CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Stuart Brewer looked out the window of his Hampton Inn hotel room and wondered what it would be like to start swimming across Lake Superior and never look back. How long would it take him to panic? Would that time ever come, or could he just keep going, to the deepest part of the deepest lake, and fade away?
He knew now that he had been going through the motions, not feeling anything, for years. He was barely present. He worked, had dinner, came home. He did that over and over again for so long. And then a few years ago, he couldn’t stand it anymore, and he went searching for Abigail. How was it that he could be two completely different people, one warm and fun loving with Abigail, at least that’s what he remembered, and another cold and impersonal with Tabitha? He didn’t want to do it anymore.
He thought Tabitha would have called him on it so long before—really, she never truly pushed him on why he chose to start his own firm to work specifically with the miners, or why he had to go to the Upper Peninsula so often. It took a long time, but he finally found her. It was the lucky shirt, he was sure of it. The old Michigan T-shirt she had given him so long ago that he always kept. He started packing it for all his trips, but that day he decided to actually wear it. That was the day he ran into her in Marquette. It was a crazy, crazy moment, when years and years of feeling came to the surface, and he burst. That’s what it felt like. He was walking into a coffee shop and she was walking out. It almost seemed like she was going to walk by, away from him, and he gently grabbed her wrist, feeling a jolt the likes of which he hadn’t known in years. She had stopped then and smiled at him. He convinced her to go to a park nearby, and that’s where she finally told him everything. Suddenly the big mystery of his life was solved. He learned about her cancer, and that the reason she had called off the wedding was because she had been diagnosed just days before with a bad prognosis. She had not wanted that to be their new married life. She didn’t want to drag him down into a sick life with a sick house and a sick bed. Those were her words, exactly. Instead, she had decided to set him free. How could she not have known that setting him free, as she called it, was forcing him into a life of unhappiness? How could she not have known that? Eventually she had beaten it, she told him, and she had been in remission for years, but it had come back, and she was in and out of the hospital again. Yes, she told him without his having to ask, she had thought about calling him so many times, but by then he was married with a baby on the way. How many times could she rearrange his life, stop it midstream? She knew that she had made a terrible mistake letting him go; that the years they could have had together would have been worth anything. If she could go back in time, she would make a different choice, but there was no going back.
Even then, even after not talking for years and years, even after marrying another woman and having two children with her, being in Abigail’s presence and hearing her voice was the best, most comforting thing he could ever imagine. And the saddest. It made him feel full and empty at the same time. It made him feel like he had everything and nothing in those few minutes they were together. She begged him to forgive her for what she had done, for what she had kept from him, for what she had taken from him, from them. But she had to go to an appointment. He wanted to go with her. “No,” she had said, but she was glad to have that all out in the open. She thought that would help somehow.
He created more excuses to go to Michigan, and he always tried to see her. He went to the hospital, where she was on occasion, the only place he knew to find her since she would not give him any more information, and when she was there, she would let him come visit, sit with her, hold her hand. Other times he would go looking, and she wouldn’t be there, and he would spend those days hoping to run into her but he never did. There were six months in there when she was not in the hospital at all, which under normal circumstances would be a good thing, but for Stuart it was awful. He hired a private investigator—he was desperate and felt there was only so much time left. That was the beginning of the end of the money, and with the spending and the working less and less, it just drained away.
Abigail was finally found. She was living in a tiny cabin, just miles from the spot they had once called their home, on the shore of Lake Superior. A cabin that didn’t have a landline or a proper address. Stuart never would have found her on his own. That was the week before he told Tabitha. He had completely given up on work by then, and once he found Abigail, he had nothing to do except figure out his plan. So he went home early that week, night after night. He knew he had been a disappointing husband, that he had basically allowed Tabitha to buy into something that didn’t exist. He had never loved her in that way. But he loved the kids—so much. On that last night, he came home to the most familiar smell. Tabitha had made his mother’s cherry chicken. It tasted exactly how he remembered it, the oniony combination of salty and sweet. He realized in that moment, he just couldn’t do it anymore. This was not his home. Abigail had always been his home, and he had spent most of his adult life being homesick.
