The Big Shuffle Read Free Page A

sensation.
    “All right then. Why don't you go home and try to get some rest and come back tomorrow to see your mother.”
    “Can't I see her now?” I ask.
    “I'm afraid it wouldn't be a good idea. We've given her some medication to help her sleep. Come back tomorrow and hopefully she'll be feeling better.” He pats me on the shoulder and turns to leave. On the way out I see him exchange looks with the receptionist that seem to say, “Oh God, is this ever a bad one.” Which is not nearly so reassuring as his gentle tone of voice and comforting pat on my shoulder.

FOUR
    B ERNARD AND I SLOWLY WALK OUT TO THE CAR. THE SKY IS STILL dark and snow swirls and spins under the glare of the parking lot lights like bits of lost soul. No one else is on the road and the town is covered in a deep blanket of white. It's as if someone suddenly took the needle off the record player and the world went silent. I open the window on the passenger side and let the cold wet flakes melt on my face.
    Bernard turns down Main Street and we pass all the darkened stores locked up for the night. A light glows in the back of the card and stationery store, but that's only because Mrs. Jamison thinks the three live-in cats need it to navigate at night. We pass Bernard's antiques store, The Sweet Buy and Buy, and a silver tea service glints in the display window.
    A few houses still have Christmas lights up and plastic Santas on the front lawns. Alongside the curb lie discarded trees with half their needles missing, patiently waiting for the garbagemen to take them away.
    Bernard offers to come inside, even to stay overnight if I want. And if he didn't have the girls to look after I might take him up on it. But I tell him that Louise and I can manage. Hegives me a hug and it's at that moment I finally start to cry, heaving big sobs that make me lose my breath.
    Bernard switches off the engine and accompanies me into the house after all. The second Louise sees us she knows that dad is dead. Her eyes are already red from crying and her face is blotchy, but the tears come all over again. We hug each other and it feels as if all of our childhood fights and other sibling nonsense was such a long time ago. Another lifetime.
    I try to describe what's going on with mom but can't even remember what the doctor said was wrong with her. Bernard is the one who explains to Louise that she's in shock and will probably be okay tomorrow. He goes into the kitchen and, after a few minutes of kitchen noises, returns with two mugs of hot cocoa. As we sit looking at each other across the dining room table it grows cold.
    “Eric will be here in a few hours.” Louise finally breaks the silence. “Aunt Lala is flying in from London tomorrow.”
    “So what do we do?” I ask Bernard, since he's the full-fledged grown-up. Louise also looks to Bernard for counsel.
    “You go to bed,” he states firmly. “When the little ones wake up, your hands will be full. I'll come back tomorrow to help you sort things out.” Before leaving, Bernard gives us both big hugs and kisses, but I notice he doesn't say anything while doing so, such as “Don't worry” or “Everything will be okay.” It's pretty obvious that there's a
lot
to worry about and that everything will
not
be okay.
    As Louise and I trudge up the stairs it dawns on me that I no longer have a place to sleep in this house. With eight children still living at home, space is rather at a premium. Darlene now has my bed, Teddy and Davy share a tiny room with bunk beds, and Francie and Lillian have a converted attic space with a sloped roof in which they share a trundle bed. The youngest
    twins, Reginald and Rodney, have one crib in Mom and Dad's room and another opposite their bedroom door in the hallway.
    “I guess you'd better sleep in Mom and Dad's room,” says Louise.
    Before going to bed I check on the babies, who are sound asleep, and quickly realize it's impossible to spend the night in that room. Dad's watch is on