Seventeen-year-old Hazel never saw having a sick mom in her future. And the last thing she expected was for her new next-door neighbor to give her a checklist that would change everything.
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After Hazel Winter's mom got sick, all emotion vanishe...
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I still have a smile on my face after I leave River's house. Brunch with them seemed different because River was different. No longer was he timid, scared of every move he made. Instead, laughter, music, and football filled its place. I helped Tracy prepare the spread of breakfast favorites while River screamed at the television with Steve, all while trying to hold my tears back from how excited I was for him. To have this fresh start. To have a genuine family for the first time in his life.
I thud up my porch steps, my hands already numb from the whipping wind of coldness thrashing around me. Muttering a few cuss words, I finally find the keys in my pocket to unlock the door. A random soap opera is playing in the living room as I slide my shoes off, kick them up against the wall, and shout, "I'm back!"
There's a fight between two people blasting through the TV speakers when I reach the fridge and grab the juice. "Have you eaten yet today? I'm sorry I'm late, but you'll be so happy when I tell you what happened at Rivers. Well, maybe Tracy already told you, but--" I freeze when I bring my eyes up toward the living room. My mom is in her chair sleeping, but she looks too peaceful. She looks too still.
I blink a few times to think of all the possibilities on why she could be sleeping, but when I narrow my eyes, I don't see her chest rising and falling as I should. Every ounce of me tells me to run over there, but my feet remain rooted in fear. It's like I can't get myself to move, no matter how much my brain is screaming for me to do something. Anything.
Go! What are you doing? Go to her!
"Mom?" I ask, but my voice cracks. I'm shaking with the juice still in my hand, the fight on the television only growing more intense. "Mom," I repeat, this time louder, but still nothing. She remains in her recliner, unflinching and unresponsive.
Dropping the juice to the ground, finally, something clicks into place, and I can move my legs to get closer. I'm standing at the foot of her recliner now, analyzing her chest to wait for it to rise.
Rise, damn it. I threaten. Fucking rise.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
Why am I not calling the ambulance? I should already have my phone in hand, just like when I've found her in trouble before. This time, though, a part of me knows this is different. There is no saving her. There is no getting her help. This time, my nightmare is coming true.
She's gone.
I sink to my knees beside her chair and grab her hand, flinching when it's ice cold. "No, no, no," I whisper, squeezing hard enough to try and bring back the warmth. "Mom, wake up. Please, wake up."
All I hear is the goddamn voices of the fight blaring into the room. It's not the voice I want to hear. It's not who should be speaking right now, but I have no willpower to grab the remote to shut them up. I blink once or twice before feeling a trickling sensation down my cheek.
