The Next Twenty Days
Dolly Beckett
“Come on, sweetie, you gotta wake up now. We’re going to get you home.”
My eyes flutter open, and I stare blearily at a familiar face framed in soft blonde waves.
I jerk upright in the chair in the waiting room, and my head swims. I grip the arms of the chair and blink past the black dots in my vision.
My head is pounding, and my abdomen aches with the dull throb of cramps.
The baby, I think instantly, my hand flying to my belly.
“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Darling asks.
“Y-yes,” I manage, swallowing hard and nodding. Before I know they’re coming, tears blur my vision. “I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, honey, you didn’t do anything,” Mrs. Darling says.
I stare up at the woman who used to drink by the pool and gossip with my mother; the woman notorious for her famous chocolate chip cookies and warm hugs; who donated endless time and money to fundraisers at school and charities all over town; who never had a cruel word for anyone.
The sweetest, most perfect woman at every function, Preston’s mama was so saintly that even the other church ladies and garden club members rarely spoke ill of her.
The only thing they could ever find to say about her was that she must be too lenient with Preston, and that’s why he fought so much, or that she should sample less of the cookie dough before it went in the oven.
She’s slimmed down since I saw her last, and if the family tragedies of the past few years have worn on her, she doesn’t show it.
If anything, she looks younger than when I saw her before I left for California, when she was in the midst of her husband’s murder trial and trying to hold the family together.
Like a good southern wife, she stood by her man and testified that he was a good man at the trial, as did her daughter.
Preston refused, which only fueled the fires of gossip around the Darlings. But I understood.
“It’s my fault,” I say, a tear spilling down my cheek. “I never meant…”
“Nonsense,” she says, sinking into the chair beside me. She takes my hand and squeezes. “I don’t know everything that happened, but I know you didn’t pull the trigger.”
“But it’s my fault he was up there,” I say. “If I hadn’t left… If I hadn’t told my dad…”
“My son’s a grown man,” she says firmly. “He made his choices, just like you made yours.”
I nod, swiping away another tear before it can fall. I’m not sure I’m going to get to make this choice any more than I’ve made any others in the last month. “Is he okay?” I whisper.
“He’s out of surgery,” she says. “The bullet nicked his heart, but the doctor says it went well. My son’s young and strong, and with all the prayers we said last night, I just know Baby Jesus heard us.”
Last night is a blur, but from the light outside the doors of the waiting room, I can tell it’s well into the next day.
I don’t even remember most of what came after the ambulance ride.
Preston was rushed into the ER, and a nurse gave me something for anxiety.
After that, everything melted together—Darlings came and went, my dad came and tried to get me to go home, and the police came to take a statement.
At some point, I fell asleep waiting for news.
“He asked me to marry him,” I say after a while, glancing at the loveliest of all the Darling wives.
“I know.”
I turn to her. “You do?”
“He came by about a month ago,” she says.
“Said y’all were spending your first Christmas as a couple alone, so he wasn’t coming to the family Christmas.
I thought he might still be too cautious of all of us being in one place at once, in case the Dolces struck, but when he asked for the family ring… ”
“He did?”
She nods and squeezes my hand. “And you’ll wear it, just like I did.”
I look down at her hand holding mine. She may have been a good southern wife to Mr. Darling when he was on trial, but there’s no ring on her neatly manicured fingers.
Judging by how good she looks, in fact, I’d guess she’s trying to catch someone else’s eye.
That, or she’s just flourishing and happy with the freedom she’s been granted for the next eight years.
“Do you know what happened with Grampa Darling?” I ask. “Is he going to be okay?”
“I’m sure he’ll be just fine, dear,” she says. “We’re not a family who’s going to put our old folks in a home. It can be a lot of work, but I’m sure Preston won’t expect you to do that. He’ll hire someone to help out more if you need it.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say. “I don’t think he needs more care. I think he needs less. He looked fine when I saw him.”
“Sometimes you’ll have differences of opinion,” she says. “You’d do well to respect your husband’s authority as the leader of the family.”
“He’s not sick,” I insist, resisting the urge to ask how well respecting her husband’s authority worked out for her.
