Page 62 of Waiting For A Girl Like You
“Don’t come closer. Your grandmother is hurt.”
Kneeling next to her, Charlie tried to turn Helen over, but she began to convulse, and the children rushed forward to the bottom step.
“Guys!” Charlie shouted. “I said stay back. She’s hurt.”
“We know.”
They clamored around him, peering over his shoulder. He shouldn’t allow them to see, but he didn’t know what else to do. “We need to call 911,” he said weakly once Helen went still. “Someone find a phone.”
“Why?”
The question came from Toby, and it didn’t surprise Charlie. The boy lacked empathy on all levels, and while in group therapy, he listened to others, immediately recognizing the traits of those gathered around in the circle. They were just like Toby, and they all said the same thing. Their addiction was someone else’s fault. Their problems were always someone else’s fault. In the beginning, he’d felt the same way. It was Rebecca’s fault. It was Ben’s fault. It was Vivian’s fault. They had made him into this weak man who couldn’t hold his own without help.
Over the course of six weeks, the facility changed his mind. Six weeks. That was all it had taken. In six weeks, he learned to be held culpable for his own actions. He learned how to thrive in a non-toxic world made up of caring counselors and staff who wanted you to be a better person. Yes, the others were just as complicit in his downfall, but he could now admit he was responsible for his own path in life, and for the choices he made.
Helen’s ragged breathing returned, high and shrill. Leaning down, Charlie swiped the hair from her face. “Mom?”
She didn’t answer, her lids half-closed with only the whites of her eyes showing. Smacking her cheek lightly with his palm, Charlie wincedwhen, on the third slap, the high-pitched wheezing from her lips halted completely.
“Is she dead?” Toby whispered. “Did we win?”
“What the hell do you mean, did we win?” Charlie hissed, unable to peel his eyes off Helen. “Fuck. We need to call an ambulance.”
There was no rise and fall of Helen’s chest, or any movement. The slits of her eyes had opened more, and her mouth hung wide with the tip of her tongue protruding through the gap.
Charlie released a shuddering breath, not in grief or shock at seeing his mother this way, but for his kids. Death didn’t need to revisit them so soon yet.
“Tobias, take your sister upstairs and wait for me.”
Latching on to CeCe’s hand, Toby led her to the stairs. “But did we win?” he asked again. “Can we have a home now?”
“What are you talking about?”
Toby lifted his chin bravely. “She said that we couldn’t live here until she was dead, and we needed a home, right? So did we win it?”
Shit. They had been listening.
“I don’t know what to say to that, Tobias.”
“Well, she’s dead, right?” Toby pressed. “She told you that once she’s dead, we would have a house here and another one, so we pushed her extra hard to make sure.”
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
Every drop of blood drained from Charlie’s face. Rising to stand, he stared at his children. “What did you do?”
CeCe whimpered around her thumb and hid her small body behind Toby, who kept a firm hold on her hand. It took the boy a minute to gather enough courage to reply, his bottom lip trembling as he spoke. “We won.”
You make me happy when skies are gray.
“What did you win?”
Charlie tried to keep his voice even and not let his churning gut get the better of him. He couldn’t very well tell the police that his two small kids had shoved their grandmother down the stairs, hoping they would kill her so they wouldn’t be homeless.
“A house,” Toby answered. “We can make a Haven House here!”
You’ll never know dear, how much I loveyou.
Charlie’s gaze lowered to his dead mother at his feet. Once the word got out about her death, he wondered how many people would cheer over Helen Fairweather's demise. He almost laughed. Everyone. The answer was everyone. His mother had no friends and no family she spoke to except for him and Trevor. She was alone.
