“Yes, that’s a great idea,” Mom yells. “Maybe you should!”
Ben pulls Lucy and me to our feet, and I reach my hand out to help our mother off the floor, but she pushes it away.
I shake my head. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mama.”
It’s a calculated move, but a necessary one. When we were little and were sad or hurt, it was never Mom or Mother we called for. It was Mama.
Aunt Rose sneers. “Myra Jean, you’re showing your ass.”
“I amnot?—”
“Your ass.” Aunt Rose points to where my mother’s dress has ridden up her legs, revealing a pair of polka-dotted underwear. “It’s showing.”
She yanks down the hem of the fabric with a guttural growl, and we back out of the kitchen as though we’re escaping a wild bear.
Willow is waiting for us outside the door.
“We need to leave,” I say. “Now.”
“What?” Willow covers her mouth with her hand. “Why?”
“I’ll get Ellie and the kids,” Ben says as the rest of us pad into the living room.
I pull a tearful Lucy into my arms. “It’s okay, Luce.”
“I’ve never seen her this mad before,” my sister chokes out.
Aunt Rose folds her arms over her robust chest. “She’s being a childish twat.”
“We’ll have dessert later. There are cookies at home,” Ellie says as she and Ben steer the kids down the hall.
Noah’s brow knits. “But we have to say goodbye to Grandma.”
“Grandma isn’t feeling well,” Ben explains. “We’ll see her later, okay?”
Together, we make our way outside, and Ellie moves ahead to load Emily and Noah in their minivan.
“I’m sorry, kids,” Aunt Rose says. “Your mom loves you, but she’s hardheaded. Just give her time.”
“Thanks for trying, Linds,” Ben says, giving my arm a squeeze.
I force a smile and nod. We all share hugs andI love yousbefore we part ways.
“See you tomorrow?” Lucy calls as she opens the passenger door to Willow’s Honda Civic.
“Bright and early,” I answer, climbing into my own car. Tears burn behind my eyes as I wait for my family to take their turns pulling out of the gravel driveway.
My mother’s harsh words opened up the old wound left behind by my father’s death. She knows how important he was and still is to us. I don’t think she meant what she said, but it still hurts.
I’d give anything to talk to my dad. He’d know exactly what to do. In the time since he passed, I learned a lot about griefand what it means to lose someone so significant, the most important being that your life becomes firmly divided into two parts: before and after. No matter how hard you try to arrange pieces of the past into the puzzle that is the future, they’ll never fit the way they used to.
“Dad, I wish you were here,” I say aloud, praying that somehow, some way, he’ll hear me. I wipe away the tears spilling down my cheeks with the back of my hand. “I’m a mess. Weallare. A mess and a half.”
I wait for a moment, hoping to hear my dad’s voice in my head or get some kind of sign letting me know he’s still with me.
The only sound I’m met with is deafening silence.
I pushthrough the door that separates the lab from the lobby of the clinic Saturday morning, where each of the five chairs is already filled with owners and their pets. Mr. Bush is waiting at the front, his arms resting on top of the Formica desk. “Good morning, Mr. Bush. I hear we have another casualty?”
