hands, about as ecstatic to see our feathered friends as they are to see us.