if she’d been in the hospital.
Vivien’s world narrowed and turned dark and blurry around the edges and she could think of only one last question to ask: “Did my momma suffer?”
“No,” the medical examiner assured her. “It happened very fast.”
She pressed “disconnect,” then looked across the table. “Momma died from a blood clot in her heart,” she said, and for the first time that Vivien could recall, Nonnie’s composure slipped. Her strength, both elegant and stern, drained from her stiff shoulders and she actually put her elbows on the table.
“How did she get a blood clot in her heart?”
“The medical examiner said it came from her thigh.” And for the first time that she could recall, she saw the Mantis as a person capable of real human feelings. “Did she seem tired lately?”
“No.” Nonnie folded her arms on the table.
“Worked up?” Vivien took a sip of tea. “Henry mentioned something about a Twitter war.” Of all things.
“That.” Nonnie waved a hand. “She was naturally offended by the Georgia UDC’s ridiculous claim that they serve the best shrimp and grits at their annual fundraising event in Savannah. She corrected our Georgia sisters using the Twitter, but she wasn’t worked up. She was more excited about scrapbook paper and stencils being on sale at the Walmart.” Nonnie sat back in her chair. “I got up to pour another glass of merlot and I heard a thump. I turned around and Macy Jane was on the floor.” Anguish pinched the corners of her eyes and her pointed chin quivered. “I tried to wake her up. I don’t know CPR and felt so helpless.”
“The medical examiner said there was nothing anyone could have done.” Vivien watched Nonnie battle with her emotions. “Even if she’d been in the hospital.”
The older woman nodded once and cleared her throat. Like a door slamming shut, control won out and she was all business once more. “Did your momma ever mention her preference in funeral arrangements?”
“She was fifty. What healthy, fifty-year-old woman talks about funeral preferences?” Now it was Vivien’s turn for her chin to quiver. She was an actress but couldn’t pull herself together like Nonnie. The tighter she held her emotions inside, the more they leaked out. “I have no idea what she would have preferred or where to start.”
“Well, I think Macy Jane would want to be laid out at Stuhr’s, with her service at St. Phillips Episcopal.”
Vivien nodded. Stuhr’s took care of politicians and distinguished families alike. She heard the front door open and close and breathed a sigh of relief when Sarah walked into the kitchen.
“How are you doing this morning?” Sarah asked as she breezed into the kitchen with her phone to one ear, her computer notebook in the crook of her arm, and a Starbucks triple grande, nonfat, no foam, latte in her free hand.
“Thank God.” Vivien stood and took the coffee from her assistant. “You read my mind.” She’d had several assistants in the past few years and Sarah’s ability to know what Vivien needed without constant urging was just one of the reasons she put up with some of Sarah’s immature antics.
“Did you get any rest?”
“I managed a little sleep,” she said as Sarah air kissed her cheek.
“Good.” Sarah looked rested and fresh and totally L.A. with her tousled blonde curls, super skinny jeans, and bandage crop top. Chunky bracelets circled one wrist and an orange leather tote hung from one elbow. “I put together your schedule for the next few weeks, and Randall Hoffman’s secretary confirmed your lunch for the twelfth.”
“That’s this Friday.” Randall Hoffman was an Academy Award-winning director and production of his latest period drama was set to start next month. The actress originally cast in the lead role had dropped out, and Vivien wanted that part. She
needed
that part to show her acting versatility. Today was Monday. How many days usually passed between death
Vivien’s world narrowed and turned dark and blurry around the edges and she could think of only one last question to ask: “Did my momma suffer?”
“No,” the medical examiner assured her. “It happened very fast.”
She pressed “disconnect,” then looked across the table. “Momma died from a blood clot in her heart,” she said, and for the first time that Vivien could recall, Nonnie’s composure slipped. Her strength, both elegant and stern, drained from her stiff shoulders and she actually put her elbows on the table.
“How did she get a blood clot in her heart?”
“The medical examiner said it came from her thigh.” And for the first time that she could recall, she saw the Mantis as a person capable of real human feelings. “Did she seem tired lately?”
“No.” Nonnie folded her arms on the table.
“Worked up?” Vivien took a sip of tea. “Henry mentioned something about a Twitter war.” Of all things.
“That.” Nonnie waved a hand. “She was naturally offended by the Georgia UDC’s ridiculous claim that they serve the best shrimp and grits at their annual fundraising event in Savannah. She corrected our Georgia sisters using the Twitter, but she wasn’t worked up. She was more excited about scrapbook paper and stencils being on sale at the Walmart.” Nonnie sat back in her chair. “I got up to pour another glass of merlot and I heard a thump. I turned around and Macy Jane was on the floor.” Anguish pinched the corners of her eyes and her pointed chin quivered. “I tried to wake her up. I don’t know CPR and felt so helpless.”
“The medical examiner said there was nothing anyone could have done.” Vivien watched Nonnie battle with her emotions. “Even if she’d been in the hospital.”
The older woman nodded once and cleared her throat. Like a door slamming shut, control won out and she was all business once more. “Did your momma ever mention her preference in funeral arrangements?”
“She was fifty. What healthy, fifty-year-old woman talks about funeral preferences?” Now it was Vivien’s turn for her chin to quiver. She was an actress but couldn’t pull herself together like Nonnie. The tighter she held her emotions inside, the more they leaked out. “I have no idea what she would have preferred or where to start.”
“Well, I think Macy Jane would want to be laid out at Stuhr’s, with her service at St. Phillips Episcopal.”
Vivien nodded. Stuhr’s took care of politicians and distinguished families alike. She heard the front door open and close and breathed a sigh of relief when Sarah walked into the kitchen.
“How are you doing this morning?” Sarah asked as she breezed into the kitchen with her phone to one ear, her computer notebook in the crook of her arm, and a Starbucks triple grande, nonfat, no foam, latte in her free hand.
“Thank God.” Vivien stood and took the coffee from her assistant. “You read my mind.” She’d had several assistants in the past few years and Sarah’s ability to know what Vivien needed without constant urging was just one of the reasons she put up with some of Sarah’s immature antics.
“Did you get any rest?”
“I managed a little sleep,” she said as Sarah air kissed her cheek.
“Good.” Sarah looked rested and fresh and totally L.A. with her tousled blonde curls, super skinny jeans, and bandage crop top. Chunky bracelets circled one wrist and an orange leather tote hung from one elbow. “I put together your schedule for the next few weeks, and Randall Hoffman’s secretary confirmed your lunch for the twelfth.”
“That’s this Friday.” Randall Hoffman was an Academy Award-winning director and production of his latest period drama was set to start next month. The actress originally cast in the lead role had dropped out, and Vivien wanted that part. She
needed
that part to show her acting versatility. Today was Monday. How many days usually passed between death
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