He wanted to say he was sorry. Tabitha hadn’t done anything wrong. But now, at least for the near future, he had to be with Abigail. That night he went to Tabitha to say good-bye. She mistook his kindness and pushed to have sex, which he let happen—he still wasn’t sure why—and after, he went to the bathroom. She found him there, crying. She was so confused. What was wrong? She wanted to know. And he told her, he uttered the word that had been rolling around in his mouth for so long by that point—pretend. It all felt like pretend. That’s when the first hinge snapped in her. He kept going, he told her about Abigail, about how he had always loved her. And Tabitha got the most awful look in her eyes. She knew then that he had never loved her the way she had hoped, the way she thought he might one day, the way she deserved to be loved. What he had wanted to say was, Is this really a surprise?
“How could you take so much from me?” she had said to him, or some version of that.
He had been surprised; somehow he had expected her to be more sympathetic. They had fought, and then Levi had come in. Levi needed him. When he got back, she was asleep, and he had time to book a flight, check in on the kids, and write notes to each of them. He wasn’t sure what he would find in Michigan—he was so scared. It felt like such an unraveling of everything—of his lifelong love with Abigail, of his home, however much he didn’t feel like he belonged there. And he was so mad! How could Tabitha be so harsh? Say the things she had said? So as he finished her note, he scribbled the words that would come to haunt him at the bottom of the page—“I’ll tell them what you did.” He knew Tabitha well enough to know that a small threat would keep her wondering and probably prevent her from telling anyone he was gone. She was always so ready to blame herself for things, it was almost too easy. He knew he was doing something bad, he knew ultimately he was to blame for beginning the possible dismantling of his family, but Tabitha was far from perfect; she had done some very bad things, too. He wanted to keep things on a somewhat even playing field, until he figured out where he stood, and that seemed like one way to do it.
He had intended to keep paying for everything, to get back to work and let the direct deposit checks be available to Tabitha. When he got to Michigan, however, Abigail seemed fine. He was so surprised. But he was so happy to see her that he didn’t question it, and she welcomed him. He settled into her lakeside cabin, each day thinking, Tomorrow I’ll go back. Or, at the very least, Tomorrow I’ll call the kids. Or, Tomorrow I’ll call a client. But he never did any of those things. And he completely stopped working, stopped making money. Two weeks later, she was back in the hospital. She declined rapidly. She died a week later, on the twenty-first of September.
That was when he totally dropped out. He went back to her cabin. He simply existed there, taking walks on occasion, barely showering, fishing every other day. He was just going to let himself go—slowly starve or walk himself into the ground. None of it mattered anymore. He took his cell phone and shoved it under the couch, let it drain completely and didn’t give it another thought. He didn’t even know where his computer was. It was like he had truly disappeared.
One night, over a month later, he had a dream about Fern. She was walking through a tunnel, calling for him, screaming, and he couldn’t get to her. He couldn’t answer. That was when he finally realized the magnitude of what he had done to his family, not just these last few months, but always, the whole thing had been built on nothing. But Fern, sweet Fern, he knew from the beginning he had to have her be able to reach him if she needed to. He had given her a way. He had considered giving the same option to Levi, but he knew he would be okay. He was a big boy now. And besides, Levi wouldn’t have been able to keep it from Tabitha. Not in a million years.
So Stuart plugged in his phone and let it charge. It wasn’t too long after that that Fern called. He could barely stand to hear her voice—he was going to cry, so he rushed her. And then he wished he could get her back. Weeks later, one of Abigail’s cousins came by, reclaiming the cabin, and thinking he was a squatter—it was such a mess inside he could see why the woman thought that. There was talk of calling the police, but he said there was no need, he would be out by the next morning. That’s when he left the cabin and moved into the Hampton Inn, using the last credit card that he had that was not maxed out or canceled, and charged his phone and sat looking out the window at Lake Superior, wondering if he dared go out there. He could see all his missed calls and texts, but by then they seemed beside the point. And Fern called again, that time with Levi. Stuart hadn’t expected to feel what he felt. It was awful, he had let them down, and there was never, ever going to be a way to make it up to them, to take away what he had done. He missed Abigail desperately, and knew he would never stop thinking about the time they lost, the time that was wasted. He was so alone.
Was it worth it? He would have to say it was, despite the absolute hopelessness he felt now. He loved Abigail as much those last few weeks as he ever had. He could never go back to Tabitha, not like that. But he wanted to see the kids, those wonderful kids, and he wanted to see Levi become a bar mitzvah. He picked up the phone and called the airline. He would fly in for the big event. After that, well, then he might just let it all go.
