“STETSON? STETSON, man?”
He woke up in a rush, every inch of his body ice cold, the world having turned into a long series of numb periods interspersed with panic. “Wh-what? What’s wrong?”
“It’s time.” He didn’t recognize the voice. It didn’t matter. It was a nurse telling him Momma was dying. At this point, they’d said it more than once, and every time it was a lie. “Seriously, man. You’ve got to hurry.”
God. Everything in him—every single cell of his body seemed to clench for a second, the sensation so fierce he couldn’t even begin to feel anything.
“I’m coming.” He crawled out of his nest of blankets and tugged on his boots, moving as fast as his stiff fingers would work.
“I’ll pour you a cup of coffee.”
“Thanks.” Time. It was time. Christ. Why did people say that? It was always time for something.
They trudged back across the parking lot, and another nurse met them at the door. “You need to come on, Stetson.”
“I’m here. I’m coming.” He looked at her, his eyes feeling like they were full of ground glass. “What do I do?”
Helena patted his hand. “Tell her goodbye. Be there with her. That’s your job now.”
“Right.”
He made his way to Momma’s room, his boots ringing against the floor.
The lights were off, the machines silent here in the room. The only real sound was the sucker deal keeping her from drowning in her own spit. Stetson stood there for a second, then sat and took her hand. It was warm still, but it didn’t feel like the woman who had run his world with an iron will. This was the frail hand of a stranger, and if he thought on it too hard, he would shatter like a cheap window. He didn’t have enough in him to do that, to deal with this. He was only one man, and he was scared and cold and so tired, it wasn’t fixable anymore.
“This sucks, Momma.” His voice was so loud in the silence of the room that he jumped, Momma’s hand falling to the bed in a lump. “God, I’m sorry, but I reckon you need to get on with this. You ain’t got to worry on me. I’ll be fine. Go on. Tell Daddy I said hey.”
Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? Tell her it was okay with him? Because, God help him, it was. He was beginning to dream about putting her out of her misery so he could go home. Hell, they put dogs down for less suffering.
He was a bad man.
A bad, broke-dick man with nothing to offer and a dead momma. He just wanted to do this one thing right. Please God, please. Let me do this right. I love her so much, but I need to lay her down. I can’t hold her up no more. Forgive me.
He picked up her hand and held it again, staring at nothing, as empty as he could be. At some point, Helena came in, turned the sucker thing off, and took it out of Momma’s mouth. “You can stay as long as you need to, honey. We put a call into the funeral home for you.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Do you need anything?”
He needed to go home. He needed to take care of things. He had feeding to do.
For right now, though, he thought he’d sit for a second in the quiet and say goodbye.
“No, ma’am. I think we’ll be just fine.”