Chapter 32
The cab ride back to the Marriott was only eighteen minutes long, but it felt like forever. I watched the minutes change on the digital counter on the dashboard of the taxi, wishing I could just call my mom and let her know I was okay.
Nothing was worse than worrying her.
We passed the pink church, the donkey sanctuary, the airport, everything, all in reverse.
Finally, we pulled up around the square, and the taxi driver delivered me safely to the automatic sliding glass doors of the Renaissance Ocean Suites. I pushed the elevator button, but it took too long, so I gave up and ran up the four flights of stairs. By the time I got to the fourth floor, I had to catch my breath, but the fast-paced walk down the hall to our corner room slowed my heart rate enough to make it there without panting. I could only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked, bringing the term “walk of shame” to new heights in my wrinkled white dress with my hair still damp from last night’s sexcapades.
I fished my hotel key card out of my purse, held it up to the door to unlock it, and leaned hard on the heavy plank of wood to open it.
The first thing I noticed was the television. It was humming a high-pitched sound that was annoying at best and disarming at worst.
“Mom?” I called out.
The second thing that stood out was that the room wasn’t as I was expecting it to be. My mom was particular about cleaning up after herself, so I fully anticipated walking into a situation with our luggage packed up and sitting by the door, ready to go. But that wasn’t the case.
I poked my head into the bedroom. The bed was made but she wasn’t in there. “Ma?” I called again.Probably in the bathroom,I figured.
I had to turn off that obnoxious television sound. I walked out to the living space, where my foldout bed was still open, as if awaiting my return. The foldout was decidedlylessmade than the master bed, but that was to be expected, since I wasn’t much of a neat freak. Everything in my area was as I’d left it, which was curious, given my lateness and our impending flight time.
I picked up the remote and shut off the TV.
The silence that followed was deafening.
A vent fan was on in the bathroom. It was automatic: you turned on the light, and the vent fan came right on with it. So I went up to the door and knocked. “Hey, Mom? You okay?”
I wiggled the doorknob. It was unlocked. I didn’t want to embarrass her if she was on the toilet, so I just opened it a crack and looked away. “Ma? You good?”
No answer.
I pushed it open a little more but the door stopped abruptly when it was about a third of the way open, as if it was jammed on a wet towel someone left on the ground.
I looked down.
It was her foot.
My mother was on the floor, crumpled up in her nightgown, lying in a puddle of—I inhaled—urine.
Everything that happened after that was a blur. I launched into arefrain of “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God” and went to shake her awake, but her skin was cold to the touch.
Like, really cold.
And her body was stiff. Rigid.
I covered my mouth, immediately overwhelmed with nausea.
Somehow, I managed to make it over to the phone. I hit the button for the front desk.
“Ocean Suites front desk. How may I help you?”
“I need help. Please. An ambulance,” I stuttered.
“Ma’am, are you okay?”
“It’s not me. It’s my mother. She’s—she’s unconscious. I need—”
“Okay, ma’am. I’ll call 911 immediately. Room 401, yes?”