When Tabitha got home, the TV was still on. Levi had dozed off and was leaning on Fern’s shoulder. Fern was staring straight ahead, like he wasn’t even there. Tabitha noticed that the house phone was on the coffee table in front of them.
“Did someone call?” she asked quietly. Levi was still on an assortment of different medications, and they made him tired, so finding him in this state wasn’t surprising.
“What? Why?” Fern asked.
“No reason,” Tabitha said. “Just that the phone is there, I wondered if it rang.”
“Levi was going to order a pizza,” Fern said quickly. “Then he remembered that we don’t have any money.”
“Oh,” Tabitha said.
The intercom buzzed, and they both froze, then Tabitha went to it.
“Hi! It’s Tabitha.” She never knew what to say to the buzzer.
“It’s Ron,” the doorman said. “You have a guest. A male.”
“A male?” Tabitha repeated, dumbly.
“Yes,” Ron said.
“Does the male have a name?”
“Oh, let me ask,” Ron said, and Tabitha rolled her eyes. She hadn’t had a guest other than Rachel or responded to the buzzer in so long, it had thrown them all off. She had the well-formed thought that it would be a relief to not live in this building anymore. As nice as it was, something a little simpler might be even nicer.
Ron was back. “Yes, the male’s name is Toby.”
Tabitha wondered if Toby could hear the doorman talking. She decided that she didn’t care. She also didn’t care anymore that there was only that one working light bulb in the kitchen, she hadn’t gotten around to replacing the bulbs yet, or that she had absolutely nothing to offer him except for ice water.
“Okay,” Tabitha said. “Send him up.”
She went to the front door and opened it. She didn’t realize how much she wanted this, she didn’t let herself even think this was a possibility. But still, maybe he was coming to tell her she was a thief and he wanted nothing to do with her. Or maybe he was coming to take back the money—which technically she could give to him, it was in her room. The elevator dinged and opened. He was the only one in it, and he hesitated for a second before stepping out into the hall.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“I followed you,” he said.
“Oh.”
“For some reason, I didn’t expect this, though,” he said, waving his arms around. “Fancy.”
“Yes, well, looks can be deceiving,” she said. “Come on in.”
He followed her into the dark foyer, where she did not turn on a light because it wouldn’t work even if she did. They walked by the living room, where Fern was still watching TV and Levi was still sleeping. Fern had turned as far around as she could without disturbing Levi, but when she saw Toby, a stranger, she just shrugged and faced forward again. Maybe she thought he was a maintenance person or something. Tabitha led Toby into the dark kitchen. She flicked a switch, and the one bulb illuminated. She did not apologize for it. She opened the fridge and made sure he could see how empty it was.
“Do you want some water?” she asked. “It’s all we have.”
“Look, Tabitha, I didn’t come here for a drink,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”
“I know, what I did is bad,” she said. “Believe me, I know it.”
“That isn’t even what I came here to talk about,” he said. “Well it is, but it also isn’t. Yes, it’s bad that you stole from an old lady, but the honest truth is she left it there for you to steal. You didn’t take her wallet, or weasel her PIN number away from her. You took the money she put in front of you. This has been an ongoing battle I have had with her for years. Would I rather she saved the money for herself and eventually give it to Tara? Of course I would. But the truth is, she has plenty, enough to leave a nice amount to Tara and give some away. She thinks everyone is suffering, and she wants to be the one to help. You know how little girls want to be princesses? Well, my mother wants to be a fairy godmother. It is her fantasy, and if she can do it, I guess she should do it. The fact that you became involved, that you went to her apartment under those false pretenses and met her in the first place, well, that’s just bizarre. But none of that is why I followed you home.”
“Why then?”
“Because you walked away from me,” he said. “And I didn’t like that at all.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“The bottom line is: I don’t care. I don’t care about the bad things you did,” he stopped.
She thought to herself, If you only knew. Then she thought, No, you should know.
“Let me tell you about all of them, and you can decide,” she said, getting up to check on the kids before continuing. She lowered her voice. “Stealing is not the worst of it, believe me.”
He raised his eyebrows. She motioned for him to follow her, back past the living room and the kids and into her bedroom. She was glad she’d made the bed that morning. She let him walk by her and then she closed the door so it was just slightly open. He stood waiting for an instruction of some sort.
“Sit,” she said.
He did, on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him.
“You know what?” he said. “If this is going to be a day of confessions, can I go first?”
