“Lacey,” Aunt Linda said. She came up beside me. “They’re taking Angela in for help.”
“No,” I said. Panic clutched at me. “She doesn’t like going out. I’ll take care of her. I have. And you’re here. You can help now. Like before.”
“Lacey.” Aunt Linda’s breath was warm in my face, smelling of spearmint. “Let her go.”
“No.” I pushed the words through my teeth. “I can take care of her. It’s my job. Even if you don’t feel like it.”
“Not anymore,” someone said, but I almost didn’t hear them.
Momma looked at me then. “Baby?” she said. Her voice was slow and soft, just about not there.
“I’m here, Momma.” I jerked away from Aunt Linda and leaned close to my mother, so close I could smell sweat, could see her greasy-looking hair, could see her scratches and that blood. I crooned the words at her, like she was the child and I was the mother. “Momma, are you okay now? You want me to tell them to let you loose? I can do a better job this time.”
“Baby?” Momma almost couldn’t get the words out. She seemed that tired. “I’m right as rain.”
A gentle peace filled me like warm water.
“Thank goodness,” I said.
Momma would be okay. For a second I thought I might fall to my knees from exhaustion and relief.
“You can visit a minute more,” the ambulance lady said. “We need to get her to the hospital. Your mother needs medical attention.”
I didn’t look at that woman. I pretended like she wasn’t even there.
Aunt Linda came up close behind me. A policeman took notes on a tiny pad, using his flashlight like a candle. Another spoke into a radio.
Momma tugged at me with her fingertips. I bent down close to her mouth. “You tell Granddaddy I’ll be back,” she whispered. “You tell him we’ll finish what we started later.”
I pulled away from my mother then, like her hand was the sun and had burned me.
“What?”
“You tell him,” Momma said. Her voice was light, like she had just a bit of life left in her.
I stumbled back, bumping into Aunt Linda.
No, no, nonono!
Aunt Linda tried to put her arms around me, but I would have none of that. “Too late,” I said over my shoulder. “Too late.”
The ambulance people started out of the house, Momma with them.
I hurried alongside her, outside into the overgrown darkness. I had to hear that again. It meant something to me. It meant something.
“Momma,” I said. “What did you say?”
“You tell him.”
“Wait.” I jogged now. My feet slapping at the wet earth with a pancake sound. The paramedics wrestled trying to push the stretcher, then decided to carry Momma and tucked the legs of her bed away.
“She doesn’t weigh anything,” one of them said.
“You gotta get better,” I said. “You hear me? You gotta get better.”
Momma didn’t answer.
“You gotta get better now.”
Fear ran down my arms. Different than when I was in the house. I could fight Granddaddy’s ghost when I could see him. But I couldn’t take on Momma’s demons. That scared me more than anything else.
From the porch Aunt Linda called, “Lacey.” I ignored her. Instead, I stayed beside Momma, then stood near the back of the ambulance where it opened like a huge, bright mouth and gobbled her up whole.
“You gotta get better now,” I said. “You have to, Momma.”
“Lacey?” Aunt Linda called after me.
Momma said nothing.
The mist of rain started again. Far away lightning split the sky. After a long moment, thunder rolled up and gave us a tap.
“Tell her good-bye,” the ambulance lady said. I saw now her hair was as red as dawn.
“I can’t,” I said.
“She’s going to be okay,” the lady said. She touched my shoulder. “We’ll take care of her for you. I promise.”
“She’ll be fine,” one of the policemen said.
But I knew in my heart of hearts, that wasn’t the truth. And now I had to say good-bye. What if I didn’t see her again? “I love you,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
“I love you, Momma.”
They shut the doors then. Got last-minute signatures from Aunt Linda. I watched that ambulance drive away. Some of the neighbors still stood outside. A few wandered away.
For a moment I thought to run after that ambulance.
“Momma, I love you!” I screamed the words, but my voice didn’t go far. It got stuck in the wetness and the trees and the dark. I stood out there in the mist that turned to a light rain then quit again. I watched the neighbors go in their homes. Listened to them talk as they went. Heard Aunt Linda call for me, saying that some boy named Aaron was on the phone, then shut the screen door behind her when I didn’t answer.
Still I stood outside. Knowing. Knowing Momma wasn’t gonna get better.
Not now.
And maybe never?
How could it all end like this?
I flopped down on the ground, soaking myself to the bone. But I didn’t care. I watched the place the ambulance went. And I cried.
I thought of Momma and her ghost. I thought of her wanting to kill me. And herself. I thought of the pain that made her want to do such a thing.
Aunt Linda came outside. She brought a housecoat and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then she sat right down next to me.
I kept watching the road. For what? Momma to come back? I didn’t know.
My poor momma. My poor, sick momma.
I cried hard then. Aunt Linda pulled me to her and I let her. Let her pet my hair, let my shoulders ease some.
So maybe, I thought after the longest time, maybe Momma wasn’t going to be getting any better.
But.
I took in a deep breath. A deep, cleansing breath. I wiped at my face with both hands.
But I had to. I had to get better or I might end up like her. I couldn’t let my granddaddy boss me
