Page 85 of Snake

“She’s ... dead. She’s dead.”

She? “Who, hon? Who’s dead?”

He focused on the wall again. “My mom.”

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

From childhood, Autumn had had a facet of her personality that Pops and Pom called ‘turbo mode.’ She was always organized, always planned and prepared well in advance, but when emergencies or anything unexpected popped up, when big deadlines with short runways loomed, or sudden crises crashed through her life, she focused like a laser and rolled forward like a bulldozer.

Turbo mode engaged the second Cox told her what was wrong. His mother was dead. He shook off a single layer of shock and started wandering naked around the room like a malfunctioning Roomba, bouncing off furniture, chanting that he to get there. I need to get there. I need to get there. I need to get there. Autumn corralled him and helped him get dressed, then hurried into her own clothes, grabbing the outfit she’d worn yesterday from the floor and not caring that the pieces were wrinkled.

When he tried to tell her he had to go, she cut him off and told him she would be going with him; she did not trust him to operate heavy machinery. Remembering then that she didn’t have a car, she called the desk, got Shannon Ryan, and, hoping that her reputation had been polished up a bit by her association with the Horde, asked—without disclosing Cox’s emergency because it wasn’t hers to share—if she could borrow a hotel vehicle for the day.

Shannon offered her personal SUV.

Autumn thanked her profusely and got Cox down to the desk and then out to the parking lot. The very fact that he was allowing her to lead him around like a puppy scared her badly. That she was taking him to the scene of his mother’s death worried her more.

But she was not about to let him do that alone.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

Following his halfhearted, distracted directions, missing two turns when he forgot to tell her about them, Autumn pulled up in front of a humble butter-yellow bungalow surrounded by a tidily kept yard. A gravel driveway, its white rocks sparkling in the summer sun, made a straight line to a detached garage. An aged Oldsmobile sat before the closed garage door.

This was a small-town neighborhood, a paved street lined with similar small houses, each one boasting a commodious, well-tended yard. Kids were playing, neighbors were gardening, down the road someone was mowing the grass.

It was all so peaceful, so beautiful. Even the butter-hued bungalow before them seemed harmless.

Like a turbo mode of his own had kicked in, Cox surged from the passenger side of Shannon’s truck and headed directly for the front door, his strides stretched long with purpose. Autumn had to run to catch up with him.

Just as he reached the porch step, the door swung open and a solid, curvy woman with a thick, dark ponytail came out of the house and met him with an emotional embrace.

All the emotion was on the woman’s side. While she squeezed him and cried, Cox stood like a statue again, his arms at his sides, his expression blank. When the woman stepped back, he simply walked around her and into the house.

Not knowing what else to do, Autumn followed. The woman gave her a questioning look but didn’t stop her. She stayed behind on the porch as Cox and Autumn went into his mother’s house.

The interior of the house was dark and cool. All the curtains were closed, and a window unit air conditioner chugged loudly as it blew artic air into the room. The foresty scent of cleaning products led her to notice that the room was spotless. Even in the low light, the wooden furniture gleamed.

She noticed the state of the house in the hairsbreadth of a moment before she saw that Cox had stopped. At the back of the living room, before an elderly recliner, he stood rigid and silent. From her position in the middle of the room, Autumn could see the slender shapes of feet and legs under a granny-square afghan.

Her turbo mode ran out of gas where she stood. There was nothing at all she could do to fix this. No amount of productivity, or willpower, or resolve could fix this.

The scene held like that for unmeasurable time. Autumn felt herself turning to granite with Cox.

Then he moved. He bent, picked up a stiff arm, checked for a pulse.

A few seconds later, he dropped to his knees.

Autumn stood, tears streaming down her face, and watched him hunch over the hand he held. She stood while he began to rock, his mother’s lifeless hand pressed to his cheek.

When he began to keen, a howl of grief so intense it nearly shook the house on its foundation, she ran to him. He was so much bigger than she was, his grief was so huge it threatened to flatten her as well, but she managed to wrap him up and hold him together.

---