“You have a confession?” she said. “Sure, you can try to one-up me, but I don’t think you’re going to win.”
“I’m not trying to win,” he said. “And I’m not trying to one-up you. My point here is that we all have confessions to make. We’ve all done things we’re sorry we did, things that if we could do over, we might do in a different way. Not a single one of us has a clean record. Not a single one of us is perfect.”
“Okay, I’m interested,” she said, but really she wanted to sit closer to him, rest her head on his shoulder. Or maybe his lap. His lap would be nice. “What did you do that you want to confess to me?”
“I have to warn you, it’s possible that this is going to make you not like me,” he said, so seriously that she started to laugh, but she realized he meant it.
“Really?” she said, not laughing anymore. What could he possibly have done? She was a little scared. She didn’t want to not like him anymore.
“Here goes,” he said. “Remember how I said there was an incident with my wife, and that’s why we aren’t together anymore? Well, that incident was me having sex with her cousin on a family trip. It is the worst thing I have ever done, and I still can’t figure out why I did it. If someone had said to me, even that morning—no, make that an hour before it happened—that I was going to do that, I wouldn’t have believed them for one second. I loved my wife. Our marriage was actually pretty good. We still had sex, we loved being Tara’s parents. But that night, Tara wasn’t feeling well, and Jane took her back to the hotel room. We were all in Cancun, celebrating Jane’s dad’s seventy-fifth birthday. Can you imagine the scandal? I mean really, and I was not ever the one in the middle of a scandal—before that night, that is. Jane’s cousin had always been a little off. Maybe off isn’t the right word. But something. She isn’t married. She’s used to getting a lot of attention from men. At first, I just thought she was overly friendly. That night, though, we had all been drinking. I drank way too much, I completely lost control of myself. She was so pretty. I hadn’t realized how pretty she was until that night. She laughed at everything I said. She stood so close, then she was touching me, then we were alone. It was like she was irresistible, though I know that’s no excuse. The thing is, ever since then, I can’t put my finger on what was irresistible about her. She should have been fully resistible. I have gone back to that moment so many times, when I went from just being a cousin by marriage to kissing and then being alone in her hotel room and having sex. Jane couldn’t find me, she was worried something happened to me. She thought that I drank too much and went swimming, or that someone abducted me. She had her mother sit in our room with Tara, and she went room to room. I had fallen asleep. I was naked. You can probably imagine what happened after that.”
Tabitha felt nothing. That wasn’t true. She felt everything she felt before, but nothing from his story. No dislike or repulsion. She simply didn’t care that much. Or maybe it just seemed so unreal.
“Do you think there’s a chance you were drugged?” Tabitha asked practically after a few seconds had gone by. It seemed like the obvious question. “By her or by a bartender?”
Toby hesitated, then he shook his head.
“Drugged or not I did it and I have to own it. Even if I had been drugged, and I have to admit I have considered that, I still did it. It is still something I did.”
“Okay,” she said. She was quiet for a minute. She didn’t want to say that it was nothing, or, at least he didn’t kill anyone. She didn’t want to make it a competition. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Oh, I get it,” he said, sitting up. He had slumped over more and more as he talked, like the weight of what he was saying was pushing him down. But now he straightened and shifted on the bed. “You’re going to be all polite, and then I’ll leave, and that will be it. You’ll never answer my calls and you’ll never agree to see me again.”
“Let me tell you my things, and then we’ll see who never agrees to see who again,” she said. She felt like she was playing a game. How Honest Can I Be? or What Will It Take to Push You Away, and Can I Do It? It was like Nora’s Monopoly money—it felt real and not real. He sat back now, ready.
“I think I am responsible for my mother’s death. She was very sick, she was going to die anyway, but I think I sped it up with morphine,” she said. “And I think I may have killed someone I cooked for. I had a business, cooking out of my house, and it was late, I had finished for the night. They called, I agreed. The normal channels were not gone through. He had a peanut allergy but I didn’t know, I used peanut oil. I think of him every day. I know he was in great trouble, but I don’t know what happened. I never reached anyone.”
“I hear a lot of ‘thinks’ and ‘not knowing,’” he said matter-of-factly. “From what you just told me, it is also possible that you aren’t responsible for any deaths. Am I hearing that right?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure I am,” she said.
“You need all the facts,” he said. “If there is anything I’ve learned, it’s that you need all the facts.”
