My Biggest Regret

"…and to you Jim, how's it lookin' out there?"

"Well, Katy, it's coming down and it's coming down fast! The sky has ripped apart out here. We can't stress this to you enough folks, get to your safe places and stay there, and let me remind you…"

The weather report droned on, pouring from the television into the Med-Surg unit hallway at the Lawrence-Miller Memorial Hospital. The rain beat against the building wave after wave, making the night nurses sleepy and giving the whole place a spooky feeling that big buildings with long hallways get in storms.

"Poor old broad," said a male nurse with a southern twang to his voice. "No one has come to visit her lately."

"Has anyone tried calling her family today?" was the reply.

"Tripp did, but no answer; it's here in her chart." He pointed to the tablet in his hand. "It was her son; he is listed as next of kin. I got him on the line last week, but he hung up as soon as he heard what it was about. I don't know what happened between them, but no one deserves to die alone."

"That neighbor friend came to visit again yesterday. What was her name? Hmmm. Lucia! Now that is a pretty name; I don't know if I…."

The red phone rang, and everyone was silent. The nurses and doctors all fell into their positions. The male nurse ran for the crash cart as his counterparts rushed for the room.

***

Lucia entered Mrs. Willow’s two-bedroom duplex with the key from under the mat depicting a large yellow cat lying on a tree stump. She fumbled to open the door in the rain, becoming drenched in the process. First, she would feed the actual big yellow cat, Mr. Smith, and then call the hospital to see if there had been any improvement.

Who names their cat Mr. Smith?

She had often questioned Mrs. Marson Willow's cat naming abilities and had come up with a better name for him.

"Are you hungry, Butterball? Get back now so I can get to the food, silly cat."

Her voice had a South American accent thick but pleasing to the ear. People found it easy to trust Lucia. She was always willing to help when she was not busy with her schooling or working at her mother's store.

Water dripped from her sleeves as she reached down to scoop from the bag in the pantry. The smell of dust and cat food permeated the space. A blinking red light caught the corner of her eye. She turned and set the cup of cat food down on the counter. She walked to the answering machine.

Not one but two messages? She never has any messages, much less two.

She reached out her hand over the red blinking button; Butterball paced back and forth on the little table in the kitchen, meowing and nuzzling her hand. She hesitated for a moment and thought of all the times she and Mrs. Willow had enjoyed a late-night conversation. She would climb across the back porches of their duplex, and Willow, as she had asked to be called, would always be willing and ready to put some tea on. She glanced at the teapot on the stove, a tear dropping from her eye, and she let her finger cover the flashing light.

"Hi uhhh, it's Tom from the hospital. I know you didn't want to hear this in a message Lucia, but I didn't have your number and well Mrs. Willow passed away in the night. I am so sorry Lucia. I know you were close. We tried to get in touch with her son, but he wouldn't answer. Could you get to him? I left him a message. The body…." The voice with a southern accent trailed off in Lucia's mind as she ran her hand along a black Moleskine notebook lying next to the phone.

Why did he not come to see her? Why did he not answer?

She picked up the notebook and opened it to the last page where only three words sat at the top in stark contrast to the blank pages, "—my biggest regret." The year carved into the spine was 1984. It was one of the many journals she kept on a bookshelf in her study. As Lucia began to flip back a page to read the entry, she could hear the storm beating against the duplex's windows. It was dimmer than it should be at this time of the day and growing darker by the minute. She moved to pull the string on the old lamp that hung from the wall. There was a startling crash from near the pantry. Butterball had knocked the cup of food from the counter, pieces scattered across the linoleum floor.

"Oh no! Silly cat! What a mess! Get back! Shoo, Shoo!" she said as she grabbed the broom and cleaned up Butterball's mess.

She filled his bowl and placed it on the floor.

"There now, leave me be," she demanded as she wiped tears from her eyes, "What am I going to do with you?"

She opened the notebook leafing through the pages, the quality apparent in the aged leather's feel.

----

March 4th, 1984

It has been ten years since it happened. Since I lost my baby boy. My sweet baby boy. Why did I not see it coming? I drove past the fair today and it reminded me of that time we all road the ferris wheel. I bribed the operator to leave us at the top a little longer with a big tip. William loved looking down on all the people milling about the booths with the bright lights and smells of funnel cakes and popcorn. He made me take him every year, that little sociopath. James was too little to really enjoy it then. I remember the smell of his small head when he was pressed to my chest. I would do anything to get that smell back. How could William have done that? Why did I not send him away sooner? My poor baby James I am so sorry. I am so sorry I did not protect you from him. Keeping a boy like that in our lives is my biggest regret.

