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Chapter 2

Let Me Enjoy These Last Few Quiet Moments

Two years earlier…

Gwen leaned over the coffin and gazed at her daughter. Leah had always been beautiful, but lying here, with her face completely relaxed, no tension, no anger, and no wild-eyed look, she was radiant. Gwen gently traced her daughter’s cheeks. “My beautiful girl, my sweet beautiful girl.”

Leah’s long strawberry-blond hair fell over her shoulders, the color accentuated by the dark blue of her dress. Gwen knew how important it would be for Leah to look beautiful and had spared nothing in getting the perfect dress. Even the shoes were top-notch, though no one would see them. Gwen reached in and touched a strand of her daughter’s hair. She twirled the silky strand around her fingers as she thought back over the years, to Leah’s first haircut, a sampling of which Gwen still had in a small envelope she kept in her dresser; to brushing Leah’s hair before her first day of kindergarten; to taking Leah to a beauty salon to have her hair done for her first high school dance; to attending Leah’s graduation from beauty school; and finally to telling the funeral director just how to style Leah’s hair for today. She pulled the strand of hair to her lips, kissed it, and then carefully put it back in place.

Gwen moved her hand away from her daughter’s hair, remembering how angry Leah got the last time she had dared to touch her hair. Leah had come out of her room ready to head out to catch the school bus to middle school. Gwen was always taken aback when she looked at her daughter. She was so beautiful. When she kissed her girl goodbye that morning, she had reached up with both hands and gently rearranged Leah’s hair so it was behind her ears.

“Mom! I just got my hair the way I wanted it, and you messed it up!”

Gwen was shocked by Leah’s anger and look of pure hatred and took a step back. She had done this a million times before. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“Don’t ever touch my hair again, okay?” Leah stared at her mother with disgust. Gwen didn’t answer, not sure how to respond. After a few seconds, Leah said, “Now I have to fix it again. Thanks, Mom. If you want to fix somebody’s hair, worry about that rat’s nest on your head!” She then stormed back to her room, fixed her hair, came out, and left the house without saying another word.

Gwen remembered feeling upset that entire day. She remembered fixing Leah’s favorite meal that evening for dinner. She remembered realizing for the first time that day that she was a bit afraid of her daughter—not physically but emotionally. And she remembered that when Leah returned home that evening, they both acted as though nothing had happened.

Gwen never touched her daughter’s hair again, until today.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Marsh.” Gwen looked up to see the serious, dour mug of the funeral director.

“It’s miss.” She wanted to add again as this was probably the fifth time she had corrected him, but she bit her tongue.

“Sorry, Miss Marsh. Is there anything we can get for you? Guests should be arriving shortly to pay their respects.”

Gwen wanted to scream, “Yeah, you can give me my daughter back! What could you possibly do for me?” Instead, looking back down at Leah’s face, she quietly replied, “No, just let me enjoy these last few quiet moments with my daughter, please.” Leah was always embarrassed when her mother was rude, which was often. Gwen was determined not to be rude today. “I won’t embarrass you today, I promise,” she whispered to her daughter as she leaned over and kissed Leah on the forehead.

Gwen grasped the side of the coffin to maintain her balance; she rested her head on her hand and sobbed silently. Her entire life was lying in this coffin and tomorrow would be buried beneath the earth. For twenty-two years, she lived for her daughter. She wondered how she would get through these next few hours, the burial tomorrow, and the rest of her life. How could she possibly be expected to do that? She desperately wanted to crawl in and lie next to her daughter, to just lie there and die. She should have brought a knife or a razor so she could slit her wrists. She could picture the shock on the funeral director’s face when he came back in to find her there. She imagined the looks on the faces of Leah’s friends when they saw both Leah and her mother lying there.

“Just let me die, Lord Jesus, please. Just let me die. Now.” But she didn’t die. She kept breathing. Waves of pain kept sweeping over her. Tears kept flowing.

Gwen stood up straight and forced herself back to reality and thoughts on how to get through this. There would be no family today as they didn’t have any family to speak of. Gwen was an only child, and her parents passed when Leah was young. Leah’s father had been a one-night stand. Gwen had only one friend in this world, and she hadn’t yet told her about Leah’s death. She didn’t know who to expect really. She had only met a few of Leah’s friends the last few years. She wasn’t sure if Leah didn’t bring them around because she was ashamed of her mother or because she was ashamed of her friends.

Probably the former. People were always surprised when they realized that Gwen was Leah’s mother. They usually assumed that Leah had been adopted.

She remembered a time when Leah was still young and had invited a friend over to play. When the girls had gone back into Leah’s room, Gwen heard the friend say, “Is that really your mother? You don’t look like her! She’s—”

“I know,” she heard her daughter reply but walked quickly away, not wanting to hear the rest. She couldn’t bear to hear her daughter call her ugly.

Gwen, however, understood the little girl’s confusion. She herself was amazed that a short, fat, ugly woman like herself did indeed give birth to the tall, slim, drop-dead gorgeous goddess that was her daughter. Go figure. Genetics were amazing. Somewhere in Gwen’s lineage, there must have been a good-looking person. Leah’s father for sure was handsome. When Gwen thought of him, she referred to him as T&H—tall and handsome. Gwen met him at a bar one night when she was in her early twenties. She wasn’t sure at first why this guy had come over to talk to her. Men never approached her. Never. Not since her David anyway. She guessed he was probably just horny and figured she was an easy target. In a way, she was right, though the reality had been even more painful.