normal.”
Release her? No! She couldn’t go home. Liz was dead. It wouldn’t be the same. The phone would ring and it wouldn’t be Liz. “Home” was normal, and didn’t belong in her life any more.
Jennifer wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Erin’s arm. “Is there someone I can call for you?”
“Kristy Mitchell. 403-7629,” Erin said without hesitation. Her best friend. I could stay with Kristy for a few days.
Debbie wrote it down and left the room.
“And one more thing,” Jennifer said. “If you don’t feel like it right now, just say so, but the police want to interview you about the accident.”
“Accident? Is that what they’re calling it? That was my mother! Someone ran her down! Why are they treating it like an accident?” Erin was surprised at the rage she felt.
“If you don’t want to speak with them, I’ll tell them to get lost,” Jennifer said, removing the blood pressure cuff. “But I think you’re good to go. Your blood pressure is a perfect 120 over 80. I am going to recommend that the doctor release you once your friend gets here to take you home.” She glanced at her watch. “It will take us about a half hour to process the paper work. Dr. Gilmore will need to sign off on the release, and he’s in surgery right now. He’s going to send you home with a prescription to help you relax.”
Jennifer removed the tape from Erin’s arm and began to pull out the I.V. needle.
I shouldn’t be wasting their time. There are people here who are critically ill, and I’m taking up hospital room because I am a cry-baby. I’d better toughen up. I’m on my own now.
But Erin felt like there was a large rock inside, where her stomach used to be.
“Send the police in,” Erin said suddenly in a new raspy voice she didn’t recognize. “It shouldn’t take long. I don’t know anything. I want to find out what happened to my mother.”
Jennifer dropped the needle in a plastic box on the wall that was plastered with dire warning labels. She took a clipboard from the end of Erin’s bed and wrote on it briefly. “I’ll send him in. Just relax, Erin. Can I get you something to eat? Or some juice?”
As if I could eat. Erin shook her head no.
“Your clothes are there on the chair. Go ahead and get dressed. Crack open the door when you’re finished and I’ll send the police guy in.”
Jennifer abruptly left the room. Erin stared numbly at her jeans and blouse, remnants of another life, and then slowly got out of bed. Her legs felt weak.
Erin remembered how Liz, a single teenaged mother, had put herself through college while caring for an infant daughter and grieving for her own mother. She thought about all the nights when Liz would rock her to sleep and then tackle another round of Russian sentence structure — all so that she could provide for Erin. They had lived in that tiny house, with Liz making every dollar stretch until the time she could get a better job and bring in money for the essentials. Erin had it easy because of all Liz had done for her. Erin never had to work during high school or college; Liz had paid Erin’s college tuition. Erin had majored in history, thinking she could get a job teaching when she graduated. She still planned to teach some day when a job opened up. In the meantime, Erin worked as a paralegal trainee for a law firm. She was going to have to call in and take some time off. She’d probably get fired for it. Robert Vincent, the lawyer she worked for, was probably blowing a gasket that Erin was not there to index documents today. And then, there was Liz’s house. Erin would have to go through her things. That thought brought another jolt of searing pain. I can’t do it. I can’t go through her things. How had such a strong woman like Liz had such a wimp for a daughter?
When Erin was dressed, she opened the door a few inches and sat in the chair. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Ms. Griffin?” A man tapped tentatively on the door. He looked as though he was around 40 years old, slightly over five feet tall, with thinning brown hair and a mustache.
Erin motioned for him to come in.
He extended his hand. “I’m Ken Malone, Ms. Griffin. I am so sorry for your loss.”
Erin stiffened. She recognized Ken. He was the one who had told her Liz was dead.
“And I didn’t know I was speaking to — ah — a relative of the deceased,” he said awkwardly. “There at the scene.”
When Erin did not respond, he pulled up a chair and sat down, removing a small notebook and pen from his front pocket. “I know you are struggling with this, so I’ll be brief. How did it happen that you were there when — ah — the incident occurred?”
“I had lunch with my mother. She left the restaurant. By the time I came out … ” Erin’s eyes filled with tears, and she could not finish the sentence.
“Yes, ma’am, I understand now,” he said, tapping the notebook with his pen. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Griffin.”
“Call me Erin.”
“Yes, ma’am. I need to fill out an accident report, and … well, I need to discuss arrangements with you.”
Erin’s heart sank. She hadn’t even thought about a funeral.
“I mean …” he paused awkwardly. “There is normally an identification of the body, but in this case you were there, so we can waive that.”
Erin nodded. Body. Her mother was now a body.
“And we have eye witnesses who saw her on the sidewalk, and it was a red pickup truck that hit her.”
“She was hit on the sidewalk?” Erin said, her mouth quivering. “How could that happen?”
“Well, ma’am, I mean, Erin, we think it was a drunk driver. The truck was being driven very erratically, according to the witnesses. Weaving all over the road. Finally jumped the curb, and came within an inch of hitting an electric pole, swerved to miss it, and hit the pedestrian, I mean, your mother. I’m very sorry.”
“Who was in the truck?” Erin felt anger rising. “Was it a man or a woman?”
“So sorry, but we don’t know. It happened fast, and according to the witnesses, the windows were tinted dark. The truck was red and not too old, and we’re fairly sure it was a Ford because that’s what most of the witnesses thought. The vehicle was very dirty, covered with mud. The driver was most likely male. He was wearing a baseball cap. Three of the witnesses described certain decals in the windows which would be distinguishing. No one could make out the license plate, either, or even identify what state it was from.”
“So you have no leads. A dirty red Ford truck. This is Oklahoma! That could be any one of a million trucks!”
“I’m sorry.”
Erin was irritated by the repeated apologies. A drunk just ran her mother over, and the police acted like it was nothing! The anger was building.
“If you don’t have any more questions, what I really need to find out from you is where we should take your mother’s body. Did she have any pre-arrangements?”
“I — I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know what to do,” Erin said with despair. “My mother was young. I don’t think she made any funeral plans.”
“I would suggest that you contact the Nelson Funeral Home. They’ve been around a while. They will come to your home, and talk to you about what you want done. They will take it from there.”
“Thank you. I’ll call them.”
“And, Erin … I recommend that you do not view the body.” He paused, not wanting to explain that the vehicle had inflicted severe damage to Liz’s face and head, but he would do that if necessary. “It’s just generally better for you to try to remember