“If you’re pushing me to get all the facts, why don’t you want them for yourself?” she asked.
He looked at her quizzically.
“The possibility of being drugged?” she said.
“No, it’s too late for that,” he said. “Believe me, it is too late. That fact wouldn’t help me now. But your facts, those could help you. Here’s a fact: there’s a lot of peanut oil that will not cause an allergic reaction. I know, Tara has a peanut allergy. The doctor even said she could have certain oils and not have a problem. We don’t do it—I don’t dare—but did you know that?”
“I did,” she said slowly. “I do. But I don’t know exactly what kind of oil it was. I threw it out.”
“Maybe it was the kind of oil that was okay,” Toby said. Tabitha just shook her head. He got up, tentatively, and Tabitha thought he might be walking out. She didn’t know Tara had a peanut allergy. She imagined Toby must have a zero tolerance level for any indiscretion when it came to food allergies. But he closed the door quietly and soundlessly rotated the lock. He turned back to her and raised his eyebrows. She nodded. She felt like this was their good-bye. There was no way in the world he would want to be with her long term now. No way. They had both done terrible things. Even so, she let him kiss her, all the time with her ear out for the kids. They kissed and kissed and eventually she began to cry. He was so kind, so tender. He looked her in the eyes as much as he possibly could. And she looked right back. There was nothing to hide from anymore. He knew it all. He didn’t push to do more than kiss, and neither did she.
Eventually she stood and brushed her clothes to get the wrinkles out, not because she wanted to, but because she felt she had pushed it long enough with the kids. He did the same, and together they straightened the bed. She turned the lock and opened the door, tiptoeing out, a little afraid that Fern was going to say she knocked but no one answered, or that she would ask where Tabitha had been. But Fern was sleeping now, too, with her head leaning back against Levi like they were holding each other up. Tabitha looked at Toby, who smiled. He kissed Tabitha on the head, breathing in as he did. She closed her eyes.
“I’ll call you,” he whispered.
“I need some time,” she said. “I have so much to sort through, and the kids need all of me right now. I don’t want to drag you into it. I just need time to think.”
“Okay,” he said. “But I’m still going to call.” He leaned in again to kiss her, lingering there. He was going to say something else, she was sure of it, but instead he turned and walked out. She stood there for a few seconds, thinking the house felt so empty, then she lay down on the floor in front of the kids and eventually fell asleep.
As promised, Toby called twice a day for the next week, and Tabitha didn’t answer or respond; she simply didn’t know what to say to him. But she missed him so much it hurt, which was a relief, because she thought she might never feel that way about anyone. She never missed Stuart this much. Did she ever truly miss Stuart? Toby never left a message. He just called and let it ring and then hung up, so the only notification she got was one that said Missed Call, over and over again, and, of course, the pleasure of seeing his name—Toby. On Friday, Toby called and left a message. She saw the phone ring and eventually stop, and that was all she expected, but the notification of Voicemail appeared, and she almost hit her head on the bookshelf, she stood up so fast. She immediately pressed “play”—she couldn’t do it fast enough.
“Listen, I know you want time,” he said, and he sounded as kind and sweet as ever, not mad or defensive. “But I have a problem, and that problem is named Nora. She misses you. She wants to see you and she doesn’t know how to find you. She keeps referring to you as ‘that dear girl,’ but I know who she means, unless there are a number of strangers waltzing into her apartment, which I guess is possible, but not likely. She seems sadder than I’ve seen her in a long time. Please call me back. Please come see Nora.”
Two requests, not necessarily connected. They could be, or they might not be. Please call me back was one and please come see Nora, the other. She could do one without the other, or she could do both. Today was the first day Levi was back at school for more than a few hours. He was talking more and more comfortably, though his face was so badly bruised, it was hard to look at. It was a deep purple, which was now speckled with a sickening yellow. He was going to see how long he could stand it, and she would pick him up when he called. But it would be just as easy to go from Nora’s, really. She was about to go see her, she thought she would, and just deal with whatever she found when she got there, but as she was reaching into her drawer for a bra she touched the money. All of it. The shame she felt was overwhelming. She sat down on the bed. She couldn’t go. She wouldn’t go. Instead, she gathered the money, every last dollar, and she took it to the bank where she planned to open a new account.
