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Ilook around the living area and kitchen for the keys, which are in my hand.
Geezus, Maxi. You’re losing it.
A yawn escapes me, and I decide to sit for a moment and catch my bearings before I leave for work.
My eyes scan the room.
The tree Langford and Morris brought over from the tree lot last night is leaning in the corner. I intended to get up early today and go shopping for supplies to decorate it, but I just couldn’t rally.
I’ll stop on the way to the brewery. I have plenty of time.
I cover another yawn with the back of my hand, lean my head against the back of the sofa, and close my eyes for a moment.
Ring.
I blink my eyes open and look around the dark room in confusion.
The sound starts again. I pat around me, searching for the source of the noise, fish my phone from between the sofa cushions, and bring it to my ear.
“Hello?” I rasp.
“Did you send me the pictures of Momma for Cara’s school project?”
My sister, Lynn’s, impatient voice greets me.
Crap.
My niece is doing a Christmas project at school that includes a collage of generational family photos. Lynn asked me if I had any of our mother when she was a girl. I found several of her with our grandparents when I went through her things. I was supposed to mail them to Lynn last week.
“I forgot. I’m so sorry,” I admit groggily.
She sighs. “It’s fine. I only sent you two reminders this week, but whatever. I’ll just have her draw a few stick figures into the collage to represent a couple of generations,” she snaps.
It’s clearly not fine.
“Sis, I said I’m sorry. I’ll get them to the post office first thing in the morning and send them express,” I promise.
She doesn’t respond.
“Lynn?”
“That’ll work. It’s not like you,” she mutters.
“I know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve just been so damn tired lately,” I whine as I look at the clock on the microwave.
Is it really eight o’clock?
“Tired? Why?” she asks.
I can hear the slight panic in her voice. When our mother started suffering from suspicious exhaustion, it was the first sign something was very wrong.
“Don’t worry. I’m not sick or anything. I’m just off. And my bladder isn’t helping. I swear I have to pee half a dozen times at night even if I cut myself off from all liquids early in the evening. It’s messing with my sleep.”
I was supposed to be at work over an hour ago. I place Lynn on speaker and click over to text my boss, Reed, and find I have several worried texts from him.
Sorry I’m late. Wasn’t feeling well and fell asleep. Didn’t see your messages. Heading your way now.
Where are my damn keys?