“Some folks have episodes that come and go,” she says, tightening her grip on my hand when I try to pull away.
“I’ll tell you the same as I told the police, the same as everyone in that house told them.
Grandpa Darling was just a little confused when you saw him.
Trust me when I say my son’s dedicated his entire life to doing what’s right by this family.
That family includes you now, Dolly. He would never do something that wasn’t in the best interest of all of us. ”
“But he was locked in…”
“Funny,” she says. “The police didn’t find evidence of any such thing, and not a person there could remember any instances of wrongdoing on my son’s part.”
I just stare at her. I love Preston, but I’m just beginning to realize what being part of this family means.
It’s not just being part of a big family, the way I always dreamed of while growing up.
It means helping carry the Darling family baggage, their secrets.
It means looking the other way when faced with their crimes and indiscretions, thinking of the greater good for not just myself, but all of them too.
Finally, I see Dixie walking up to the door outside, and I pry my fingers from Mrs. Darling’s. “And what about your husband?” I ask, turning to her. “Did he do what was in your best interest?”
“My husband,” she says, straightening her spine. “Did what was in his own best interest.”
I stand and pick up the bag Daddy brought me with a change of clothes and my purse last night. “Well,” I say, “I guess that makes you a perfect match.”
Without waiting for an answer, I walk out on the woman who will be my mother-in-law if the man I love makes it out alive.
I can’t say any of this is her fault, but I’m old enough to know there’s more to being a good mother than giving warm hugs and making the best cookies. As a kid, that seemed like enough.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re here,” Dixie says when I step outside into the cold, grey day. “Your dad said you’d been here a month! Why didn’t you call? Are you really moving back home?”
“I think so,” I say. “I’m still figuring things out.”
“I’ll take you home,” Dixie says, pulling her trench coat tight around her as the wind whips at us. “You can tell me everything on the way. I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
We hurry to the car, our heads ducked against the icy wind.
The rain brought colder temperatures, and the sky is a flat, featureless grey that would make the sunshine itself depressed.
Dixie chatters on as we drive, but I can’t stop thinking about Preston, wondering if he’ll pull through, and what I’ll do if he doesn’t make it.
His mother seemed so confident. Or maybe she just can’t let herself entertain the other option.
I think of her words in the waiting room, how sure of him she is.
When we were kids, I remember thinking that even though Preston’s dad was terrifying, at least he had the sweetest mama to hold him.
I remember wondering how she could marry a man like her husband, thinking that maybe they were married because she was the only person sweet enough to love someone so mean.
I remember thinking that maybe she didn’t know, that maybe it only happened once, and Mr. Darling wasn’t so bad after all.
Now I wonder other things, like if she condoned his behavior or just went along because he was the authority. Did she ever object? Did he give her that option? Maybe Preston was not the only one on the receiving end of the blows dealt out with such sadistic relish.
“You in?” Dixie asks as she pulls up in front of my father’s house. It’s no longer my house, just a place to come to visit.
“Sure,” I say, smiling at her like I’ve been listening the whole way, since I don’t want to be rude after she did me a favor.
“When do you want to go?” she asks.
“I’m going to try to get some real sleep,” I say. “Sitting in the hospital chairs all night wasn’t very restful.”
“Oh, I totally understand,” she says. “I’ll come by in a couple days.”
“Sounds good,” I say, climbing out. I go inside and head straight for the bathroom, my nerves frayed from exhaustion and the pain in my abdomen.
“Please don’t let me lose this baby,” I pray as I sink down on the toilet. The cramps aren’t too severe, but they’re still worrying me. When I see a spot of blood, my head swims, and my breath catches. I clean up and crawl into bed, wrapping my arms around my belly and praying.
What if he doesn’t make it? What if I lose all that’s left of him?
I pray myself to sleep, but when I wake, I’m still not ready to face reality, so I force myself back under.
It’s not until the next morning that I drag myself up, nearly twenty-four hours after getting home from the hospital.
The sleep seems to have calmed my body and my mind.
I call the local clinic and make an appointment with the OBGYN, then spend some time on my makeup.
For the first time in a while, I want to look like myself again.