“Okay, ma’am, I need you to take a deep breath. Who’s not breathing?”
I choke down a sob. “My—my boyfriend’s mom. She was sitting on the porch, and I went inside for a second. When I came back—oh shit. Oh my god.” My voice breaks. “She’s not moving, she’s so still—she has lung cancer?—”
“I understand. I know this is hard, but I need you to check for a pulse. Can you do that for me?”
I want to throw the phone off the porch. “I tried. I don’t feel anything. She’s …”
“Okay. I’m dispatching emergency services to your location. I need you to stay on the line with?—”
I toss the phone down on the porch, not bothering to hang up, but not willing to sit there on the other end.
In this moment, I don’t care who hears. I don’t care about anything except the fact she’s not responding and that means … that means …
I move toward her, propping her lolled head up on the pillow. There’s no pain on her face, not a single trace of the sharp pain it took to breathe or the struggle to stay warm.
I kneel beside her again.
She was here. She was here just a moment ago. I was talking to her. Joking with her. I told her I loved her son and that he wouldn’t be alone. She can’t leave us alone.
“Ms. Sullivan,” I cry out, gripping her limp hands. The tears drip off my face into her lap, the pink sweatpants I gifted her for Christmas.
I squeeze my eyes shut as more tears slip down my cheeks, hot against the cold anger creeping into my veins. Maybe if I hadn’t left her. Did I miss a sign? Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, did it?
I will time backward, but when I open them, nothing has changed. The wind still moves through the trees, a bird still sings somewhere in the distance, and the horses gallop off in the pasture.
“No … please…” I cry again, holding onto her hand and pressing it to my cheek. I should’ve stayed and held her hand instead of fetching that damn glass of water. I should have?—
But it’s too late.
The bird chirps again, closer now, and I whip my head toward the branch and scowl up at it. “Shut up!” I yell. It’s like the world, in all its cruelty, has to rub in the fact that there is still life, and the world keeps turning.
Sirens echo from somewhere out there, but the sound feels worlds away.
My eyes suddenly widen. Noah.
Oh my god—Noah.
I crawl toward the phone, hanging up on the dispatch, if they were even still there, and I dial his number. What do I say? How do I give him this crushing news over the phone?
It rings and rings before going to voicemail. I hesitate, then hang up. Then I try again, and again.
Each time I ignore the voicemail. Never in a million years could I leave him a voicemail telling him his mom is gone.
The wailing of the sirens gets closer, and I try again. This time, he picks up on the third ring.
“Lily?”
“Noah,” I say, voice cracking into a sob.
“Lily? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Tell me where you are.” There’s rustling in the background and the dinging of an unfastened seat belt alarm.
My head rocks back and I stare at a few clouds drifting across the sky, unhurried and weightless. “Noah, she’s?—”
The sirens blare in the background, and Noah panics, gasping and stammering through his next words.
“L-Lily. What’s going on?”
“Noah, she’s gone. I think she’s gone.”
