I struggled to stand upright but maneuvered my body just so.Right foot, left foot, right foot.I followed him until we reached the door. Heopened it with a key card and let me inside. I shut the door behind me and flipped the lock.
I proceeded to get violently sick.
I hugged the public toilet as I lost every last bit of my perfect dinner from the night before. It had turned into toxic waste, replaced by the weight of all-encompassing, overwhelming guilt.
I would not call Beckett Nash. I would not have them track him down at the JetBlue terminal of the Aruba airport.
Why should I have the comfort of the man for whom I ditched this ailing woman, the only real parent I’d ever known?
Did I deserve to have this anguish feel any less horrific?
I left my mother alone in a foreign country on a trip we took together to celebrate life, and she died on the goddamn bathroom floor. What if she cried out for help? Cried out in pain? Where was her daughter? The girl she gave up her whole life for? Her travel companion?
Out busy fucking some random guy she just met on vacation, that’s where.
No, I deserved every unthinkably awful step that I would have to take now, because it was my fault she died. If I had been there, who knows what the outcome might have been? All I knew for sure was that it certainly would not have ended up like this.
I was a disgusting person, and I would suffer the consequences of my selfishness.
This was my punishment, and I welcomed it.
Feeling the bitter emptiness in my gut, I flushed the toilet, stood up, and went to the sink. I splashed water on my face, cupped my hands and slurped some up to rinse out my mouth, and spit it down the drain. I looked in the mirror, but I could not recognize my own reflection. I dried my face with recycled brown paper from an automatic dispenser, then opened the door and returned to Edwin.
“Okay,” I said flatly. “I’m ready.”
***
Edwin made some calls. He sent the ambulance away and called for a car to come pick us up and bring us to the funeral home. He made sure I brought my mother’s passport and any information I had about her. Upon our arrival there, I was told to take a seat in the lobby while he continued making phone calls. Arrangements. I had to wait until the doctor arrived at the Marriott before I could begin the process of imminent decisions that awaited me.
Edwin asked me if I was hungry. I was not. He gave me a package of crackers and a bottle of water regardless. I slid them in my purse.
I thought about contacting my father. Our relationship was that of distant friends, or cordial acquaintances even, and he hadn’t been married to my mother. Their friendship faded over time, as she pursued the road of motherhood and he pursued the path of music. I knew I would have to tell him, but contacting him from Aruba seemed unnecessary. There was nothing he could do for me from the west coast.
He’d never really done much for me, anyway.
At long last, a man dressed in a black suit came to see us.
“I am sorry for your wait,” he began. I stood, and he shook my hand. “My name is Diego. My deepest condolences on behalf of the entire team here at Aurora.”
“Thank you,” I breathed.
“Please,” he continued. “Follow me into my office.”
“Edwin?” I asked, turning around.
“Yes, Melody?”
“Will you come too?”
“I’m afraid not. This is where I leave you. You’ll be in good hands with Diego here. I must get back to work now.”
“Oh.” But yes. This made sense, as I had started to lean on him for just the slightest bit of comfort in my dire circumstances.
I deserved no comfort.
“I’m sorry for your loss. I will keep you in my prayers,” Edwin said. His face looked genuinely remorseful.
“Thank you,” I replied.
