Anytime Soon (32 page)

Terry came to the hospital again the next day. He took turns visiting with Mom and sitting in the waiting room with the rest of us. There weren't many visitors—just me, Catie, Sophie, Terry, and Roscoe. Aunt Marie was with Mom.

“So, I heard you won a Grammy,” Roscoe said.

“I did,” Terry said humbly.

Sophie was sitting right next to him, seemingly happy to have him around.

“Terry,” Catie said, “I miss your parties, man.”

“Yeah, Dad, we used to have fun at those parties,” Sophie said.

“That's an understatement,” Catie went on. “Those parties were—”

She was staring at something. I followed her glance to see Carmen standing in the doorway.

I had forgotten to call Carmen back. She had called the house a few times to see how Mom was, but she had not visited the hospital. I was surprised to see her.

She walked slowly into the room. Catie and I immediately stood up and hugged her. Then she walked over to Roscoe and hugged him.

“How is she?” Carmen asked.

“Hanging in there,” Roscoe said quietly.

Carmen looked over at Sophie and Terry, who had both remained sitting. “I didn't know you were in town,” Carmen said to Terry. Then she looked back and forth between Terry and Sophie, as if trying to figure something out.

She doesn't know they've been spending time together.

“Don't start,” Sophie said.

Carmen ignored Sophie and continued looking at Terry.

“Look, Carmen,” Terry said quietly, “I didn't have a chance to call.”

“You didn't have a chance to call?” Carmen said sharply. “When did you get in town?”

“Not here, Carmen,” Terry said. “Have some respect.” He tried to put his hand on her arm, but she pulled away.

Carmen fumed and launched into a tirade. “Not here? Then, when? Huh? When you're on the road? Not then, 'cause you don't have time. Oh, maybe when you're in the office? No, that's not good, either, 'cause you're too busy. Maybe on our anniversary? You'll find some time then, won't you? Oh, wait. That would have been yesterday. Guess you didn't have time then, either.”

“I'm sorry,” he said, stone-faced. “Anita's family's here. They need us. Please, Carmen. We can discuss this later.”

Sophie had her arms crossed, glaring at Carmen.

Why is Sophie so angry with Carmen? Terry's the parent who
hasn't been home.

“Carmen,” I said, “do you wanna see Mom?”

It took her a moment to respond. “Yes, I do.” I showed her which door, and we entered together.

When Mom saw Carmen, she smiled. Carmen immediately started crying. That upset Aunt Marie.

“Hi, Carmen,” Aunt Marie said, walking over toward her.

She gently pulled Carmen away from Mom and hugged her. Aunt Marie didn't like any negative energy around Mom. She said it wasn't good for her. I could understand that to some degree, but, hell, we were sad. We were going to cry and experience pain, and that's not always easy to keep in. I had cried so much already, that I wondered if I had any tears left. I promised myself that when Mom came through this, I would tell her how much I appreciated her.

Carmen cried some more, and Aunt Marie consoled her.

Mom looked away.

When Carmen got herself together, Aunt Marie pulled a chair close to Mom's bed for Carmen to sit on.

“I like your hair, Anita!” Carmen exclaimed.

Mom ran her hand slowly across her head.

“Do you? It's growing on me, too.”

We all laughed.

Carmen held Mom's hand and said urgently, “You will always be my friend, you know that? I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Mom said gently.

“You did such a good job with the girls. I've always been jealous of the way you handle them. I can never get Sophie to respect me like your girls respect you.”

I knew that this entire line of conversation irritated Aunt Marie as being inappropriate.

“I saw Terry's stupid ass out there,” Carmen said.

“Ah, yeah, Beat Man. It was good seeing him.” Mom smiled.

“Speak for yourself. That
hijo de la chingada
didn't even call me when he got to town.”

“You two need to talk.”

“It takes two to talk,” she said loudly. “I can't talk by myself.”

As Carmen's voice rose, Aunt Marie's eyebrows almost shot through the ceiling. She was two seconds from showing Carmen
la puerta.

“I know, but he's here now, and there's no way for him to avoid it. He knows it's time.”

“Has he said something to you?” Carmen asked.

“No, but I know he wants to make things right. I saw it in his eyes.”

“
Cabrón!
I hate him,” she snarled.

“Carmen, you have to calm down. This is not all about you. Sophie needs you. She needs both of you, and you're gonna have to put your anger aside for her sake. I won't be here to take care of her anymore. She'll need you.”

Mom's words stung all of us, and the room was painfully silent. I stood up and walked to the window, feeling cold. I tried to accept the fact that my mom might not live, but I couldn't. How could I go the rest of my life without her? I wanted her to see me get married, have kids, tell me how to feed them, how to hold them. In that moment, I realized that I did want kids, after all.

I saw Aunt Marie stand up. “Carmen, dear, perhaps you should get some fresh air or something.”

I knew it.

As Carmen stood up, Ava walked into the room. She went over and kissed Mom.

“Hi, Mama,” she said as cheerfully as possible.

“Hey, baby. How was your day?”

“It was okay.”

Ava was more emotional than I was around Mom, and I didn't want to watch it today, so I decided to go back to the waiting room with Carmen. As I walked down the corridor, I fervently prayed for God to heal my mom and let her come home to us.

These days at home, things were chaotic, but we were managing. After Mom took ill, Uncle Allen stepped up in full support of Aunt Marie and was there for all of us. Aunt Marie seemed to appreciate his help and leaned on him a lot emotionally. Terry brought food to the house and hung out. His presence was good for Sophie. Terry even went to a couple of family meetings at Summer Bridge with her. I knew that Terry had asked Carmen for a divorce. But although Terry was in town, Sophie still lived with us, and he stayed in a hotel. She explained to me that she felt useful at our place.

