The five-mile drive that usually took fifteen minutes only took ten, Mortimer more of a madman behind the wheel than any taxi driver. He took a few tight turns that made Gumby grunt in displeasure, but we arrived in one piece in front of the brownstone.
As I hopped out, Gumby went to join me, but I spun to face him, just inches from his chest. “Please,” I begged, wanting time alone with Lil. I needed to speak frankly with her about Ethan and I. I needed her advice more than ever.
Gumby stepped forward anyway, looming above with every inch of his massive frame, the brim of Ethan’s hat skimming his jacket while I held my ground. My knees might have been shaking, but I didn’t budge, dang it. I was safe. I knew he’d squash any hint of danger before it touched a hair on my head.
“I won’t run,” I promised. “I just want to have girl talk. You know? Gossip about boys and penises. I’ll be back before you know it.”
He frowned as he looked between me and the brownstone, his heavy brows furrowing at the barely thirty-foot distance. “Ten minutes.”
“Thank you.” My phone said it was six-thirty when we parked, so I knew Lil was already home, likely halfway through her usual English muffin with raspberry jam, while Stanley wolfed down the bacon and eggs she prepared for him every morning.
With fall in the air, she had potted mums dotting the stoop, alternating between orange and yellow with each step. Her pumpkin flag was already waving, a scarecrow doll standing beside the door as I rang the doorbell.
Stanley greeted me on the other side of the door with his trademark yapping, but unlike other times, Lil wasn’t right behind him or hushing him from another room. I waited, figuring she was in the bathroom, before I realized I was standing there while only hearing Stanley bark. Even if she was in the bathroom, I would have heard her squawking.
Sorry. It’s me. I was hoping to surprise you.
I sent the text as I waited a little longer before worry had me scrambling for the spare key tucked behind a loose brick. I was inside less than a minute later, Stanley growling like something fierce as I entered.
“Knock it off!” I snapped as he went for my ankle, the toothed demon surprisingly falling silent for a change.
The smell hit me then, a putrid stench of overall funk. I looked to the front parlor, the same room Lil and I regularly sipped wine in, the walnut floor dotted with piles of poop and puddles of piddle.
What the hell? Stanley never had accidents.
Panic set in, and I found myself running to the kitchen, fearing the worst. “Lil? Lil, are you okay?” Had she fallen? Was she sick?
But the kitchen was empty, and the house was quiet overall, Stanley following but not barking as usual. Had she gone out? Maybe Stanley had a sour stomach and couldn’t hold it.
“Lil? Are you home?” I headed into the living room, finding it barren as well, before I ventured toward the office she’d converted to her bedroom. I didn’t blame her either, the stairs to the second floor so steep I felt like I was leaning backward while climbing them.
I knocked, not wanting to catch her and a man in the act, but there was no response. “Lil? Are you in there?”
Nothing.
I turned the handle and stepped inside, flicking the light on to see a lump in the bed, Lil fast asleep beneath her silk bedding.
Good God. I was going to give her an earful for scaring me. She needed to stop sleeping in earplugs. What if there was a fire?
“Lil!” I called, clapping my hands. “Rise and shine, princess!”
Nothing.
I walked over to her side of the bed, saying a silent prayer she was clothed before ripping back the covers. “Rise and..!”
I froze, the scream itching my throat trapped.
Lil wasn’t sleeping. She was dead.
I’d never seen a dead body, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out she was long gone. She looked at peace lying there nestled on her side, a slight smile on her face. Except half of it was bluish purple, the side laying against the mattress discolored from head to toe.
It was then that I found my voice, screaming bloody murder as I took a horrified step back, Stanley running to my side and joining me with a howl. A moment later, Gumby was there, and not even a second later, he had me pulled to his chest, hat popping off my head in the frenzy as he relayed the scene over a radio and shook away Stanley who was nipping at his boot.
I should have come sooner. Why did I wait? What if I’d been there when she needed me?
“The police are coming,” Gumby said a few heartbeats later, as he rubbed a hand along my back, my hot, angry tears soaking his jacket. “Does she have family?”
“A son,” I replied, shoulders shaking with a sob. “A rotten bastard of a son.”
A rotten bastard of a son who showed up an hour later in a wrinkled suit and scuffed loafers. Gumby and I stayed outside with Stanley while he went over the particulars with the police and coroner, walking around the home like he was there all the time. Like he was a model son that gave a rat’s ass about his mother.
According to the first responders, Lil likely passed a day or so earlier in her sleep, most likely from a heart attack. I thought back to our video call days earlier, remembering the heartburn she’d complained about, but both paramedics brushed off the observation. She was old. It was her time.
But it wasn’t.
Lil had more life in her than
