Deep Breath

Another late close with Shari.

I put the final sparkle on the brewer

As she counts the money.

The ringing phone breaks the silence.

It’s that time of night

When the only incoming calls are those dripping with bad news.

As I wonder who it will be for,

My name is called.

“It’s for you.

I think it’s your mom.”

My heart sinks.

Will it still be bad news?

As I walk to the back,

My mind races through all of the good, okay possibilities

Not the most awful, most obvious.

I put the phone to my ear.

In a calm, sad voice, she says:

“We’re going back to Tennessee.”

Why?

“Grandpa has gotten worse.”

I breathe deeply, away from the phone.

When?

“We leave the day after tomorrow.”

Okay.

“And pick up some clothes for a funeral.

I have a feeling you’re going to need them.”

But . . .

The phone goes silent.

And two days later,