But Lacey, tearing up herself, only shook her head. "I'm sorry, Alessa, we can't. We can't do anything. It's against the law. We'd lose our licenses," she tried to reason.
Alessa's face screwed in pained anger, for once the law meaning nothing to her. "Fuck your license! Save my mom!" But she didn't give them a chance to respond, but instead took a closer step to the head of the bed, leaning over her mother, her tears falling on the dead woman's face. "Mom! Please! Don't do this! Mom! Mom, wake up!" she was screaming, her hands clasping desperately to the white hospital gown, her head falling into the crook of her mother's neck. "Mom," she wept. "Please, please, please, please," she begged, her words drowned in her sobs.
"I'm calling time of death at," the first nurse looked up at the clock on the wall, "seven forty-eight a.m. Confirm?" she asked the younger nurse who still had tears in her eyes.
"Yes. Seven forty-eight," she managed in a scratchy voice.
As the first nurse began to leave, she stated she would let Eileen's physician know and then turned to Lacey. She mouthed, "Keep an eye on her," and then was out the glass sliding door to file the paperwork.
Lacey turned back to the scene. Alessa still clung to her mother, her anguished crying muffled against Eileen's body. The word
please
poured from her mouth over and over as she begged her mother to respond, to change her mind about dying, to wake up and hold her. But that wasn't possible.
The nurse stepped forward to offer comfort and called to Alessa softly.
"Get away. Please, just go. Just leave me alone," she managed to command between her sobs.
"Okay. Let me know if you need anything," she offered, but didn't stay for Alessa to respond. Lacey tightly closed the sliding door, taking a deep breath as she looked up at the ceiling. She felt the welling of tears that she knew she wouldn't be able to hold back. Swiftly, she walked to the staff restroom and allowed herself to cry until the sadness abated.
Alessa's own grief was not so quick in passing, but it returned upon her in heavy, drowning waves that swelled high and pulled her sobbing under. Memories upon memories surged in her pained mind, small wishes to return back, to relive, to be again. But she would never have another Christmas, another birthday cake with her mother. No more sitting together in her mother's room. No more double features at the movies. Her mom had taken them with her. And the long life ahead without her pressed down on Alessa's chest, crushing her every time the realization came on the tail end of those memories.
At some point an hour or so later, she received a text. Her heaving sobs had finally dissipated as the acute sharpness had begun to blur away into a penetrating, pervasive ache. Sniffling, she sat up from her mother's body and dug her phone from her pocket. She wiped her wet cheeks as she saw Denny texted to say he had arrived and brought her clean clothes and another book.
After the first night her mother had been admitted, Alessa had refused to leave the hospital, and had gotten permission to pass off her urgent tasks to others at work. Though Denny tried to stay with her as much as his schedule would allow, it was tough as the holiday season meant most of the office was already on vacation leaving him to shoulder the majority of Alessa's workload along with his own. They had cancelled plans to go back north to see his parents, though she had tried to talk him into keeping his promise to see them. But he had refused to leave her while she stayed with her mother. As it was Saturday, he had arranged to bring all his work with him so he could sit in the waiting area while she sat with Eileen.
Seeing his text, she burst out in tears again, suddenly overwhelmed with the duty to inform him-to inform Bill, her own dad, anyone who matteredβof her mother's passing. And then the reality that her mom was dead hit again, the dull ache throbbing back to life, sharpening back to piercing pain. Somehow, she managed to regain control of her emotions, drying her tears and blowing her nose. The wastebasket was filling fast with the crumbled bits of tissue, she thought morosely as she passed it on her way out the door. She could just make out his legs through the opposite sliding glass doors, which led out to the waiting area. They were clad in denim and casually crossed, the rest of him cut off by the wall. They were her destination. He was her island of relief, and her feet responded, walking faster and faster until she nearly dashed through the doors.
Denny looked up sharply, and seeing her distress stood and opened his arms. He knew from the redness in her eyes and cheeks without her having to say a word. And so he just enveloped her in his arms and allowed her to cling to him like a buoy.
When they arrived home after an emotionally exhausting day spent at the hospital tending to the monumental array of decisions to be made, Denny put her in the shower, joining her so he could slowly, methodically bathe her. She had fallen into a sort of stupor, dull and listless and he had taken great care with her. And though Pima had arrived to stay with them until the funeral, it was Denny she found the greatest solace with, seeking him out and rarely allowing him to separate his body from hers.
Over the course of the next few days as she and Bill settled funeral arrangements, Denny was there for her, his solid and warm presence something safe and calm she could draw peace from. Without realizing it, Alessa began relying upon him more and more to ease her emotional turmoil as her typical escapes of work and running seemed to fail to bring any peace or control. When her father's sadness had suddenly angered her, Denny had been there to soothe her, murmuring words of comfort, guiding her to control herself and not act or speak rashly. When the flotsam and jetsam of the Christmas season hung in the air, tinging the occasion of her mother's death in a mawkish sentimentality that nauseated her, Denny was there to pull her away from the world so that only they two existed.
His service to her at times seemed preternatural. Once, during the reception following the funeral service, Alessa had become claustrophobic with the number of people seeking to give her their condolences or share memories of her mother. She felt like she was spinning inside, the voices all merging into confusing, demented garble. And then he was suddenly there, his eyes smiling gently, reassuringly. His hand was at her back, and she heard his voice speak to the others; then he was guiding her away until the crowd was a soft murmur in the background. He had taken her to a small room appointed with a couch and matching loveseat and several standard chairs. Denny sat on the couch and pulled her down to lay next to him, her head in his lap. He softly and silently brushed her hair back, the tips of his fingers gliding like combs through it and down her neck.
The hardest part during the whole ordeal was when Bill asked if she would come and go through her mother's things, cleaning it all out and doing with it what Alessa thought best. The request had frozen her at first as she didn't think she could survive the task. But then Denny offered to go with her and help as she needed. Instantly she felt a wave of relief, and though she was reluctant for him to witness the actual mess her mother's life had become, she knew she wouldn't be able to do it alone. Reluctantly and thankfully she agreed, and so on the following Saturday they drove out to Walnut Creek.
Eileen's room was worse than she remembered, and as Alessa struggled to remember when she had actually been there last, she felt an inescapable stab of guilt that this was all somehow her fault. If she hadn't avoided her mother's problems by avoiding
her
, then maybe Eileen wouldn't have felt so hopeless when facing her illness. Angry, self-loathing tears of regret sprung to her eyes. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, hate for her own cowardice beating with each pump of her heart.
Self-conscious about her mother's obvious hoarding behavior, she was thankful Denny didn't seem phased, but only asked what task he could do and focused on the sheer mechanics of accomplishing it. They were there through the majority of the day, and by the end of the unhappy and grueling day, Alessa had divided her mother's belongings between sentimental pieces she wanted to keep, things to be donated and things that could simply be thrown away. All told, there were twelve bags of crap to thrown away and four large bags of things to donate to the nearest shelter. Ultimately, her mother's life was sifted down to a medium-sized packing box Alessa carried with her.
"All finished?" a forlorn-looking Bill asked, glancing up from his iPad as Alessa and Denny walked through the living room to leave. He stood up and walked over.
Denny silently witnessed Alessa take an unconscious step back. "Yes, we're all done. The room just needs to be cleaned. The sheets to the bed are still in the dryer," she informed him. She regarded him a minute, and then gave a nod. "Well, goodbye Bill. Take care."