Page 49 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

She started reading, and her face crumpled.

“No, baby. No,” Mary murmured, dropping down to her knees.

I let Mary stay there with our girl, picked up the note, and caught Bayou’s shoulder in my large hand. “Come on, boy. Let’s go outside.”

“I called the club,” he whispered. “After. I called you. When I didn’t get a hold of you, I called 9-1-1.”

“I was on my way here,” I said as I pulled Bayou into my arms. “I’m sorry, Bayou. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

He dropped his forehead to my chest.

This boy that was so close to being a man.

The boy that shot up so high this summer that he was nearly my height.

I pulled him in so tight that neither one of us could breathe.

My brothers arrived before the ambulance that Bayou also said he’d called.

The ambulance arrived on the tail of Silas.

Silas walked to me and not inside. “Mary?”

“She’s inside. With Annie.” My voice broke.

Silas pulled Bayou into his arms, then gestured toward me to get inside.

I didn’t waste time.

Now that Bayou had someone I could trust to take care of him, it was time to go take care of my little wife.

I found her with Annie’s head in her lap, silent tears tracking down her cheeks.

She looked at me when I entered the room and said, “We missed it, baby.”

We had.

“I’m so dang sorry, baby.” I dropped down to my old, rickety knees. “I’m so sorry.”

She cupped my chin, her fingers running through my white beard. “Is Bayou okay?”

I was already shaking my head. “Don’t think he’ll ever be okay again.”

The photo came later.

Silas took it.

It was of Mary and me holding Annie’s hand as she was carried out of the house.

It captured a black-and-white shot of us refusing to let go.

I wouldn’t come to appreciate the photo until years later when I had nothing left of my girl but memories.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.”

I looked over at my baby girl.

“Annie,” I breathed.

She threw herself at me and buried her nose in my neck. “I’m so sorry, Daddy.”

I squeezed her so tight she wheezed.

Only when she patted my arm affectionately did she say, “Daddy, there’s someone here that wants to see you.”

I looked up, and every bit of love I’d missed for the last half of a lifetime hit me like a battering ram.

“Mary,” I breathed.

She smiled. “Welcome home, Dix.”

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