I look down at the phone and pick it up in what feels like slow motion. I’m surprised the doctor’s still on the line. I grab my prescription bottle and pop two pills and swallow them dry before I press the phone against my ear. I can’t tell if it’s cool or warm.

“Your mother’s friend Loretta Susskind is on her way here to pick up your niece to take her home with her. I understand you have other siblings?”

“Siblings?” I reach for the glass of water I had last night and swallow some. It’s warm. This much I do know.

“Yes. I’m positive Mrs. Susskind’s calling the little girl’s mother, but will you be able to call the others?”

“Me? Did I tell you I’m in London?”

“No. My gosh. Look, I can call them if you’re not up to it.”

Before I can even think about how I’m going to do it, I simply say, “I’ll call them.”

“Okay, then. And, Miss Price, you might want to start making arrangements.”

“Arrangements? Arrangements for what?”

“Funeral services. If that was your mother’s wish.”

Arrangements? Funeral services? Wish? Funeral services for who? Who died? I mean, nobody’s dead here. Is this the Make a Wish Foundation call? Is that what this is about? Because, if not, this has got to be some kind of huge, I mean humongous mistake. I know it is, because somebody has just called here and played a dirty rotten trick on me and told me that my mama has died.

The next thing I know, I hear myself say, “Goodbye,” and I hang up. Did I say thank you? I don’t know. And what exactly would I thank him for? I bite my tongue to see if I can feel it, and it hurts. I look down at the phone again. Didn’t I just have it up to my ear? And didn’t Miss Loretta call and tell me to call the hospital? Did I actually do that? Did I really talk to a Dr. Glover and he said that my mother has passed on? That my mother is dead?

I think he did. Didn’t he? I sit on the edge of the bed and lick my lips until the salty taste of blood and tears are gone. I look over at the clock. It’s ten after eleven. I look down at my feet. Why am I wearing my mama’s shoes? I take them off and begin to put them back in the box. She’s going to love these babies. I just know it. I know what she likes. I know her taste in things. But as soon as I lift the lid to the box, I look at my hands and realize that I’m still holding the phone. I blink five or six times to make sure I’m still in this hotel room, and then I pinch my arm to make sure I’m still alive. I am. And I’m surprised.

I take the phone with me over to the window and look out at that park. The grass is glistening green. The leaves on the trees are, too. I’m so cold I’m trembling. But all I can do is stand here and watch drops of clear water roll down this window until I’m blind. Until I’m frozen. When I do move, I collapse against the wall, grab the drape, and wrap it around me until I begin to feel warm. I hold it like this until it feels like I’m in my mama’s arms again. I squeeze so hard that, when the drape comes off the rod and drops to the floor, I do, too. Once I get here, I look around this room again. I stare until all the flowers on these walls, these chairs, and the sofa begin to wilt and die and I cry dry tears because I feel vacant inside, like a thief has stolen something from me that no one can ever replace, like the best part of me has just evaporated.