Chapter Two

One Month, Three Weeks, and Two Days Later

The night of homecoming, I stood in the mirror, admiring my new dress. The black heart bodice shaped my developing figure perfectly. I especially liked the charcoal tulle with a few diamond sparkles that sprinkled both the top overlay and the skirt. I couldn’t believe it.

My first dance, and I had a date. Not any date—Andy Scott! My stomach skipped. I rubbed a hand over my bodice and giggled.

Mom’s reflection filled the mirror. “You look so pretty.”

I spun and grinned. “You think he’ll like it?”

“Unless he’s blind, he’d better.” She winked.

I faced the mirror again, swaying side to side, watching the material shift with my moves. I liked the sound it made. I bobbed back and forth, to hear it again and again. Swish, swish, swish.

“What time does he get here?” she asked.

I glanced at my phone. “In a half-hour, I think.”

“Did you eat dinner?” she asked

“Just a snack. There’s supposed to be food at the dance. Not that I’m hungry at all.” I hadn’t been able to eat anything all day.

“Yeah, boys have a way of doing that. When we like them, we can’t eat a thing. When we break up, we can’t stop eating.” She laughed, then touched my shoulder. “I got you something.”

“Really?” I faced her again, bouncing on my tiptoes. “What?”

“Here.” She handed me a sky-blue gift bag the size of my palm.

I undid the gold ribbon at the top and withdrew a tiny silver box. I glanced up.

She nodded toward it.

I lifted the lid and gasped. An onyx teardrop charm surrounded by a few diamonds rested on a bed of white satin. It matched my dress perfectly. I squealed. “Oh, Mom. I love it.”

“I’m so glad.” She winced and grabbed the side of her head.

“Mom?” My smile faltered. “Are you okay?”

Her mouth turned up in a pained grin. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve had a slight headache all day. It’s nothing. I just need to take something, and I’ll be fine.” She reached for the necklace with one hand and twirled her finger in a circle with the other. “Turn around. I’ll put it on you.”

I spun back, making sure the dress swished once more as I glanced in the mirror.

Mom lifted the chain over my head and clasped it at my neck. “There. Perfect. What do you think?”

I fingered the black stone in the reflection in front of me. The diamonds glimmered in the overhead light. “It’s perfect. Thanks—”

Something thudded behind me. I checked over my shoulder, but Mom no longer stood there. Rather I found her crumpled on the floor, eyes closed and face ashen. “Mom!” I screamed. “Mom!” My heart pounded in my chest, and my stomach soured. I ran to the doorway. “Dad!” When he didn’t come right away, I yelled louder, “Dad! It’s Mom! Dad!”

Dad poked his head at the bottom of the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mom,” I repeated. “Something’s wrong with Mom.”

He sprinted up the stairs, two at a time.

When he reached the room, I stepped back to let him enter. His gaze fell to his wife, and his eyes enlarged. He folded to her side and touched two fingers to her neck.

“Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?” I knelt on her other side, sobbing.

He didn’t answer; instead, he withdrew his cell phone from his jacket pocket. His fingers shook against the screen. “Shoot!” He opened and closed his fist, then tried three times to dial 9-1-1 before it successfully went through. It rang twice.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” the operator said through the speaker.

“My wife…something is wrong…” He tapped the icon and brought the phone to his ear. “She has fallen…she…she’s not breathing.” He paused for their response. “No, she’s been fine.” He paused. “Not that I know of.”

“She had a headache,” I whispered.

“What’s that, Sweetheart?” he asked me, then dipped his head. “No sorry, my daughter said something. One second. What did you say?”

“She said she had a headache all day.” I tucked a strand of her hair away from her face and sniffed.

“She had a headache all day?”

I nodded.

He repeated it to the operator.

I heard little else. I stroked her hand. It felt icy and hollow. I prayed—waiting, wondering—scared.

The EMTs arrived and thrust me aside.

A worker tugged a cup with a bag over her mouth, and another guy stuck a needle in her arm.

Feeling numb, I crawled onto my bed, hugged my pillow, and watched wide-eyed as they placed her onto a gurney.

The EMTs scrambled to get her loaded, but then stopped. A loud electronic screech filled the air, then they hit her with two metal paddles. Her chest catapulted up, then fell back hard. They did it again, twice more. The third EMT continued to press on her chest.

I couldn’t watch any more. My body shivered. I pulled a blanket over me, but it didn’t help. The cold settled deep in my bones with no relief. I heard them roll her out, but I didn’t watch. I closed my eyes instead and sobbed deep into my pillow.

At some point, Dad appeared at my side, helped me stand, and guided me out the door.

The maid said something about Andy as we passed her in the hall.

But I didn’t care. I ignored her, dazed, and trudged toward the limo in front of the house.

We rode to the hospital to only the sound of my muffled cries. My eyes, now swollen and burning, made the world in front of me blurry and indistinguishable. My chest ached from quick, panicked breaths. My head pounded deep inside my skull.

Dad combed my hair with his fingers and spoke words like, “it will be all right,” and “don’t worry about it honey” or “Mom’s strong” or “Have faith.” But those expressions did little to make me feel better. We both knew they were lies anyway. Especially when the doctor revealed the cause of her collapse.

A man in a white coat approached us and said a few things, followed up by, “I’m sorry.” Empty words, filled with pain. The doctor went on to explain that a brain aneurism had killed her. No time to say goodbye. Just dead… In a mere second… Without warning… Gone.

I have no recollection of how I got home that night. Someone, maybe the limo driver, or my aunt, or was it the maid? I don’t remember, but someone tucked me into bed early in the morning. The mysterious person didn’t undress me. Or perhaps I wouldn’t allow them to. Who knew? I only remembered I slept in my dream dress that night. The dress never made it to the dance, but I wore it to my mother’s funeral. Though it was black, my aunt deemed it inappropriate—something about the sequins and tulle not being serious enough, but it was the last thing my mom and I did together. In my mind, the dress could not be more appropriate. Enough so, I wore it for over a week before my dad made me change. I hated when I took it off. Removing the dress felt final. But after that day, I never wore it again.