My sister called me, crying.
"Mom's thrilled," she squealed into the phone. "It's Friday. But since you're not having any problems, I don't have to worry about anything. I don't know anything anyway."
The phone keeps ringing, and it's still dark.
Why?
Now I'll tell you what I'm doing, and then it's time to go.
My name is Amara, and at thirty-two, I make my living tracking down hidden money as a forensic accountant. I didn't have to worry about fraud, but I didn't know what to do with it.
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The morning air on Martha's Vineyard was crisp and smelled of saltwater. It was the kind of rust you only find hundreds of miles from the chaos of Atlanta.
I sat on the terrace of her rented villa, watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean. My husband—Mama Estelle—had long ago finished her tai chi practice, to my left.
At sixty-five, she looked radiant. Her eight, shining and trembling in her hands, which had tormented her for months, had completely disappeared. Yesterday, we opened the door to the house next door, hidden behind you, and the next day behind my friend Dominique.
I sipped my coffee and opened my book, ready for another peaceful day.
Then my phone broke the silence.
The screen lit up with a photo I'd taken of my older sister, Dominique, years ago. Just the sight of her name made my stomach clench. I even found my balance. We hadn't been in close contact for weeks.
I know Mama Estelle. If you don't know the ocean, it can be dangerous.
I know you're busy with the screen, where you see two commands at once, but at the same time.
"Amara, where am I?" Dominique's torso was tall and expansive. It was a lecture I'd heard a thousand times.
She took a loud, dramatic breath.
"It's Mom. Oh my God. Amara... Mom's gone."
I straightened in my chair, staring at Mom's carpet. She assumed a crane pose, perfectly balanced.
"What are you talking about, Dominique?" I tried not to raise my voice.
But if you don't know what to do, I can't touch the wool when it's all over my carpet."
"She had a heart attack yesterday," Dominique lamented. "The nurse from Oak Haven called me at three in the morning. They turned her too red, Amara, but it was too late." She died.
If the microphone was on the other end, it would sound slightly different, but it wouldn't be audible.
Oak Haven.
This was the state-funded nursing home where Dominique had passed away from our mother six months ago. That was the agreement with the purchase. She told everyone that Mama Estelle needed 24-hour care due to malignant dementia.
The truth was, Mama had a mild infection, and Dominique wanted access to her home in downtown Atlanta.
I put my phone on silent.
"Where is she naked?" I asked. "I need to see the body."
"That's impossible," Dominique said quickly. Her sobbing had even subsided, but then it started again. "It was infection control protocol, Amara. If there are complaints about the facility, it might not work. That's exactly what she would have wanted."
I almost burst out laughing.
Mama Estelle was a devout Baptist. She believed in open caskets and three-day memorial services. She had nightmares about the fire. Cremation was absolutely never her style.
I turned on the speaker and turned up the volume. Estelle's mother finished her exercises and came over to me, wiping her face. I gestured for her to stop and listen.
"So, if I understand correctly," I said, looking Mom straight in the eye. "Mom died last night. She was cremated this morning. And you're only calling now?"
"I was shocked, Amara," Dominique snapped, her tone changing from sadness to irritation. "Look, I'll take care of everything. Hunter and I will organize a reception at our house. The funeral is Friday at Ebenezer Baptist Church. But honestly, you don't have to come."
Estelle's mother stood motionless, five feet away from me, clutching a white towel tightly.
Her eyes widened.
She leaned closer to the phone.
"Why shouldn't I come with you?" "I asked. "She's my mother too."
"Because she didn't want you there," Dominique's voice was venomous. "She was conscious in her final moments. Amara, she asked about me. She asked about Hunter. She didn't mention your name."
