Son of a bitch, what the hell does he do with all the money he makes?
Alyssa opens the door without looking up. She waves me into a dark room where a handful of candles are lit and the smell of mold and wet dog hovers in the damp air. Prudence and Max lift their heads when I enter, and I’m surprised they don’t bark. The dogs are on a sofa that must be a giant chew toy for them. The arms and cushions are torn and some of the stuffing’s on the floor.
Alyssa sits on the floor in front of them and rests her head on a cushion, letting Prudence lick her cheek.
I regret at once that I never visited them in the past, and feel not only disappointment in myself as a person and a friend, but also extreme sorrow for the two of them and their dogs. The house is bare bones, and if I had known... goddammit if I had known.
“Where’s Haverty?” I say softly. “He left the Scarlett and he’s not picking up his phone.”
A tear falls and lands on her nose, rolls down, and drips to the sofa. She answers with her finger pointing toward the stairs. I look up into the darkness and listen, but hear and see nothing.
“You don’t have electricity?” I ask.
She shakes her head and clears her throat. “Not since April.” she says.
“You’ve been in this house all summer when it’s been a hundred degrees, with the windows boarded up and no air circulating? What the fuck?”
She points upstairs then covers her face as she begins to sob.
The wood creaks on each stair as I walk into the darkness. When I reach the top landing I hear the pings of water dropping into buckets placed under the leaking ceiling. The walls are covered in dark grey and black patterned wallpaper that’s peeling, or missing in patches altogether. The upstairs is dim except for one light toward the front of the house. I follow it, walking cautiously into a room.
“Haverty,” I say softly.
My eyes trail the planks of the hardwood floor, up the side of a queen-size bed, across an older women’s figure and to her face. Her mouth and eyes are open.
“No,” I whisper.
Haverty’s lying alongside; holding her firmly in his arms with his face hidden away.
“I’m sorry,” I close my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
I’m taken aback by the scene. He doesn’t acknowledge my presence and keeps his face concealed in his mother’s emaciated body. I knew she was in poor health, but had no idea... I’m dizzy... I need to sit down. I use the wall as a crutch, setting my back and head against it for support.
The rain continues to fall and a steady drip lands on his mother’s bare leg. She’s in a frayed light blue nightgown and I can tell the dogs have been recent visitors in the room. At the foot of the bed is a circular indentation where they sleep, and the quilt is covered with fur.
Empty water bottles and plates of food surround a pile of pill bottles on a table next to the bed.
“Jimmy,” Alyssa says from the doorway. “Please love, it’s time to call someone.”
His hand grips his mother’s arm even tighter, then he’s motionless again.
“I’ll take care of it,” I whisper and walk into the darkness of the hall to call an ambulance, still lightheaded, but willing to do anything for the two of them. After making the call, I text my father to let them know what’s happening, and then insist they go home. It doesn’t seem appropriate to have a mass of people hovering around the house at a time like this.
I walk back to the room and watch the lights of the Escalade disappear down the street while keeping an eye out for the ambulance. Alyssa wipes the drips of water off the body and moves the leg out of the trickling path that comes down from the ceiling.
“That’s a new one,” she says with her eyes on the leak.
I nod, inept as to what to say or do, so I just listen and offer sympathetic gestures, wishing I could’ve done something earlier. I should’ve done something.
And then it hits me. That’s how Mark’s email ended two nights ago, with those same words. Wish I could’ve done something. I should’ve done something. Is that how he feels, or how he felt about me while I was under the hands of his father? Is everything too little, too late, for all of us?
The dogs begin to howl as an ambulance parks in front of the house. Haverty stirs, pulling the body even closer to his.
“Jimmy,” Alyssa whispers with a hand on his side. “They’re here. Let her go.”
“No,” his voice shakes as he starts to cry. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and tilt my head against the wall. I can’t watch. There’s a knock and then the front door opens and the dogs bark.
“Upstairs,” I call out.
The stairs creak and Haverty moans. “No,” he whispers. “I never had a chance to tell her I was engaged. I didn’t...” he cries and clutches her arm. “I never told her how much...”
“Tell her now.” Alyssa tries to stay strong for him only she can’t hold back her tears, and neither can I. Not after hearing the agony in his voice.
I open my eyes and put a hand up for the ambulance team to wait, but they walk right past me.
“Don’t,” Haverty sobs. “Don’t take her away.”
The two EMT’s look at the medicine bottles, to me, and then to Alyssa for feedback on the situation. Alyssa keeps her hand on Haverty’s side, speaking to them in her softest voice.
“She had breast cancer and a heart condition, was doing okay, but may have had a heart attack. I checked on her before leaving for work and saw that she had passed. I called Jimmy first and he said not to call anyone until he came home. He was afraid you’d take her away without getting a chance to say good-bye.”
“How long ago was that?” one guy asks.
“Around two hours,” she says.
Haverty’s chest heaves as he tries to regain composure. This is the first time I’ve seen him cry. Most men are vulnerable when confronted with loss, especially when it’s their own mother, and he’s in better shape then I’d be at this moment. I can’t imagine losing either one of my parents.
“I love you Mama,” he pauses with a deep inhale. “Please don’t leave me, not yet, you said you’d be around for a long time. Please come back,” he sobs. “Please.”
Alyssa lies next to him and places her hand on the side of his face. “Turn toward me,” she whispers. “Let me hold you.” She takes his hand and guides him away from his mother. He moves slowly, keeps his eyes closed, turns, and seizes Alyssa in his arms.
The ambulance crew checks the body then lifts it onto a stretcher. My insides twist when Haverty calls out for his mother as she’s taken away. It’s one of the saddest, most heart-wrenching moments I’ve ever experienced.
“I’m sorry,” I wipe the tears off my face. “How can I help? What can I do?”
There’s no answer, no words, only weeping that fills the candlelit room. I can’t believe I’ve been such a self-centered bastard, a fucking piece of shit to my friends. How could I get so wrapped up in my own fucked up life not to see how difficult things have been for everyone else? It’s all about me, right? Poor me. I need a swift kick in the ass. Literally, someone should smack me across the face and wake me up. But that’s the problem; they love me so much, are so accepting of all my faults and problems, yet I haven’t done the same for them. They deserve better. At the moment, I can’t even imagine how anyone in my life would want to talk to me or call me a friend. They have no idea the love I feel for each and every one of them, and that’s my fault. I’m completely in the wrong.
My eyes are glued on the shadow cast on the wall; a large shape that rises and falls with their erratic breathing. Their bodies stay in a restless state, never slowing, or coming to rest. I wait, wondering if I should reach out, touch him, and attempt to console his loss again.