I stumbled out the door and walked to the new neighbor’s front door, as if I were a zombie, wide-eyed and emotionless. I rapped on the door and he opened it moments later, shirtless and wearing a pair of jeans, eyes widened at the sight of me on his doorstep. His hair was tousled and he smelled of sweat and man. We had never even exchanged a word until that moment, although I found myself thinking how rude I’d been not to make him a pie welcoming him to the neighborhood. My mind tripped on the pie thought. I wondered if Momma had gotten the pies out of the oven, or if they were still in there smoldering to a crisp. But then again if they were burnt, I would have smelled them.
His eyes narrowed as he stared at me, unsure what I wanted, confused by my appearance at a time that wasn’t appropriate to be calling. He placed a hand on one side of the doorway and leaned his weight into it, waiting.
“Uh…” I began, unsure what to say, forgetting why I was there. Why was I there? Oh, Momma. “Uh… I just got home and…” How did one delicately put that her Momma’s head had been bashed in? “My lights and phone are out…and…”
“Do you need to call the electric company?” He eyed me warily.
“No…” I shook my head, confused. “Uh, yeah, maybe. But I think I need to call the police first.”
His eyes widened.
“I think my Momma’s dead.” I scrunched the corner of my mouth as I tried to decide if she was really dead or not. Yeah, she was probably dead.
He left the doorway, but reappeared in a flash a cordless phone in his hand, already punching numbers.
“What happened?” he asked over the top of the handset.
“I’m not really sure.” My voice trailed off as the air became murky and the ground beneath me started falling away. “I think I need to sit down.”
Two wicker chairs sat on his porch. He grasped my arm and led me a few steps toward one. I sat and rested my elbows on my legs, leaning forward. I felt his hand on the back of my head as he pushed it between my knees and began talking to the 911 dispatcher.
I barely heard it, because it didn’t matter. Momma was dead and it was supposed to be me.
Chapter Three
Henryetta is a pretty safe town, so, any time there’s a murder, word spreads fast. Especially if it's the murder of an upstanding citizen in the community, meaning anyone who wasn’t a derelict, habitual drunk, or criminal. While some would argue Momma’s qualifications as an “upstanding citizen,” there was no denying she didn’t fall into the other three categories.
The police showed up about five minutes after my neighbor called. They blazed down the street, lights flashing and sirens blaring. The people soon followed. Kids might run out of their houses giddy with excitement at the first strains of music from an ice cream truck, but for the adults of Henryetta it was sirens. Fire truck sirens would do, but nothing piqued their excitement like the wail of a police car.
In all the ruckus, my neighbor acquired a shirt and someone brought me an afghan and threw it over my legs. Why someone thought my legs should be covered on a sticky, hot evening was a good question. It must have been a way to feel useful, like boiling water in a medical emergency. Nevertheless, I sat in the old wicker chair with a crocheted afghan across my legs, in too much shock to think about removing it, even as the perspiration pooled under the woolen threads.
When the police got out of their patrol cars, my neighbor met them at the curb. Flashlight beams bobbing wildly, they ran for the open side door of Momma’s house. An ambulance pulled up, followed by two more police cruisers. I didn’t know how many police cars the city of Henryetta owned, but I was willing to bet money all of them were currently parked in front of my house.
The crowd in the street continued to grow and my neighbor made his way back to his porch, clearly uncomfortable. I suspected he hadn’t been in this type of situation before, which I supposed was a positive character trait. He stood about three feet away and crossed his arms over his chest, shifting his weight from side to side. He snuck glances at me like he wanted to say something until he cleared his throat.
“So…can I get you anything?”
His question stumped me. I had no idea if I needed anything. My mind felt detached from my body, like I was watching a movie playing in front of me instead of real life. Maybe I should ask for popcorn. I looked up at him with an expression of bewilderment.
He took pity on me. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”