----

She laid the journal face down, keeping her page, and leaned over, finger covering the red flashing button for a second time.

What had happened? I didn't know she had another son. Oh, my poor Willow never mentioned him. The grief must have been too much. Who left this second message? Could it be William returning my calls? What had he done?

Bang! The wind had blown the shutters open, and the roar of the storm filled the room—papers and water and dust swirling in a tornado of damp memories and stories. Butterball ran up the stairs to hide, and Lucia jumped up to secure the shutters. She got them closed against the rage of the storm and, this time, latched securely. In the chaos, her black hair was blown to the side.

She walked back toward the machine. Just as she was about to press the button, the front door flew open and a man barreled inside the duplex slamming the door shut behind him. He had black-looking eyes that sat in hollow sockets on his face. The darkness of the poorly lit foyer and the expression on his face gave him the likeness of a specter come to collect.

"Excuse me, sir," Lucia began apprehensively. "What business do you have coming in this storm to an old lady's house? She isn't in, and I suggest you be on your way."

She stood her ground staring at the man; water dripped from his drenched clothing.

"Where did she keep the cash?" was his reply, "My mother always had a little put-away."

Lucia felt her face flush red with anger.

"William! Why did you not come to your mother? I called you several times these last two months," she spat out the words with her accent thickening along with her anger. Impulsively, she smoothed her hair as she continued, "Your sweet mother passed in the night, and you…."

"My sweet mother?" William interrupted her, "and what exactly was sweet about a soulless wretch like that?"

He took a step forward, the storm roaring outside the duplex, shaking the very walls with its fury. The increasing intensity of the storm muffled the squish of his boots as he moved toward the stairs.

This storm is relentless. The sky weeps for my sweet Willow, and this man with a heart like Antarctica only cares about her money.

She looked around the room for something to protect herself as she called to him, "What are you doing?"

She located a fire poker and grabbed it holding it close to her chest. She made her way up the stairs to Willow's bedroom, but he was not there. Then she went down the hall to the study, the storm shaking the house so hard she thought the roof might fly off at any moment. She came to the door of the room as he was turning the desk upside down. Black notebooks lay scattered across the floor. The beating of the storm grew with Lucia's outrage. Her curiosity overcame her fear.

"Why did you abandon her?" she yelled over the noise of the hurricane outside. "What did you do to James?"

He turned to her, looking up at her as he pulled neat new bundles of hundreds out from under the desk. Dark eyes were looming predatory; he stood up, looking around the room once more with five stacks of two thousand dollars in each hand with paper labels around the newly minted money. He stuffed it in his coat pockets. Lucia stood in the doorway, staring with disbelief. She clutched the fire poker tighter to her chest.

"Tell me what you did!"

She stood her ground as he raised his arms in the air and began to scream in a ferocious snarl.

"IT IS MY FAULT HE IS DEAD. I AM A MONSTER! DIDN'T SHE TELL….."

He was cut off as the cat leaped from the bookshelf and landed on his head, hanging on tight with his claws. William threw Butterball against the wall, and he fell on the floor in a heap. Lucia could hear the roar of the storm fill her ears as she raised the fire poker and swung at the hollow-faced man. With a thump audible even over the storm, he hit the floor, blood immediately flowing from his head and neat bundles of money tumbling from his overstuffed pockets. Lucia ran back downstairs into the kitchen. She sat down in the chair, breathing heavily, and noticed the answering machine suddenly remembering the second message.

What would he have called to say?

As the sound of the storm started to die away, she pressed the button once more. An old frail voice came over the recording.

"William, it's me, your mama. William, I am so sorry," she began weakly with tears in her voice. "I just couldn't live with the guilt. I blamed you, and instead of losing one boy, I lost two. Oh, William you were just a boy. You were six, and he was two. I thought if I just ran out real quick, it would be fine. I shouldn't have left that gun in the house. I shouldn't have even had it. It is all my fault, William." She was truly crying now, sobbing wholeheartedly. "Please, William, I know you cannot forgive me for what I did. Blaming you is my biggest regret. Please forgive yourself and live a life. Please."

That was all she said but the message continued, the weather report from the night before droning on in the background.