CHAPTER 42
BELLA
My sunglasses remain firmly planted over my eyes as I stroll the aisles of Fairhope Farm, trying my best to ignore the knowing glances and the whispered conversations being had as I pass.
The people of this town haven’t an ounce of discretion, and honestly, it pisses me off.
I knew it would take no time at all for word to spread around town after my dirty laundry was hung in the middle of The Dusty Boot for all to see but, Jesus Christ, it’s been two weeks. Do they not have anything better to do?
This is precisely why I’ve been avoiding going into my café. It’s why it has taken me two whole weeks to even leave the safety of my brother’s house.
But I had no choice. Because it’s Sunday, and I haven’t stopped by my mom’s in… I do the mental calculation in my head and pause. It’s been three weeks since the last time I dropped groceries off to her.
No groceries mean only one thing.
“Ahh, Bella. I was wondering when one of you Ashby kids would finally drop by,” Mabel Fairhope says as I approach the counter.
“How much does she owe?” I ask with a sigh, not feeling the need to beat around the bush. I don’t have the energy for false conversation, and I’d rather get the heck out of here as soon as possible.
“Two hundred and fifty dollars,” she says and I pause, my purse in my hand and my eyes wide behind my dark shades.
“What? What the hell did she steal?”
Mrs Fairhope rummages below the counter before reappearing with a screwed-up piece of paper in her hand. She lifts the glasses hanging on a chain around her neck and perches them on the end of her nose. “Four bottles of vodka, six packets of Marlboro and a tray of ramen, not all in the same run.”
I drop my head back with a sigh and whisper, “Fuck my life.” Before handing her my credit card.
She scans the few items on the counter, eyeing me as she places the chocolates, box of tampons, ibuprofen and two bottles of wine into their own bag per my request and I fight back the urge to snap at her for judging me.
I’m a heart broken woman with period cramps, sue me.
She swipes my card and hands it back to me, a sweet yet judgy smile on her face and I snatch it with a little more force than necessary before scooping up my bags and walking out the door.
The drive over to my mom’s house takes ten minutes, and I use every single one of those minutes to silently fume over the audacity of the woman.
I can’t keep doing this.
It isn’t fair that because she’s the woman who birthed me, that I’m automatically expected to clean up her messes.
If she’d stolen just food, I might be able to find it somewhere within me to excuse her behaviour. But she’d stolen vodka, cigarettes and fucking ramen.
I shake my head as I pull up outside her house, my blood boiling with anger.
I grab the bag of groceries she doesn’t deserve and get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before stomping up the steps to her house.
I don’t even bother bracing myself for the smell as I push the door open and step inside. “Mom!”
I step into the living room, dodging trash and God knows what else as I scan the room for her, coming up empty.
Moving toward the kitchen, I dump the bag on the counter and look around in disgust. It’s fucking awful in here.
“Mom?” I call again, growing irritated at her ignorance.
I check the downstairs bathroom and the backyard for her before moving up the stairs to her bedroom.
Somehow, it’s worse up here.
There are cigarette burns dotting the carpet. Clothes are slung all over the place and there’s a trail of empty bottles, mouldy cups and cans used as ashtrays leading right to her room.
I knock on the door once and wait, my ear pressed against the wood to listen for any sound. Nothing comes.
With a frustrated sigh, I bring my hand to the doorknob and twist it, only to freeze, an earth-shattering scream echoing in my ears.
There, on the bed, lies my mom, an empty pill bottle beside her, grey eyes wide and lifeless as white foam leaks from the corner of her mouth.
***
Grief is a feeling that every person on earth experiences in their lifetime. It’s predictable yet painful. It’s expected whilst also being unexpected.
“How long has she been taking oxy?”
I always expected this.
It’s why I grieved for her while she was still alive.
“I don’t know.”
I grieved for the woman she once was. For the mother she used to be. For the mother I wish that she had continued to be.
“Do you know where she could have gotten it from?”
“No.”
I grieved for the grandmother my future children would never have. For the mother daughter moments, I’d never get to experience. For the shoulder I’d never get to cry on.
“Have you ever known her to take prescription drugs?”
“No. Not that I can recall.”
I always knew this day would come.
I knew that she was killing herself slowly.
“Did she have any contact with her ex-husband?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
I even knew that it would be me that found her.
But what I didn’t prepare myself for, was having to make the decision.
“Mr Ashby, do you need me to call someone? A grandparent or…”
What I didn’t expect, is for her to fail at taking her own life.
And now, the two people she brought into the world, had to be the ones to take her out of it.
What kind of sick sense of irony is that?
“What I need is for you to stop asking me fucking questions.” My brothers booming voice pierces through my thoughts and I slowly blink up at him; the anxiety pill Liv slipped me the moment she arrived doing wonders for my mental state.
“Killian!” Daisy scolds. “Calm down, he’s just doing his job.”
He takes a deep breath, his head dropping in shame as he mutters a quiet apology to the doctor. He just nods his head and turns to leave, letting us know he’ll give us some time.
The machine beside the bed beeps a steady rhythm, the sound a constant reminder that although her brain is dead, our mom is still very much alive.
An overdose, they had said. Likely caused by mixing high quantities of alcohol with more than the recommended amount prescription pain medication.
The long, thick tube coming from her mouth is the only thing keeping her chest rising and falling as it pumps oxygen into her lungs, and in just a few minutes, Killian and I have to give our permission to switch it off.
I stare at her lifeless body unblinking, silent tears rolling down my face as I picture everything we missed out on because of her addiction.
I let myself feel all the hate, disappointment and resentment I’ve harboured inside of me for years.
“I’m going to leave the two of you alone,” Daisy says, but Killian reaches out, his hand wrapping around hers as he shakes his head once.
“Please don’t leave.” He sounds like nothing more than a lost little boy in that moment and my arms tighten around myself, chest aching as I watch the two of them.
The ache deepens when Killian pulls Daisy against him and buries his head into her neck as his shoulder shake with silent sobs while she whispers reassuring words in his ear.
Despite knowing that Savannah and Liv are just outside those doors in the waiting room, I don’t move from my seat.
Instead, I continue watching from the corner as my brother seeks comfort from his wife while the one person I need now more than ever, the one person that could ease even a fraction of the pain inside of me, is the only person that isn’t here.
Just as the thought enters my mind, the doors to the private ICU room swings open and Noah steps inside, his chest heaving and eyes wild as they move from Killian to the hospital bed and all of the medical equipment, before finally landing on me.
“Baby,” he breathes, moving straight for me.
That one whispered is all it takes for the breath to rush from my lungs in one long exhale as I stand and collapse into him.
The moment his arms come around me, all of the betrayal and heartache from the last two weeks is pushed aside as my grief takes over and the dam that had been holding my emotions finally breaks.