Lucy and Liz had never been close. Liz was resolved that her relationship with Erin would be different. And it was. Liz felt a connection to Erin. Erin was a part of her, and so very dear. It was hard for Liz to explain, even to herself, but she couldn’t imagine a life without Erin. Liz was fiercely protective of her daughter and determined for Erin to thrive in what was ostensibly a less-than-perfect situation. Liz had her own life, but she always felt that Erin was with her. Erin became the motivation for everything Liz did.
Liz had barely finished high school when Erin was born. Within weeks, they were alone in the small frame house that had belonged to Liz’s grandmother. Liz received the proceeds of a small life insurance policy after Lucy’s death. With a state college scholarship and the insurance money, Liz began studying foreign languages, with a view toward becoming a teacher. In her spare time, she tutored high school students in order to make ends meet.
In foreign languages, Liz had found her niche. She had an unusual aptitude for rapidly assimilating all the nuances, dialects, and subtle meanings of foreign languages with minimal effort. It was as though she had a photographic memory for all the words and phrases she was required to learn. She effortlessly became proficient in Russian, French, and German, all in less than two years. She was well on her way to knowing seven languages when she finished her junior year in college.
Before she even graduated, Liz took a job as a translator for an oil company. In between business conferences abroad, she could stay home with Erin. The foreign trips were short and the pay was good. As Erin became older, she often accompanied Liz on trips to Poland, the Ukraine, Germany, France, and other countries, when school was not in session. Liz would attend meetings during the day time, and at night they were tourists.
“I’ve heard the spinach salad is good,” Erin told her mother as she closed the menu.
“Two spinach salads,” Liz told the waiter. “And two glasses of chardonnay.” She turned to Erin. “Now tell me about this car you’re looking at!”
“It’s a Camry,” Erin told her. “With only 20,000 miles on it.”
“Barely broken in,” Liz commented. “I think it’s time you got rid of the Corolla. The paint is so dull it could get a job with an accounting firm.”
“Hey! It’s better than that Olds Cutlass you used to drive. Remember that? The top was some kind of blue vinyl stuff that looked like alien skin. Creepy. And it was peeling in large strips.”
“I liked the flapping sound from the strips when I drove down the highway,” Liz said. “Reminded me of when we used to put playing cards in our bicycle spokes.”
“I’ll bet you miss the noise,” Erin said, taking a sip of her wine. “Since your radio doesn’t work. When are you going to get that fixed?” Erin couldn’t imagine going without music for even a few minutes.
“Oh, is it broken?”
“Come on, Mom … all you get is static.”
“I sing when I drive.”
“Well, at least the windows still close.”
They both laughed.
Two hours later, with the lunch crowd long gone, Liz paid the check. “It’s been so great to see you, sweetie,” she told Erin. “I’ve got to run. Got an appointment at 3:00 across town. Why don’t you sit here and finish your coffee. My car is at a meter down the street, so I’ll just run over there and be on my way.”
“I’m going to sit here and check my email,” Erin said. “My car is out front. I don’t have to be anywhere until four, when I meet Kristy to help her pick out a new sofa.”
Liz punched a short text message into her phone. Then she walked around the table and hugged Erin. “Bye for now.” Tossing the red and yellow scarf across her shoulder, she walked to the front of the restaurant.
Erin pulled out her iPhone. Fourteen new emails. Email was supposed to make it easier to keep up with things, but every time Erin picked up her phone, she felt farther behind. The second email looked promising – it was from her co-worker Jeff, so it was probably a joke. She raked one hand through her short blond hair and tapped on his name.
Later she would describe the sound as “like something soft being dropped from the roof,” followed by the screeching of tires. At first she ignored it and went through the rest of her emails. After ten minutes had passed, Erin suddenly, and without entirely understanding why, got up from the table and raced out the front door of the restaurant. The restaurant was on a corner. Looking East, Erin could see a figure lying in the street … a figure in a black coat, with a red and yellow scarf blowing in the breeze, whipping around distinctive black and silver hair. Traffic had been stopped. An ambulance, red lights flashing, was backing slowly down the street. There was blood everywhere.
“Nooooooooooooooooo!” Erin heard herself scream. “Nooooooooo!!! Mother!!!!”
She ran toward the figure. A man with a police badge on his jacket stopped her. “Stay back!” he barked harshly.
“I’ve got to help her!” Erin wailed. “I’ve got to help her!”
“You can’t help her,” the policeman said. “She’s dead.”
“That’s my … .” That was as far as she got. A black shade fell over Erin’s face and she crumpled to the pavement.
2
Erin’s eyes fluttered open. A pleasant dream … white, sandy beaches, palm trees swaying in the breeze, sparkling blue water, and white walls. White walls? What? She thrashed her head to the right to look at her alarm clock and instead saw a steel pole with a plastic bag hanging from it, attached to her arm with a slim tube. A hospital? Then it all came rushing back — walking out of the restaurant, seeing all the blood. All the blood. Her mother’s blood. An anguished wail arose involuntarily, from deep within, and she tried to suppress it, but the pain was unbearable and if she breathed, her lungs would shatter. Awakening to the reality of what had happened was, hands down, the worst experience of her life.
The door flew open, and a nurse’s aide strode briskly to her bed.
“You’re awake, Erin. Good.”
Erin barely heard her. My mother … dead? How could it be? She was so — alive. Mom couldn’t be gone. Maybe I just dreamed it all.
“My mother,” Erin said weakly. “Mother. I want my mother.” She began to sob uncontrollably, deep, gut-wrenching sobs. It felt like her stomach was going to split apart with each breath.
The aide had a name tag identifying her as “Debbie.” It was Debbie’s first day on the job. After adjusting Erin’s sheets and then wringing her hands for a few moments, she pressed the call button on Erin’s bed to summon a nurse. Within seconds, the door opened again and a uniformed nurse walked in.
“She’s awake.” This was obvious, but Debbie was nervous about the patient’s hysteria, and needed to say something.
“And her Diazepam has worn off,” the nurse observed. “Erin, how are you feeling?”
Erin tried to sit up. Debbie reached out. “Be careful. Don’t tangle your I.V.”
“Just lie back for right now,” the nurse said. “My name is Jennifer, and I’m going to be helping you get back on your feet and outta here. Right now I need to check your blood pressure.”
Erin fell back onto the pillow. Her blonde hair was mashed into flat clumps from the pillow, and her face was splotched with red patches and tears. She nodded. She didn’t care. She just wanted to die, to somehow get rid of the incomprehensible truth that Liz was gone, forever.
Debbie thrust a box of tissues toward Erin. Erin grabbed a handful and dabbed at her eyes.
“This is St. John Medical Center,” Jennifer continued. You were brought in by ambulance