Moose and Goose

Chapter Thirty-three

"He's been sick for months," Judith loudly repeats her mother's confession. Her teary face is red, and her fists want to clench. Sheryl doesn't respond, so she looks around at the three of them with the hope that someone will speak. "When was someone going to tell me? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"He didn't want you to worry, Judy," Sheryl says, and her voice cracks. She watches her mother's tears slip between her lips, and she shakes her head from disbelief.

"Didn't want me to worry? He's my Dad," she practically screams. Stevie and Vera inch toward the stairwell, and they sit at the top step, listening to their conversation. "Of course I would worry! I can't believe this is really happening."

They watch her bring her hands to her mouth and lean against the frame for support.

"This – issue with his heart, he's had it since he was born, and he thought he beat it when he was twelve," Sheryl explains. "We just thought that this time would be different. We never meant to hurt any of you, especially you. I'm so sorry you had to find out this way."

Judith switches her gaze between each of them before turning and walking up the stairs. They watch her depart with solemn expressions, and she stops in front of the twins.

"What's going on," Stevie asks in a low voice, but she doesn't answer. His eyebrows are furrowed as he watches her squeeze between them before looking at his twin sister. She shrugs, and they stand to their feet.

When Judith reaches her door, her lungs begin to heat as they struggle to pull in the air naturally. She steps into her room, her hands shaking and her mouth emitting faint wheezes.

She gazes at her sleeping sister as she sits Jerome's number on her dresser by her door then her chest feels heavy and tight. She grips her chest in her hands, her nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. Her legs gradually stiffen, so she makes a beeline for her bathroom.

The pungent smell of marijuana hits her immediately, but she doesn't react. She flicks the light on then trudges toward her sink, her heart thumping in her ears and against her palms.

"Stop it, Judy," she says through heavy breaths. She's panting as if she'd run a marathon, and her body feels the same. Her shaky hands reach out for the edge of the sink, and with it in her grasp, she leans forward with her eyes shut and allows the heat of her breath to fog her mirror.

She sees flashes of her father's face, and she sucks air between her teeth as her heart skips a beat. Her eyes dart open, and the sweaty reflection of herself vaguely resembles her late brother, Michael.

More tears trickle off of her lashes, and she stares at herself with her quivering lips agape. Her teeth begin to chatter, and goosebumps line her arms.

She staggers backward before tumbling onto her backside with a grunt. She's sitting with her back against the side of her tub, and her heart is racing faster.

God, if you can hear me right now, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that I've done. If I die tonight, please don't let Stevie or Vera or anyone who knows me have to feel this kind of pain.

"Judy," Stacey calls for her from the edge of the bed. She pushes herself upright, grunting and groaning from the weight of her unborn child. She wobbles toward the door, and her eyes widen. "Judy!"

"Stacey, call an ambulance," she tells her, her heavy eyelids trying to shut. "I think – I'm dying."

"Momma!" Stacey speed walks toward the bedroom door with her hands on her lower back. She stands on the other end of the threshold, facing the stairs. "Momma, come quick!"

She watches Sheryl spring up the stairs with Rembrandt in tow and David struggling to follow.

"What? What happened?" They follow Stacey into the room.