Fifty

G ram and I both stayed the night. Mom’s stomach still bled, and they gave her something to stop it. Gram lay on a lounger and I lay on a cot next to Mom. Tossing and turning. With each nurse’s check-in, I sprang awake.

The next morning, we ate breakfast together. Mom’s coloring was coming back into her face. Whereas before it was grayish, now it was more pink. A priest visited, which thrilled my gram, but not so much me and my mother.

My cell phone beeped. It was Den.

“Hey, Charlotte,” he said when I answered. “We’ve got our search warrant. Usually we don’t allow civilians to come along on these things. But you might be able to help us make sense of what we confiscate.”

My heart fluttered. But my stomach sank in regret. “I’m sorry, Den. I can’t do it.”

My grandmother sat up, her attention on me and what I was saying.

“What? What do ya mean?”

“I’m at the hospital with my mom. There’s been an incident.”

“Incident?”

“Yeah, she’s in bad shape. I can’t get away.”

There was a pause. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I hope she pulls through.”

“Oh, she will for now,” I said. “It’s complicated.” Mom was sleeping, so I tried to speak quietly.

“Hmph. I imagine we’ll be at Club Circe all day, and even tomorrow. So just come by when you can. Or not.”

“What will happen? I mean, what will happen to whatever you find in those rooms?”

Gram stood and stretched. She pretended to not pay attention, but she was straining to hear every word. Call it a granddaughter’s intuition.

“We’ll bag up and label everything. Nothing will get thrown out. Not yet,” he said. “So don’t worry, Charlotte. You do what you gotta do, y’know? It’s your mom.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’ll get there when I can.”

“Charlotte?”

“Yeah?”

“Take care.” He clicked off.

It wasn’t the first time I’d had to miss something because my mom was sick or drunk. But it was the first time I didn’t care.

Oh, I cared about getting into that room. But it could wait. As Den had said, the stuff wouldn’t disappear. And as I looked at my mom, the fresh memory of losing Justine reminded me of the fragility of life. One day here, the next day gone. I was in the right place, with the right people.

“Who was that?” Gram asked.

“The police officer working on Justine’s case.” I lay back on the cot, weary.

“What’s going on?”

“They’ve got a search warrant to check out Justine’s private room at Club Circe.” My head sank into the pillow. “They wanted me to come and help them sort it all out.”

“And?”

“I told them it could wait. And it can.”

“Club Circe? Isn’t that one of those fancy private clubs?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’ll take them a few days.”

The room quieted. Gram went into the bathroom and I closed my eyes.

I awakened to Mom and Gram laughing. I Love Lucy was on the television. I sat up and eyeballed them. Mom was smiling, a rosy touch in her cheeks.

“They’ll spring me tomorrow morning. Got a place for me at a rehab center in Jersey.”

“Jersey? Could they have picked a worse place? It’ll take hours to get there,” I said.

“We are not allowed to visit,” Gram said, shrugging. “It’s going to be quite a vacation for your ma.”

“Yeah,” Mom snorted. “A vacation in Jersey without my family and without the booze.”

“Let’s hope so, Mom. You don’t want to end up here again.” I stood and leaned over her bed, brushing away a cluster of gray hair on her forehead.

“I’m so sorry, Charlotte. For everything,” she said with authenticity in her eyes and voice.

“Me too, Mom,” I said, warmth spreading through me.

“You need to know something,” she said. “Yesterday, I received a letter in the mail.” Her voice cracked.

What could it have been? A bill collector? Another package from Justine?

“It was a note from your father.”

“Come again?”

“He’s alive. Your father is still alive.”

Air whooshed from my lungs. “It can’t be.”

“That’s what I thought. I assumed someone was messing with me.” Her lips formed a straight line.

“And?” I prompted.

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Charlotte. It looked like his handwriting. He wrote about things that only he would know about.”

No wonder Mom took that first drink. My dad had vanished twenty years ago without a word. We thought he was dead.

I had a million questions rushing through my mind. But only one came out. “Where is he?”

Mom’s eyes turned to blue pools of sorrow. “He didn’t say.”