Burn for You

His engagement ring was a cold, heavy weight on my finger, a constant reminder of the bargain we’d made, and why.

I couldn’t think about it. I couldn’t face any more harsh realities today. All I could do was put one foot in front of the other and keep breathing.

When we arrived at Mama’s house, I could barely even do that.

“I’ve got you,” said Jackson when I stepped out of the car and almost fell. He put his arm around my waist and half dragged, half carried me up the steps and into the house. Eeny was there, her face streaked with dried tears, which got a fresh coat the minute she laid eyes on me.

“Boo!” she wailed, and crushed me into her embrace.

“It’s okay,” I whispered into her bosom. “We’re going to be okay.” I didn’t know who I was trying to convince, her or myself.

A young redheaded woman in pale-blue scrubs stood by the sofa, wringing her hands. “Miss Hardwick,” she murmured, moving closer. “I’m Jennifer Wright, from Home Angels Health Care. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Home Angels. I supposed they were the company Jackson hired. I struggled to focus on her voice as she continued to speak.

“I was assigned the afternoon shift. Gina, who was here in the morning, said your mother was resting comfortably when she left at noon. She had a little lunch, then went to take a nap. Then she must’ve . . .” Jennifer didn’t know how to politely say it, so she skipped ahead. “Apparently Eeny arrived just before I did, at four.”

Eeny clung to me, her tears wetting my neck. “She looked like she was sleepin’! So peaceful, like an angel—”

She dissolved into a fresh round of weeping. Jennifer chewed on her lower lip and increased the speed of her hand wringing.

Realizing he was the only capable person in the room, Jackson went into efficiency mode. “The paramedics were called?” he asked Jennifer, sounding like he might snap her in two if she answered incorrectly.

“Yes,” she peeped, going pale. “They tried to resuscitate her. When that failed, they asked if we wanted to transfer Mrs. Hardwick to the hospital or make arrangements with a funeral home to pick up her remains here.”

Her remains. I almost fainted, but held myself up through sheer strength of will, gritting my teeth against the sob rising in the back of my throat.

Jennifer hurried on. “Eeny and I thought it would be best if Mrs. Hardwick stayed where she was until her daughter arrived. I hope that was all right?”

“Yes,” I said faintly. I pulled out of Eeny’s embrace and nodded at Jennifer, who looked frightened that she might have done something wrong. “Thank you, Jennifer.” I looked down the hallway at the closed door of Mama’s bedroom.

Noticing the direction of my gaze, Jackson gently settled his hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to . . . ?”

“No,” I said. “I want a minute alone with her, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. Take all the time you need. I’ll call Robertson’s Funeral Home and get the arrangements started, unless there’s somewhere else you’d rather—”

“That’s fine,” I whispered, already moving away. It didn’t make a difference what company took Mama’s body. The parts of her that mattered were already gone.

Steeling my nerves, I hesitated a moment with my hand on the door before going in. The only other dead person I’d ever seen was my father, and he’d died when I was young enough to understand death but not be terrified of it. I didn’t know how I’d react to seeing Mama lying lifelessly in her bed, and I said a silent prayer I’d be able to withstand it.

The door creaked open. The room was dim, lit only with the lamp on the table beside the bed. The air was cool and still and smelled faintly of Mama’s perfume.

I crept over to the bed with my heart pounding, terror closing around my throat like a hangman’s noose. When I grew nearer and saw the serene expression on Mama’s face, the terror faded away like a tide receding, and I could breathe again.

I knelt beside the bed and took her hand. Not even a hint of warmth still lingered in it.

“I can’t believe you left me,” I whispered, hearing the accusation in my voice. All of a sudden I was a child again, six years old, lost in the Mardi Gras parade when Mama briefly let go of my hand. I had the same feeling now as I did then, raw disbelief mixed with rising hysteria, searching desperately for her face in a crowd of strangers.

Only this time the hysteria wouldn’t be replaced with sweet relief when I was found. I’d remain lost forever, alone in a sea of unfamiliar faces, crying out her name.

I told her I loved her. I told her she was the best mother who ever lived. I told her I hoped one day to be half the woman she was, and that I’d always try to make her proud. Through it all she was silent and still the way only a corpse can be, that utter absence of life like a negative charge sucking the air from the room.

It wasn’t until I whispered, “Tell Daddy I miss him,” that I sensed a change in the atmosphere. Something shimmered briefly. The air gained a palpable spark.

Maybe it was my imagination, but I’d swear on the Bible I felt a gentle touch on my head.

Then it was gone, and I was alone in a cool, quiet room with the body of my mother, and all the pain I’d been holding off came rushing over me at once.

I threw my head back and howled like an animal, loud enough to scour every ghost within miles from its grave.

The bland-faced men from the funeral home spoke in soft, soothing tones and wore black suits with white carnations in the lapels. I picked out a casket from a catalog, one with a beautiful lavender lining I knew Mama would’ve liked. Arrangements were made. Paperwork was signed. Condolences were given.

Then they loaded Mama into a hearse and took her away.

Eeny sent her off with a teary cry of, “Safe travels, Miss Davina!” and the pain was so breathtaking I almost fell to my knees.

Through it all, Jackson was a rock. He kept his hand on my lower back, or my shoulder, or my arm, a constant, gentle touch of support. When I found it hard to stand, he held me up. When I found it impossible to speak, he spoke for me. He thanked Jennifer and told her to go home, then he asked Eeny if she could go to the restaurant and take care of things there, because we all could see that I was in no shape to handle it.

“Cancel all the reservations for the rest of the week,” I told her in a dull voice. “Put a sign on the front door. CLOSED INDEFINITELY.”

“Should I call anyone for you, boo? People will want to know Davina passed.”

“Yes,” I said, my head pounding. “Call everyone. I’ll let you know as soon as I schedule the funeral service with the church. Thank you, Eeny.”

When Jackson said, “Tell the restaurant employees they’ll be paid for the days off,” I didn’t have the strength to argue. By then all I wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a few years.

Weeping, Eeny left. Then Jackson and I sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other like two people who’ve survived a plane crash only to find themselves stranded on a desert island with no food or shelter and a hurricane blowing in.

“I’m so sorry,” he finally said. His eyes were fierce. “She was a lovely woman.”

I looked at the table, its wood surface nicked and scratched from years of use, while grief swept through me like a raging river overflowing its banks. “Yes. Thank you. For everything you’ve done, thank you. You’ve been a great help.”