Toby didn’t call again. Not Saturday. Not Sunday. On Monday morning, when the kids were in school, Tabitha got dressed. She was supposed to have an orientation with the pest control company later that day, but she had a few hours. The relief she felt about finally making money was huge, and she sang a little while she chose jeans and a pink cashmere sweater. She grabbed her purse and walked out, turning right toward Walnut Street. She didn’t let the actual thought of where she was going form in her head. She told herself she would just see where she ended up. But she knew.
When she got to Nora’s building, she walked right in and to the elevators. She would feel better if she planned to return the money, but she felt pretty good that she didn’t plan to take any more. Maybe, once she started getting a regular paycheck, she would be able to bring some back. If Nora didn’t want it, at least she could leave it for someone else who might.
She opened the door slowly.
“Nora?” she called.
Tabitha heard footsteps and waited, surprised, since Nora usually called back. A woman dressed in teddy-bear scrubs came around the corner and down the hall. She looked stern.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m a friend of Nora’s,” Tabitha said, realizing how disappointed she was. Did this mean Toby wasn’t there?
“She’s napping now,” the woman said. “It took me a while to get her to relax, and we don’t appreciate unannounced guests.”
We or you? Tabitha wanted to ask. She had a vision of storming by the aide, of waking Nora and asking if she wanted a visitor now. Tabitha looked at the woman. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Can I tell Nora who stopped by?” she said, continuing to talk in a formal tone.
“Tell her it was ‘that dear girl,’” she said, stepping back into the hall.
The woman smirked at her, like she thought she was trying to be cute or something. She nodded and waited for Tabitha to be fully out before closing the door without a sound.
On the last day that Tabitha and her mother had an actual conversation, Tabitha did hug her. She walked over to her bed and leaned in, feeling the soft, light-purple cashmere of her sweater and thinking: This feels surprisingly good, why didn’t I do this more often? Of course, she didn’t know it would be the last time they would ever speak to each other, or the last time they would ever really touch, at least with any meaning. Tabitha had been mostly sleeping at her mother’s apartment for the last few days, though she had hated it. They were all there, on a death watch, though they didn’t know how quickly it would come. Even the kids had settled in, sleeping in the guest room, watching television shows endlessly.
On that day, Tabitha had sat on a chair at the end of her mother’s bed. Her mother was sitting up, though she wouldn’t be for much longer. She looked like a baby, or like a puppet with a big head as Levi had said once, with such strong emotion it had surprised Tabitha.
“I want you to know that I will be okay,” Tabitha had said. She had wanted to say those words for a while. She wanted her mother to know. “I have a family. I will be okay.” At that moment she’d had no doubt that that would be true.
It was just a few hours later that her mother’s breathing became so labored, it was alarming. Should they take her to the hospital? They all wondered. It would have been one more in a long string of recent hospital visits that patched her up just enough to come home and continue to suffer. No, they all agreed. This time they were going to wait it out, see if she could pull through on her own. Really, it had already been decided, weeks before, but it was hard to not at least discuss the possibility again. The aide suggested that Tabitha call her mother’s doctor to tell him what was happening. He agreed with their decision and prescribed liquid morphine, to make her comfortable, he had said.
They started giving it to her that night, little drops under her tongue. At first she took it like a little bird, opening her mouth and accepting it. Slowly she became less involved in the process, but she never fought it. It was surprisingly easy to give it to her. They were overly careful at the beginning, not giving her more than the label said, even if she became fitful before it was time for the next dose. Tabitha began to have trouble sleeping. She didn’t want to do this anymore, but she felt so bad about feeling that way. She quickly lost track of the last dose, and then the next one. She wasn’t sure when they were given, how much they were supposed to be. Had she just given her mother morphine? No, that was hours ago. But then she would give her a little and panic: Had it really been hours, or minutes?
She told herself everything would be better once it was over, and they could finally come together as a family when this wasn’t pulling at them anymore. And pretty quickly her mother faded away. Nora couldn’t rouse herself out of her stupor anymore when Tabitha called a loud, “Hi!” to her. She had always, always responded to Tabitha before, no matter how sick she was. At that point, though, she didn’t react to her at all. She just lay there, and they could hear her breathe, every single breath.
In the end, Tabitha had no idea how much morphine her mother had. And in the end, it didn’t matter, because by morning, Nora Michelle Taylor was dead. But it did matter. Tabitha went over it so many times in her head, had she or hadn’t she given too much? She would never know.