God knows what kind of shape it’s in after Shayna was left in charge.
I plug in my phone and hop in a steaming hot shower. My sore muscles are in desperate need of the reprieve.
Once I turn the water off, I hear the piercing ring of my cell. “Shit.” I grab a towel, draping it over my dripping body as I race to answer it. I nearly break my neck on the slippery linoleum as I pick up on the last ring. “Hello?”
“Hello,” a woman responds evenly. “Is this Jennifer Reeves?”
“Yes?”
“My name is Evelyn Summers. I’m the medical director here at Magnolia Nursing Home.”
My stomach drops. Just completely bottoms out.
“Mmm hmm,” I barely squeak out, squeezing my teary eyes shut.
“Ms. Reeves, I’m calling on behalf of a Mr. Nathanial Jones.”
Pops.
“Yes?” I grab the counter to brace myself for what’s coming.
“I’m sorry to have to inform you that Mr. Jones passed away early this morning.” I cover my mouth to conceal the sob. It’s too soon. I wasn’t ready. “You were listed as his next of kin.”
“Yes, I am. I’m all he has.”
He’s all I have.
“He’s already been moved to Emerson Funeral Home. It says in his paperwork he wished to be cremated.”
“When is it scheduled to happen?” I can barely whisper the words.
“They won’t schedule it until they hear from you. In case you want to see him one final time,” she informs me clinically.
“Okay, yes, thank you.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Reeves.”
Me too.“Thank you.” I compulsively wipe my leaking eyes.
“Ms. Summers?”
“Yes, Ms. Reeves?”
“Did he go peacefully?”
“In his sleep.”
I sag with relief. The thought of Pops suffering any more than he had to . . . I just couldn’t bear it.
“Thank you, again.” I hang up and weakly slide down my kitchen cabinet to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. The pain, the loss, the sense of abandonment quickly destroys me. I bawl right there on the cold vinyl. Naked, alone, and inconsolable. For a prolonged moment, I feel like I’m twelve years old again and a neglected, forlorn child.
That same child Pops scooped up and molded into a woman.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but when I can finally move, I numbly get dressed, wanting to go to the only place that will bring me solace. A late September breeze ruffles my wet hair, sending a frigid chill through my whole body. The entire world looks bleak, colorless, as I walk the three block trail to the Corkscrew. A trek I’ve made thousands of times. A trek that will never be the same after today.
As I come to the front door, I pull the keys from my pocket before I notice something strange.
Chains?
