A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents by Liza Palmer Page B

hands.
    There’s no sound, just muffled voices and distant beeping. I can feel my family tighten around me. Leo folds into me even
     more as Abigail holds on to Manny and Evie. Huston calmly walks forward to meet the doctor, extending his hand in introduction.
    “Are you Evelyn Hawkes’ family?” the doctor starts. Huston nods.
    Oh God.
    “They did everything they could. Evelyn… your mom? Your mom died at the scene. I’m so sorry,” the doctor says.
    Everything goes black.
    The next thing you know, you’re dry-heaving into a hospital toilet five years later.

chapter seven
    I can’t hide out in this bathroom forever. I came up here to show Dad that I’m Mom’s kid; I have to get myself together. I
douse my face with water, slurping up handfuls. I pull my BlackBerry out of my pocket and dial. Straight to voice mail.
    “This is Tim Barnes of Marovish, Marino and Barnes. I’m unable to take your call; please leave your name and number and I’ll
return your call as soon as I am able.” I wait for the beep.
    “Hey… it’s me. I’m at the hospital, well in the bathroom… haven’t gone in yet. Haven’t seen anyone yet. I have thrown up, though.
So, there’s that. Okay… I’d better get out there. I’ll talk to you soon. Bye,” I say, hanging up. I pocket the BlackBerry.
With no further tasks before me, in or around this bathroom, I have no choice but to exit.
    I open the bathroom door and look out into a maze of long hallways. More goddamn hallways. Each one dotted with door after
door of suffering.
    I make a right.
    I try not to look into the rooms as I walk by, but I can’t seem to help myself. Bed after bed filled with people desperate
to be out of there, to not be in pain anymore. Families clustered around the beds, trying to act lighthearted and unworried.
But even from the hallway I can see their hushed conversations and hidden side glances to one another, signaling a bad turn.
    I make a left.
    I pass a bustling nurse’s station. They don’t bother looking up as I pass. Clipboards, monitors and the business of healing
have their full attention.
    “Gracie?” The man’s voice behind me is unmistakable. That giggly crumble. Funny, I don’t smell marijuana or body odor. I must
have gotten him on “Shower Day.” Maybe that air freshener isn’t needed after all.
    “Grace?” Leo repeats. I turn around slowly, twisting my mouth into a smile, trying, imploring my face to take its horrified
look somewhere else.
    “Leo?” I manage. The man who stands before me now… well, is simply not my brother. Is it?
    “I thought that was you! I saw you run into that bathroom, so I waited. Thought I heard you kind of talking to yourself, but… you
know—who doesn’t? Hey, you made it up here in great time. God, you haven’t changed a bit!” he says, lunging toward me for
a one-armed hug—the ever-present laptop held in the other. The fact that Leo looks like a fresh-faced ex–fraternity boy instead
of someone who’d ask you for change on a street corner is mind-blowing. He still has the posture of someone who’s uncomfortable
with his height. Taller than Huston, Leo constantly looks like he’s dipping down to fit into a shortened doorway, seemingly
guilt-ridden for looking down on everyone both physically and intellectually. I’ve been looking up to both of my brothers
since puberty.
    Leo’s traded his light brown mud-soaked dreadlocks for a pleasingly shaggy muss. His eyes… they’re the same. Mom’s. I look
away and take in his outfit. It’s amazingly put-together. No tie-dye, dancing bears or hemp accessories to be found. A charcoal-gray
sweater falls over his jeans and rather than having blackened bare feet he’s wearing a pair of actual shoes—sure, they’re
Vans, but at least they’re shoes. At thirty-three, Leo still looks like he could easily be in his early twenties.
    “You look… Jesus… you look,” I stutter, pulling back from him.
    Leo laughs. “Like a