Page 49 of Going Once

“Oh, no,” Nola said, and then started to cry.

Tate sat down on the bed beside her and reached for her hand.

“I haven’t said anything to the guys yet. I just told the director.”

“Are you leaving?” Nola asked, and blew her nose on the tissue he handed her.

He shook his head. “She didn’t want a funeral. She didn’t want to be buried.”

“She wanted to be…to be—”

“Cremated? Yes.”

“Oh. Oh, Tate. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, struggling not to cry along with her.

“This may sound cold, but I can’t say I’m sorry. This is one of those times when death really was a blessing. She hasn’t been living for years, only breathing.”

“Does your dad know?” Nola asked.

A muscle in his jaw suddenly jerked, as he nodded.

“Legally, they were still married. The hospital called him, too.”

She reached for his hand and just held it. There were a thousand questions to be asked, but now was not the time, so she began talking about losing her own mother.

“I remember after Mama died, for the longest time I kept thinking it wasn’t real. I can’t tell you how many times I got up to go look for her to tell her something about my work and then remembered she was gone.”

Tate frowned. During all the confusion, he had never once thought about how she supported herself.

“What’s your work? What do you do?”

“I’m doing exactly what I always wanted to do,” she said.

His eyes widened. “You’re painting?”

She nodded. “Was painting, anyway. Everything is gone except the work I have in galleries. It will take a while to replace my equipment and supplies.”

For a moment the sadness on his face was gone.

“That’s wonderful, Nola. You were so damn good in college. I’ll bet your mama was really proud of you.”

“No more than your mama was of you,” she said.

He shrugged. “She had a couple of good years after I joined the FBI, but then she became so confused, half the time she thought I was Dad, and the rest of the time she didn’t know where we were or who I was.”

She shook her head. “That had to be terrible. Your dad should have been there to help you. I just can’t get over the fact that all this happened the way it did.”

“I guess you’re still pretty mad at me,” he said.

Nola hesitated and then opted for the truth.

“It’s a mixture of anger and confusion. It never made sense why you left, so every lame answer you gave me felt like a lie.”

Tate ran a finger down the side of her face, staying clear of the healing scratches, and wished this conversation was already over. It made him sick to his stomach just thinking about reliving the past, but it was time.

“So, you already know Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s a year before I left, but I didn’t know it. Only she and Dad knew it, and he was in denial. She didn’t want to tell anyone until she got worse. Said they would all treat her differently if they knew, and she was probably right about that.”

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