“Yes. I called 9-1-1 first, just like they say to, and then my nephew, he’s with the fire department. Everyone should be here shortly. If you want to see her, though, before they . . .”
Magnolia shakes her head. “I . . . I don’t know if I want to see her like that. I need to remember her spitting fire and telling me everything I’ve done wrong in my life. If it’s all the same to you.”
I squeeze Magnolia tighter as Norma replies.
“Oh, honey. You keep your memories just where they are. Old Norma will handle everything. And just so you know, Bernie sensed it was coming. Just yesterday, she had me find the book with all her requests on the funeral. She changed a hymn and told me to keep it out because I’d be needing it myself soon.”
A tremor ripples through Magnolia’s body, and it takes a second before the quiet chuckle follows. “Of course she did. Controlling it all, to the very end.”
Norma’s voice seems to lighten. “That was old Bernie. Bless her. I’m to give the book to the funeral home and tell them to make a copy for the pastor. She was adamant that she did not want a jazz funeral, no matter what you say.”
Magnolia’s shoulders shake. “Like I would force that on her.”
“You know, honey, I think she secretly hopes you’ll do it anyway. She always said it was too much revelry on a somber occasion, but I think it’s exactly what an occasion like this calls for. Even if it’s just a few of us in attendance.”
Magnolia glances up at me. “We’ll talk about it. When does she want the funeral?”
“On a Saturday, of all days. So we’ve got a bit of time being it’s only Tuesday. I’ll get everything sorted out. You best not worry about a thing because Bernie left everything real clear.”
“God love you, Norma. She was so lucky to have you. And so am I.”
“God love you too, child. It’s been a privilege. Now, I see that nephew of mine coming down the street. He’s going to make sure everything goes smoothly for us here. I’ll keep you in the loop.”
“Thank you, Norma.”
The call ends, and Magnolia’s phone falls to the carpet again as she wraps her arms around me. Her bones seem to go liquid as she loses her grip.
“I got you, mama. Come on, let’s go back to our room.”
She doesn’t say anything as Jules jumps up and rushes for the door, opening it for us.
When we step into the hallway, Magnolia finds her footing and walks in a straight line, but I’d bet everything I have she’s not seeing what’s in front of her. She’s just going through the motions.
When we turn the corner, I catch sight of Keira’s red hair bouncing along her shoulders ahead of us. She turns around, presumably at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes go wide when she spots Magnolia walking rigidly beside me.
“Something wrong?” she asks, immediately locking in on us both.
Magnolia shakes her head. “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
That’s when I realize her go-to is always fine. This woman, who is stronger than any other human I’ve ever met, hates showing weakness, even to her closest friends.
But Keira sees right through her. “What happened?” She glances at me, her expression sharp, like she’s ready to go to battle for her friend, and she’s relying on me for answers or to determine if I’m responsible for Magnolia’s current state.
Three beats of silence pass as I let Magnolia find the words. With each moment, Keira stiffens further.
“Bernie passed in her sleep. I just got the call,” Magnolia says, her voice steady and unemotional despite the chaos undoubtably raging inside her.
“Oh, Mags. I’m so freaking sorry.” Keira rushes forward to embrace her, whether Magnolia wants it or not.
“Bernie knew it was coming,” she says, her voice wavering. “She always knew everything. And of course she wouldn’t want a jazz funeral. She wouldn’t want anyone to have a reason to be happy on the day she was buried.” The pain in Magnolia’s voice completely changes the tone and meaning of the words coming out of her mouth.
“Of course she wouldn’t,” Keira says quietly, rubbing Magnolia on the back. After a few moments, she lifts her head to look at me. “Is there anything I can do to help? The restaurant can cater a lunch. We’ll make everything easy for you. Whatever you need.”
Magnolia pulls back from the hug. “Norma says Bernie has it all planned. Probably right down to the last detail. She even got her book out yesterday and gave it to poor Norma. How the hell could she have known it was the end?”
Keira’s head slides back and forth slowly, and Magnolia faces me.
“How could she have known?”
“I don’t know, mama. I’ve never been that age before. But I gotta believe sometimes people just know. Or maybe it really was her trying to control things to the very end. Either way, she was ready. Bernie made that clear.”
Magnolia nods twice, and tears well in her beautiful eyes. “I think I want to lie down.”
“Of course,” Keira says with another quick hug. “If you need anything at all, just let me know. We’re all here for you.” She kisses Magnolia on the cheek and pats me on the shoulder. “Take care of her.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s exactly what I’m going to do. We’ll holler if we need anything.”
I lead Magnolia into the bedroom, and as soon as the door closes behind us, she releases her hold on me and stumbles toward the bed.
“Mama—”
She waves me off, but instead of sitting on the mattress, she drops to her knees beside it, burying her face in the blanket on top. The sound of her weeping all but rips the heart from my chest.
Thirty-One
Magnolia
Moses kneels beside me on the carpet and wraps his heavy arm around my shoulders, but I can’t look up. Not when I’m falling apart.
Grief, the likes of which I’ve never felt before, tears through me with its angry claws, shredding my insides to pieces. I’m afraid to open my eyes, because I’ve never experienced this kind of pain before without being broken and bleeding.
I don’t want him to see how shattered I am right now.
Goddamn you, Bernie. Goddamn you. You knew it was the end, and you didn’t hold me close and tell me you loved me. You didn’t tell me you were sorry for throwing me out of your house when I was sixteen. Goddamn you for leaving me. You were the only family I had left. Damn it, I mattered to you, but you never gave me the words, and I didn’t know, until this moment, how badly I needed them.
My sobs, pitiful sobs, fill the air, and Moses holds me closer, anchoring me to his strength.
Goddamn you, Bernie. I loved you so much, and I didn’t tell you either. Why didn’t we just get over our stupid pride and tell each other all the things that really mattered?
“I’m here, mama. Cry it out. I got you,” Moses whispers in my ear as he rocks me back and forth.
“She didn’t ever s-say she was sorry.” I manage to get the words out, punctuated only with a few hiccups. “She put me on the street when I was sixteen, and . . . and she never told me she regretted it.”