Jon stood in the doorway watching her. “Shouldn’t you call the doctor?”

She waved the suggestion aside, wracked by another bout of coughing that left her sweating and limp. “I’ve got some pills left from last time. See if you can find them in the medicine cabinet. And bring me a glass of water, if you would.”

He did as she asked. There were four bottles of prescription medication. He brought all of them to her bedside and let her choose what she thought was best. She took two pills with water and then lay back against the pillows, which she’d stacked almost upright to help her breathe.

He said, “Did you eat lunch?”

“Not yet. I’ll get something in a bit.”

“I can fix you a grilled cheese sandwich the way you showed me.”

He wanted to help. He wanted to be of service because once she was back on her feet, the world would right itself. He felt a responsibility since he was the only kid at home. His brother, Grant, five years his senior, had just gone off to Vanderbilt and wouldn’t be back until Christmas break.

Her smile was wan. “Grilled cheese would be nice, Jon. You’re so sweet to me.”

He went into the kitchen and put the sandwich together, making sure both sides of the bread were well buttered so they’d brown evenly. When he knocked on her door again, plate in hand, she said she thought she’d nap for a while before she ate. He set the plate on the bed table within reach, went into the den, and turned on the TV set.

When he looked in on her an hour later, she didn’t look right at all. He crossed to her bedside and put a hand on her forehead the way she did when she thought he was running a fever. Her skin was hot to the touch and her breathing was rapid and shallow. She was shivering uncontrollably, and when she opened her eyes, he said, “Are you okay?”

“I’m cold, that’s all. Bring me that quilt in the linen closet, please.”

“Sure.”

He found some blankets and piled them on, worried he wasn’t doing enough. “I think I should call an ambulance or something. Okay?” he asked.

When his mother didn’t answer, Jon called the paramedics, who arrived fifteen minutes later. He let them in, relieved to have someone else taking charge of her. One of the two men asked questions, while the other one took her temperature, checked her blood pressure, and listened to her chest. After a brief consultation and a phone call, they loaded her onto a gurney and put her in the rear of the ambulance. From the look that passed between them, Jon knew she was sicker than he’d thought.

When the paramedic told him he could follow them to St. Terry’s, he wanted to laugh. “I’m a kid. I can’t drive. My dad’s not even home. He’s out of town.”

After more murmured conversation, he was allowed to ride in the front of the ambulance, which he gathered was against the ambulance company’s policy.

In the emergency room, he sat in the reception area while the doctor examined his mom. The nurse told him he should call someone, but that only confused him. He didn’t know how to reach his brother in Nashville and who else was there? It wasn’t like he had his teacher’s home telephone number. The school would be closed by then anyway, so that was no help. There weren’t any other close relatives that he knew of. His parents didn’t go to church, so there wasn’t even a minister to call.

The nurse went back down the hall and pretty soon the hospital social worker showed up and talked to him. She wasn’t much help, asking him the same series of questions he couldn’t answer. She finally contacted a neighbor, a couple his parents barely knew. Jon spent that night and the next night with them. He left notes on the front and back doors so his father would know where he was.

His mother survived for a day and a half and then she was gone. The last time he saw her—the night his father finally showed up—she had IV lines in both ankles. There was a blood-pressure cuff on one arm, and a clamp on her finger to measure her pulse, a catheter, an arterial line in one wrist, and tubing taped over her face. He knew the exact moment the rise and fall of her chest ceased, but he watched her anyway, thinking he could still see movement. Finally, his father told him it was time to go.

Lionel drove them home and spent the next two hours on the phone, notifying friends and relatives, the insurance company, and Jon wasn’t sure who else. While his father was occupied, Jon went into his mother’s room. Lionel’s side of the bed was untouched and still neatly made, while on his mother’s side the sheets were rumpled, with pillows still stacked against the headboard. There were the same wadded tissues on the floor.