I guess he told you

“Well, I guess he told you,” she says.
Tears drip off my chin. I hold her hands.
“How long have you known?”
“About two months.”
“Oh, Mama.”
“Now stop that, Eugenia. It can’t be helped.”
“But what can I . . . I can’t just sit here and watch you . . .” I can’t even say the word. All the words are too awful,link.
“You most certainly will not just sit here. Carlton is going to be a lawyer and you . . .” She shakes her finger at me. “Don’t think you can just let yourself go after I’m gone. I am calling Fanny Mae’s the minute I can walk to the kitchen and make your hair appointments through 1975.”
I sink down on the settee and Daddy puts his arm around me. I lean against him and cry.
THE CHRISTMAS TREE Jameso put up a week ago dries and drops needles every time someone walks into the relaxing room. It’s still six days until Christmas, but no one’s bothered to water it. The few presents Mother bought and wrapped back in July sit under the tree, one for Daddy that’s obviously a church tie, something small and square for Carlton, a heavy box for me that I suspect is a new Bible. Now that everyone knows about Mother’s cancer,Moncler Outlet, it is as if she’s let go of the few threads that kept her upright. The marionette strings are cut, and even her head looks wobbly on its post. The most she can do is get up and go to the bathroom or sit on the porch a few minutes every day,moncler jackets men.
In the afternoon, I take Mother her mail, Good Housekeeping magazine, church newsletters, DAR updates,replica louis vuitton handbags.
“How are you?” I push her hair back from her head and she closes her eyes like she relishes the feel. She is the child now and I am the mother.
“I’m alright.”
Pascagoula comes in. She sets a tray of broth on the table. Mother barely shakes her head when she leaves, staring off at the empty doorway.
“Oh no,” she says, grimacing, “I can’t eat.”
“You don’t have to eat, Mama. We’ll do it later.”
“It’s just not the same with Pascagoula here, is it?” she says.
“No,” I say. “It’s not.” This is the first time she’s mentioned Constantine since our terrible discussion.
“They say its like true love, good help. You only get one in a lifetime.”
I nod, thinking how I ought to go write that down, include it in the book. But, of course, it’s too late, it’s already been mailed. There’s nothing I can do, there’s nothing any of us can do now, except wait for what’s coming.
CHRISTMAS EVE is DEPRESSING and rainy and warm. Every half hour, Daddy comes out of Mother’s room and looks out the front window and asks, “Is he here?” even if no one’s listening. My brother, Carlton, is driving home tonight from LSU law school and we’ll both be relieved to see him. All day, Mother has been vomiting and dry heaving. She can barely keep her eyes open, but she cannot sleep.
“Charlotte, you need to be in the hospital,” Doctor Neal said that afternoon. I don’t know how many times he’s said that in the past week. “At least let me get the nurse out here to stay with you.”
“Charles Neal,” Mother said, not even raising her head from the mattress, “I am not spending my final days in a hospital, nor will I turn my own house into one.”