Page 21 of The Rest is History

“You didn’t ever see her taking any medication?”

“No, sir.” Then, I thought some more and changed my answer. “Well, maybe. But I always thought it was for headaches or somethin’.”

“How old are you, son?”

“Sixteen.”

“She oughtta have told yeh ’bout the Diabetes type one.”

“I oughtta have known.’’

“Couldn’t have known if she didn’t tell yeh. Well, son. Your mama had Diabetes type one. Cause of death was Diabetic Ketoacidosis. Not enough insulin. Did she look sick or something recently?”

“Stomach pains. She vomited a few times the night before. Thought it was bad pork.”

He shook his head. “Diabetes type one. You need to take care of that.”

The way he kept saying, Diabetes type one, that’s what I called it for the rest of my life after that.

Mrs. Ansley came around looking for me sometime after the funeral. Ten days out of school was just not the way I was, she said. I informed her my mama had died of diabetes type one and I had two little sisters to take care of. “They're only eight years old,” I told her.

“Well, where’s your daddy?”

“He said he’ll be back when he figures things out, ma’am. Guess he’s still figuring things out.”

“How long ago was that?” She placed her hand on her heart, looking a little shocked, but I wasn’t surprised he hadn’t even come back for his wife’s funeral. Or to claim his children.

“I was ’bout twelve, I think, ma’am.”

She promised to get the local child services involved since I, myself, was underage, and they did come after two months, and they asked a few questions and then they never came back.

Mrs. Ansley felt bad that I couldn’t come back to school. When she came to check on me after I hadn’t been to classes for three months, her stomach was round as a watermelon. She was leaving for Des Moines. Her husband got a new job and they wanted to raise their baby in the city. She left me her phone number and, with a pitiful look on her face, she told me to call her if I ever needed anything.

I never did call her. I was sixteen, and that was too old to ask for anyone’s help. Also, Mrs. Ansley was sort of rich folk, and sometimes I got scared of her.

I went to the library in Linksfield one day when the girls were in school and got a book about Diabetes type one. I was a little slow and I hardly understood anything but I learned one or two things. So, when Faye got up almost every hour to use the bathroom when she was eleven, I knew she wasn’t right.

“Diabetes,” the doctor confirmed.

“Type one?” I asked.

“Yes. Diabetes type one.”

I switch off the ignition of my Ford truck in front of the house Pippin lives in with her two-month-old son, Ezra. It’s the same house we lived in as kids. The same house my mother died in. Pippin refuses to leave. One day, maybe Dad will come back, she always says. He’ll need a place to stay when he comes back. Pippin’s childish dream is so painful that I never had the heart to tell her that Dad was never coming back.

The house is in better shape than it was when we were growing up. Over the last few years Asher and I have worked on it a little at a time until Pippin could have a safe, functioning place to stay.

She meets me at the door and, after giving her a kiss on the cheek, I hand her the bag of groceries I got for her and the pack of diapers, and take little Ezra from her arms, cradling him against my chest. He’s a beautiful boy, just like his mama. Head full of curly, black hair and large brown eyes. Luckily, he looks nothing like his father. He’s a quiet baby. Just like Pippin used to be.

“You okay?” I ask, following her inside. She looks a little skinny and her cheekbones are drawn in.

“Has Carlson been here lately?” I ask. Because if he has, I’m going to find him and murder him.

Pippin nods, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “I’m okay. He wanted to see Ezra. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You tell him he can see Ezra when he pays child support,” I scold.

“I know. He promised, Sawyer. He said he’s going to do better. He said he’ll pay the electric bill from now on and he’ll get Ezra’s diapers and food and such.”

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