to answer it. I nearly break my neck on the slippery linoleum as I pick up on the last ring. “Hello?”
“Hello,” a woman responds evenly. “Is this Jennifer Reeves?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Evelyn Summers. I’m the medical director here at Magnolia Nursing Home.”
My stomach drops. Just completely bottoms out.
“Mmm hmm,” I barely squeak out, squeezing my teary eyes shut.
“Ms. Reeves, I’m calling on behalf of a Mr. Nathanial Jones.”
Pops.
“Yes?” I grab the counter to brace myself for what’s coming.
“I’m sorry to have to inform you that Mr. Jones passed away early this morning.” I cover my mouth to conceal the sob. It’s too soon. I wasn’t ready. “You were listed as his next of kin.”
“Yes, I am. I’m all he has.”
He’s all I have.
“He’s already been moved to Emerson Funeral Home. It says in his paperwork he wished to be cremated.”
“When is it scheduled to happen?” I can barely whisper the words.
“They won’t schedule it until they hear from you. In case you want to see him one final time,” she informs me clinically.
“Okay, yes, thank you.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Reeves.”
Me too. “Thank you.” I compulsively wipe my leaking eyes.
“Ms. Summers?”
“Yes, Ms. Reeves?”
“Did he go peacefully?”
“In his sleep.”
I sag with relief. The thought of Pops suffering any more than he had to . . . I just couldn’t bear it.
“Thank you, again.” I hang up and weakly slide down my kitchen cabinet to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The pain, the loss, the sense of abandonment quickly destroys me. I bawl right there on the cold vinyl. Naked, alone, and inconsolable. For a prolonged moment, I feel like I’m twelve years old again and a neglected, forlorn child.
That same child Pops scooped up and molded into a woman.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but when I can finally move, I numbly get dressed, wanting to go to the only place that will bring me solace. A late September breeze ruffles my wet hair, sending a frigid chill through my whole body. The entire world looks bleak, colorless, as I walk the three block trail to the Corkscrew. A trek I’ve made thousands of times. A trek that will never be the same after today.
As I come to the front door, I pull the keys from my pocket before I notice something strange.
Chains?
I tug on the thick lock with a fresh swell of tears swimming in my eyes. It jingles securely as I yank. What the fuck is going on? Through my wet, blurry vision, I notice the sign posted above my head.
CONDEMNED by order of the town of Newhaven Beach.
I lose it. Screaming bloody murder at the flat, inanimate piece of paper.
In a fit of rage, I race home, knowing exactly where I have to go. I drive to Ty Winters satellite office in a blur. That piece of shit is definitely behind this.
I slam on the brakes, the tires screeching, as I pull up to the glass building. Storming to the front door, I wrench the handle and nearly rip my arm out of my socket. I scream and bang on the glass, demanding to see him. I continue for what feels like hours until I’m too tired to raise my arms, and I have no breath left to bellow.
It’s Sunday. No one’s there. My logical, rational side realizes that. But the part of me that’s dying wants to hurl rocks through every single window. Wants to smash and shatter the whole building so Ty fucking Winters knows exactly what it feels like to lose something important to him.
“I hate you!” I erupt. “I hate you, you son of a bitch, and every goddamn thing you stand for!” I pound my fists on the smoky glass until they hurt. Until I have nothing left inside.
I slink down to the ground defeated. I lost.
Everything.
A new shot of anger suddenly skyrockets inside me.
Did they know? Was that the plan all along? Distract me with sweet words and touches and promises as their boss steals my whole life right out from under me?
Another fit has me running. Driving
“Hello,” a woman responds evenly. “Is this Jennifer Reeves?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Evelyn Summers. I’m the medical director here at Magnolia Nursing Home.”
My stomach drops. Just completely bottoms out.
“Mmm hmm,” I barely squeak out, squeezing my teary eyes shut.
“Ms. Reeves, I’m calling on behalf of a Mr. Nathanial Jones.”
Pops.
“Yes?” I grab the counter to brace myself for what’s coming.
“I’m sorry to have to inform you that Mr. Jones passed away early this morning.” I cover my mouth to conceal the sob. It’s too soon. I wasn’t ready. “You were listed as his next of kin.”
“Yes, I am. I’m all he has.”
He’s all I have.
“He’s already been moved to Emerson Funeral Home. It says in his paperwork he wished to be cremated.”
“When is it scheduled to happen?” I can barely whisper the words.
“They won’t schedule it until they hear from you. In case you want to see him one final time,” she informs me clinically.
“Okay, yes, thank you.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Reeves.”
Me too. “Thank you.” I compulsively wipe my leaking eyes.
“Ms. Summers?”
“Yes, Ms. Reeves?”
“Did he go peacefully?”
“In his sleep.”
I sag with relief. The thought of Pops suffering any more than he had to . . . I just couldn’t bear it.
“Thank you, again.” I hang up and weakly slide down my kitchen cabinet to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The pain, the loss, the sense of abandonment quickly destroys me. I bawl right there on the cold vinyl. Naked, alone, and inconsolable. For a prolonged moment, I feel like I’m twelve years old again and a neglected, forlorn child.
That same child Pops scooped up and molded into a woman.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but when I can finally move, I numbly get dressed, wanting to go to the only place that will bring me solace. A late September breeze ruffles my wet hair, sending a frigid chill through my whole body. The entire world looks bleak, colorless, as I walk the three block trail to the Corkscrew. A trek I’ve made thousands of times. A trek that will never be the same after today.
As I come to the front door, I pull the keys from my pocket before I notice something strange.
Chains?
I tug on the thick lock with a fresh swell of tears swimming in my eyes. It jingles securely as I yank. What the fuck is going on? Through my wet, blurry vision, I notice the sign posted above my head.
CONDEMNED by order of the town of Newhaven Beach.
I lose it. Screaming bloody murder at the flat, inanimate piece of paper.
In a fit of rage, I race home, knowing exactly where I have to go. I drive to Ty Winters satellite office in a blur. That piece of shit is definitely behind this.
I slam on the brakes, the tires screeching, as I pull up to the glass building. Storming to the front door, I wrench the handle and nearly rip my arm out of my socket. I scream and bang on the glass, demanding to see him. I continue for what feels like hours until I’m too tired to raise my arms, and I have no breath left to bellow.
It’s Sunday. No one’s there. My logical, rational side realizes that. But the part of me that’s dying wants to hurl rocks through every single window. Wants to smash and shatter the whole building so Ty fucking Winters knows exactly what it feels like to lose something important to him.
“I hate you!” I erupt. “I hate you, you son of a bitch, and every goddamn thing you stand for!” I pound my fists on the smoky glass until they hurt. Until I have nothing left inside.
I slink down to the ground defeated. I lost.
Everything.
A new shot of anger suddenly skyrockets inside me.
Did they know? Was that the plan all along? Distract me with sweet words and touches and promises as their boss steals my whole life right out from under me?
Another fit has me running. Driving
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