bug people have had. Makes you sick as anything, but doesn’t last forever.”
If it was drink, he’d be better in hours. And if it was the flu and he was contagious . . . I’ll admit, the idea of spending ninety minutes in the car with the man under the current circumstances was not appealing.
“You tell him he’s our guest for the night. I’ll go make up a bed.” The only vacant bed was Mama’s. Gram and I exchanged looks, and she nodded.
“Clean sheets are in the upstairs hall closet, where they’ve always been.”
At first, Gram had left Mama’s room exactly as it had been, in case she came back. I’d gone in there to feel closer to Mama; to open her closet door and smell her perfume on the clothes hanging there. To wrap myself in the comforter on her bed. It had provided warmth, but little closure.
After a while I’d stopped going into the room. She’d said she loved us, but she’d left. And when we’d stopped believing she would come home, there was too much inside the room to remind me of what used to be.
Her door had been closed when I arrived home.
I went and got the sheets.
The room hadn’t been touched. The same pictures of Mama and me and Gram were on the walls. The same framed kindergarten picture I’d given Mama for Mother’s Day. The same flowered comforter. The same hooked rug Gram’s mother had made long before I’d been born.
I pulled down the bedspread and started putting a sheet over the mattress.
I’d half-finished when I heard Gram call, “Angel! Angel! Come down here!”
What is Jacques doing now?
I dropped the pillow I was holding and ran. The bathroom door was open. Jacques was lying on the floor, his body jerking up and down. I’d never seen anyone having a seizure, but it couldn’t be anything else.
Gram had grabbed a towel and was trying to put it under Jacques’ head so he wouldn’t bang it on the tile floor. “Call 911! Something’s really wrong!”
I was back in a minute and tried to help Gram. In movies seizures only lasted a minute or two. This one seemed to go on forever.
The EMTs got there in what seemed like an hour. It was probably seven or eight minutes. By then, the seizure was milder. Gram and I moved out of the bathroom, which reeked, and let the responders take over.
“He’d been drinking earlier, but he seemed fine. Then he started vomiting.”
The responder in charge nodded. “We’ll take him to the emergency room at Haven Harbor Hospital.” They got him on a stretcher and took him out.
It all happened fast.
“We should go after him,” Gram said. “No one at the hospital there knows him, and he doesn’t know them. He may be a fraud and a thief, but he doesn’t deserve to be alone when he’s sick.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. This was the man Gram had been ready to kill a day or two ago.
“I’m sure, Angel. Let’s go.”
At the hospital, outside the emergency room, we waited for any word.
It was over two hours before a doctor came out to see us.
“You’re here for Jacques Lattimore?”
Gram nodded.
“Are you related to him?”
“No. We were business associates.”
I noted the word “were.” Gram might be concerned about the man, but she wasn’t going back in business with him.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve lost him. Do you know of a relative we could notify?”
“He’s dead?” I blurted. I could hardly believe it.
The doctor nodded. “He had a series of seizures. We couldn’t control them. And then his lungs gave out.”
“His lungs?” asked Gram. “He once told me he used to smoke. Maybe his lungs weren’t the best. But it was his stomach and intestines that were bothering him before the seizure.”
“We don’t know any of his relatives,” I added.
“I’m not sure what happened,” admitted the doctor. “I have no history on him. It could be a number of different things. We’ll find out for sure in the autopsy. Thank you for bringing him here. I’ll call the police and let
If it was drink, he’d be better in hours. And if it was the flu and he was contagious . . . I’ll admit, the idea of spending ninety minutes in the car with the man under the current circumstances was not appealing.
“You tell him he’s our guest for the night. I’ll go make up a bed.” The only vacant bed was Mama’s. Gram and I exchanged looks, and she nodded.
“Clean sheets are in the upstairs hall closet, where they’ve always been.”
At first, Gram had left Mama’s room exactly as it had been, in case she came back. I’d gone in there to feel closer to Mama; to open her closet door and smell her perfume on the clothes hanging there. To wrap myself in the comforter on her bed. It had provided warmth, but little closure.
After a while I’d stopped going into the room. She’d said she loved us, but she’d left. And when we’d stopped believing she would come home, there was too much inside the room to remind me of what used to be.
Her door had been closed when I arrived home.
I went and got the sheets.
The room hadn’t been touched. The same pictures of Mama and me and Gram were on the walls. The same framed kindergarten picture I’d given Mama for Mother’s Day. The same flowered comforter. The same hooked rug Gram’s mother had made long before I’d been born.
I pulled down the bedspread and started putting a sheet over the mattress.
I’d half-finished when I heard Gram call, “Angel! Angel! Come down here!”
What is Jacques doing now?
I dropped the pillow I was holding and ran. The bathroom door was open. Jacques was lying on the floor, his body jerking up and down. I’d never seen anyone having a seizure, but it couldn’t be anything else.
Gram had grabbed a towel and was trying to put it under Jacques’ head so he wouldn’t bang it on the tile floor. “Call 911! Something’s really wrong!”
I was back in a minute and tried to help Gram. In movies seizures only lasted a minute or two. This one seemed to go on forever.
The EMTs got there in what seemed like an hour. It was probably seven or eight minutes. By then, the seizure was milder. Gram and I moved out of the bathroom, which reeked, and let the responders take over.
“He’d been drinking earlier, but he seemed fine. Then he started vomiting.”
The responder in charge nodded. “We’ll take him to the emergency room at Haven Harbor Hospital.” They got him on a stretcher and took him out.
It all happened fast.
“We should go after him,” Gram said. “No one at the hospital there knows him, and he doesn’t know them. He may be a fraud and a thief, but he doesn’t deserve to be alone when he’s sick.”
“Are you sure?” I asked. This was the man Gram had been ready to kill a day or two ago.
“I’m sure, Angel. Let’s go.”
At the hospital, outside the emergency room, we waited for any word.
It was over two hours before a doctor came out to see us.
“You’re here for Jacques Lattimore?”
Gram nodded.
“Are you related to him?”
“No. We were business associates.”
I noted the word “were.” Gram might be concerned about the man, but she wasn’t going back in business with him.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve lost him. Do you know of a relative we could notify?”
“He’s dead?” I blurted. I could hardly believe it.
The doctor nodded. “He had a series of seizures. We couldn’t control them. And then his lungs gave out.”
“His lungs?” asked Gram. “He once told me he used to smoke. Maybe his lungs weren’t the best. But it was his stomach and intestines that were bothering him before the seizure.”
“We don’t know any of his relatives,” I added.
“I’m not sure what happened,” admitted the doctor. “I have no history on him. It could be a number of different things. We’ll find out for sure in the autopsy. Thank you for bringing him here. I’ll call the police and let
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