One night I asked her how she felt about Terry being back.

“Whenever I see him, it makes me realize I'm not so screwed up, after all,” she said.

Within the week, the inevitable happened at the hospital. Aunt Marie and I were sitting in Mom's room, talking about celebrity gossip, when I noticed that Mom's color had changed from her medium brown to ash grey. While Aunt Marie talked on about who was pregnant and who had broken up in Hollywood, I fought back tears. Then I rushed out into the hallway to call a nurse.

“Help me, please! Someone!”

A nurse followed me back to the bed and checked Mom's pulse.

I looked over at Aunt Marie, who was sitting straight up on the edge of her chair.

“I'm sorry,” the nurse said. “She's gone.”

The words felt like a punch in the stomach. I couldn't breathe. My hands shook as I grabbed my aunt. I could hear the nurse doing something behind me, but I had no idea what it was. Finally, I let go of Aunt Marie and walked over to my mother. She looked so peaceful in her white nightgown. Her hair had been growing back, and the Caesar cut looked good on her. There were no bruises anywhere on her body. She looked like she was sleeping, just as Andrew had looked.

“Mom?” I questioned softly, letting the tears fall out of my eyes, down my face, and on her gown. I kissed her face. She was still warm. “Mom?”

Aunt Marie led me out of the room and called Roscoe on his cell phone.

“Come now,” she said to him.

The next few days after Mom died were hazy. Aunt Deb helped Ava and me to pick out something for Mom to wear. We chose a peach-colored silk dress that she had worn when she and Roscoe renewed their vows on their fifteenth anniversary. Next, we had to choose if we were going to put a wig on her, but we decided that the short little Caesar cut would be what she would have wanted.

The ceremony was beautiful. Ava's pastor had come to the house a few days earlier to meet the family. He asked us to tell him about Mom so that he could prepare her eulogy, and he actually did a great job. He spoke about Mom's energy, and her passion for her family and her work. He mentioned her cooking, her sassiness, her relationship with Roscoe, and even her struggle with Andrew's death.

Roscoe looked handsome but sad in his black suit and peach tie. Usually his family didn't come around much, but a few of his relatives did come and discuss Mom's legendary cooking skills.

When Uncle Riley went to the casket to view his sister one last time, he put up his hands and cried, “Oh, Anita!”

My heart and throat were burning. I had been crying for so long that I could hardly breathe. I kept thinking about the last time I saw Mom healthy. She had been cooking and fussing in the kitchen. What had happened in such a short time? Why did God take her? I had so many things to tell her. I never got to tell her about Jeff. I never got to tell her how smart and beautiful she was. I wanted her to see me get my master's degree. I wanted to share with her that I had decided to teach. We still had so much to do together.

The ceremony at the memorial park only lasted a few minutes. Ava's pastor said a short prayer and turned the casket over to the groundskeepers. Most of us, including Carl and I, stayed until the body was actually lowered into the ground, but Ava went ahead to Aunt Marie's house with Uncle Allen, Adam, and Amber. None of them wanted to be there for the final moment.

As everyone hugged and consoled each other, I left the group for a minute to take home some of the flowers. That's when I saw Jeff standing on the other side of the chairs. I literally caught my breath, because it had been so long since I had seen him. I knew I loved him more than I could ever love a man again. I wanted to run up to him, hug him, and tell him how much I missed him. But I knew I couldn't do that. I walked over to him very slowly.

He gave me a strong hug. It was wonderful to be in his arms again. He still felt warm and smelled good. Now I remembered why I had to run away from him: It was so hard for me to resist him. For the briefest time, I forgot my surroundings, the sad occasion, and the fact that Carl and my family were nearby.

I let go of his hug and looked up at him.

“I'm sorry about your loss,” he said gently.

“Thank you.”

“How is everyone? How's your dad?”

“He's holding up. Everybody's trying to be strong.”

“How are you?”

“I'm hanging in there.”

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm serious. Anything, just call me. Even if you don't need anything, you can call me.”

“Thank you. I'm sorry for disappearing the way I did. I was hurt. I didn't know what else to do.”

He held up his hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. I miss you like hell, but I'm not angry with you. I don't know how to be angry with you. I understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes.” He hugged me, and I felt warm inside.

“I love you,” he said, an admission that momentarily paralyzed me. “I wanted to see you in person and give my condolences. I know how much your mom meant to you.”

“Thank you, Jeff,” I managed to say.

“It's the least I could do.”

Carl walked over, shook Jeff's hand firmly, and put his other hand around my waist.

I immediately felt guilty for having walked away from Carl so abruptly.

“Hi, Professor,” Carl said.

“Hey, Carl.” Jeff looked a little confused. I'm sure he was surprised to see Carl at my mom's funeral—especially with his arm around my waist.

“Everybody's ready to go,” Carl said to me.

After a few awkward seconds, I said, “I'll be there in a minute, Carl.”

“Okay,” he said, smiled to Jeff, and left.

“We're going over to my aunt's house to eat. You're welcome to come.”

“No, I won't do that. I just wanted to pay my respects. I tried to talk to you at the funeral, but you were surrounded by so many people. It was a beautiful service. Your mom touched a lot of lives. I see where you get it from.”

“Yes, she did. Thank you for coming, Jeff. It means a lot to me.”

“If there's ever anything I can do, ever, I'm here.”

“I'm sorry I left without saying anything.”

He held up his hand. “Stop it. No apologies here, just life and moments that we share.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Take care.”