were in bed, the doors were locked. For the first time in days the house was silent. I had never realized how devastating silence could be.
I was a widow with two small children and I knew I couldn’t make it alone. Never mind how I knew, I just knew. Neil’s worn Bible lay on the coffee table where he’d left it. We had been strong believers, faithful in our church, but nothing in our Christian walk had prepared me for this. A man didn’t die at thirty-two; that wasn’t possible. The past week had been a nightmare and I wanted to wake up.
But I wasn’t asleep, and I knew it.
Was my faith strong enough to face the future? Neil had left a reasonable insurance policy, so with proper investment I wouldn’t have to worry about money. If I kept my job…but I had to do a lot of flying. What if the plane went down? The thought winged through my subconscious and formed a grapefruit-sized knot in my stomach. What would my children do with both parents gone?
Kelli and Kris would be orphans. Neil and I had never gotten around to making a will. Mom and Dad would take the kids…but Neil’s parents would want them, too. I gripped my hands in my lap, imagining the war. There’d be a big fight. Split right down the middle along family lines.
My children would live in turmoil; they’d end up in therapy, warped for life because I was a thoughtless parent who was so self-absorbed I’d forgotten to consider my children’s future.
I’d never fly again.
What was I saying? If I wanted to keep my job I had to fly. It was all too complicated for me in my mixed-up state.
Somehow I’d hold my family together. Life went on, and people went on.
As I recall, that was my last rational thought for a while. I sank into a blue funk. I knew that being a responsible parent meant being there for my children no matter how badly I was hurting, but my mind rebelled. So I slipped away to a private place where I could mourn Neil’s passing without the world’s interference. If it hadn’t been for kind neighbors and my church family, I don’t know what would have happened to Kelli and Kris. I loved them—loved them with all my heart—but anguish had rendered me nonfunctional. I faintly recalled someone being in the house at all times, but mentally I was absent. I couldn’t explain it; only those who had lived the experience could put the feeling in plain words.
And I stayed that way for maybe two or three weeks. I’m not sure. I’m only sure of how and when my body slowly came back to life. Well, not slowly. Swiftly was more accurate.
It was when Kelli suddenly burst into my bedroom, startling me from my black abyss.
“There’s a snake in the attic!”
I blinked, focusing on my daughter. “A what? Where?”
“A snake,” she repeated. “In our attic. Come and get it Mom.”
Chapter 3
A what? My heart jolted, and started beating for the first time in weeks. I was still sleeping on the pallet, unable to return to the bed Neil and I had shared. I jumped up, wide-eyed, hair standing on end. Kris, evidently the calmest Madison, wet a paper towel in the adjoining bath and slapped it across my forehead. I sank back on the pillow, feeling cold water running down my neck.
Snake.
In my attic.
When I found my voice, I asked if Kris was certain.
“Real sure, Mommy.”
The snake had slid behind the cubbyhole where we kept Christmas decorations. My natural instinct was to call Neil; my second was to break into frustrated tears.
Kris patted my hand. “Don’t cry, Mommy. I’ll get the snake.”
Although I was tempted, I couldn’t let a seven-year-old engage in an attic snake hunt. I had no idea what kind of snake resided in my home other than Kris’s description: big.
And black.
Maybe.
“We’ll call Ron Fowler,” I said. “And what were you doing in the attic so late?”
“Playing.” Kris glanced at the clock. “Mr. Fowler will be asleep by now.”
Worry kicked into overdrive. If Neil was here he’d dispose of the snake and that would be that, but Neil wasn’t here, and this was just the first of a series of problems I would face without him. I couldn’t call on my neighbors, the Fowlers, in every crisis. Kris pressed a tissue into my hand, and I tried to get a grip on my fear.
I hated snakes about as much as I hated toads. Both repulsed me, especially toads. One had gotten in my bed when I was a kid. We’d lived in a rural area, and near a pond, so snakes and toads were plentiful, but the critters kept me paranoid. I tried to shake off fear. I had been in a state of shock for, what—weeks? I glanced at the wall calendar—the one Neil had given me last Christmas. Twelve months of sexy, bare-chested firemen. Hot tears filled my eyes.
“What day is this?” I asked.
Kris rolled her eyes pensively. “October, uh, maybe the middle.”
Dear Lord. I had sleepwalked through half of October!
I was appalled. I had to pull out of this. I threw back the sheets and told Kelli I was going to shower and wash my hair before we tackled the snake.
I stood under the hot water until the heater ran dry, but I felt more human now. Toweling off, I spotted the bottle of sedatives I had been downing like chocolate-covered almonds. I’d lived on doctor-prescribed medication for the past few weeks. I uncapped the bottle and stared at the blue pills and knew the next few weeks were going to be unbearable, but I had to keep it together for Kelli and Kris. As soon as I was dressed in sweats and clean socks I carried the pills downstairs and crammed them into a jar of sardines, then threw the sardines in the trash. I detested sardines. I knew I wouldn’t touch the pills again.
Armed with baseball bats and a butterfly net, my daughters and I climbed the creaking attic stairs. A single overhead bulb lit our way; a bare oak branch scraped the roof. The creepy scenario reminded me of a scene out of a low-budget horror flick. I rarely came up here, but Kris and Kelli played among luggage pieces, old trunks, dress forms and seasonal clothing on occasional rainy afternoons. And of course decorations—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July. Madisons were into decorating for every occasion; our house was old and rambling, but always festively lit.
The three of us wore sober expressions; my five-year-old clung tightly to the fabric of my sweats. We made the steep climb, and then stood at the head of the stairs while I flipped on the lone hanging lightbulb that lit the attic itself.
I flashed the light beam across the open rafters. I’d heard snakes like to hang by joists. I swallowed and asked exactly where Kris had spotted the snake. Maybe she’d been mistaken. A seven-year-old’s imagination was fertile ground. I felt relieved. That was it—Kris thought she’d seen a snake. It could have been anything or nothing. I mean, how would a snake get in the attic this late in the year? Weren’t reptiles dormant now? I wasn’t sure. Kris pointed toward the stored Christmas decorations. Warning the children to stand back, I crept closer to the danger area. Boxes of bulbs, tinsel and outdoor lights blocked my view. I’d have to move a few to see behind the shelving, but first I took
