It Was Just a Little White Lie

It was a cool Saturday evening when they found her. Daniel was told she was lying in her bathtub, head partially submerged in the crimson dyed water. Daniel's Father, Mark called the ambulance, in false hope, but it was too late. Daniel was returning home from a day out with his friends to flashing lights and sirens outside his front porch. The paramedics just beginning to leave, with his mother in a body bag.

The next morning, Daniel stared blankly at his bowl of cereal. Vaguely aware of the sound of his father's voice talking to his auntie Ann on the landline phone.

"Mhm, yeah...Yeah we've scheduled the wake for Tuesday" He spoke slowly so she could hear him. Auntie Ann continued to ramble. Mark must have wanted to say something because his mouth kept opening and closing, his brows furrowed. Finally, after a minute or two he was able to but in and ask his question.

"Ah, actually before you go, I need a bit of a hand sorting out food for everyone...Uh yes...You wouldn't mind would you...? Ah okay, that's grand then... okay bye...bye" Once his thumb hit the end call button his shoulders sagged from the released weight of a pent-up sigh.

"Right, that's that sorted" He mumbled into his hands as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"How many people will be there?" Daniel murmured, still staring at his now soggy Cheerio's. He had lost his appetite.

"Hmm?" Mark hummed.

"The wake, how many people are coming?" Daniel tried to speak louder, but he could feel the creeping feeling of the ball of writhing emotion crawling up his throat. He stubbornly batted it down and continued to mumble his words. Luckily, his dad had heard him the second time.

"Oh, I don't know, people tend to come and go at wakes" Mark shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. It had gone cold. The deafening silence that followed was only broken by the rhythmic ticking of the old kitchen clock, and the distant cry of magpies outside.

"I'm going to my room" Muttered Daniel, rising from his seat at the table, his chair screeching loudly against the laminated flooring. Mark merely nodded his head and hummed, glancing at the abandoned bowl of cereal and went to put it away with another sigh.

Daniel spent that day and the next in his room, wishing to be alone with his thoughts. 'Why?' was the one question that screamed the loudest in his jumbled and foggy mind. 'Why did she do it? Why now? Was it something we did? Me? Dad? Or something we...didn't do?'

'Why did she leave us like that?'

Daniel's thoughts grew darker, resentful. Fuelled by his hurt and self-isolation. He was in a foul mood by the time Tuesday came around, and he was forced out of the safety of his room by his father.

When Mark said people tend to come and go at a wake, Daniel thought he meant there wouldn't be many people in the house at the one time. He was wrong. There were people everywhere, in the halls, in the bedrooms, in the kitchen and especially in the living room. Daniel didn't dare set foot in the living room, not because of the people packed together like sardines, chatting, and eating salad sandwiches. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want to see her lying there, as if asleep in that white lined wooden box. Daniel didn't know if he was holding a grudge or, he didn't want to accept that she was really gone. The woman that raised him, the woman that cared for him. The woman he loved. Gone.

Daniel didn't know what to do with himself. Every room he entered he came face to face with distant family members and old friend of his parents he didn't remember. They remembered him, however. Daniel was bombarded with unwelcome hugs and pats on the back, words of encouragement sounded rude to his ears and worst of all were the eyes. The looks of pity made his stomach churn with rage, his face contorted into an ugly scowl. 'Why are you looking at me like that?' He thought, clenching his fists and glaring at the floor 'Don't pity me. Stop...Stop!'

"STOP IT!" Daniel roared, flinging his hands out and stepping away from his auntie Ann, who he didn't realise had been hugging him.

"Oh my! Daniel, what on earth are you doing? Auntie Ann asked, bewildered by his sudden outburst. She didn't get a reply as Daniel had already scrambled up to his room and collapsed onto his bed. His breath laboured. He laid there for what felt like hours, silently shaking, and wiling himself not to cry.

Mark tip-toed into the room after everyone had left that evening, the house was a quiet whisper.

"Daniel?" Mark called, his voice dripping with concern for his son.

"Go away" Daniel mumbled weakly into his pillow, he continued to curl into a ball under the covers of his bed.

"Come on, talk to me" Mark encouraged, voice light and gentle "What happened back there?" Mark sat on Daniels's bed which creaked under his weight.

"Nothing I-...I don't know" Daniel's voice shook, the rising lump in his throat had returned, stronger this time "Everything's just too much" He whispered finally.

Mark sighed and reached into the pocket of his jeans, his free hand gripped Daniel's shoulder gently. "Here" He said, handing Daniel a sheet of neatly folded paper.

Daniel sat up and stared at the paper in his father's hand. Too tired to respond, he took it.

"I didn't know when was the best time to give it to you..." Mark hesitated "Do you want me to leave?"

Daniel shook his head slowly and unfolded the piece of paper with shaking hands and read the first few lines. He instantly recognised his mother's handwriting.

'I'm fine...It was just a little white lie...I'm not fine at all'.

Daniel continued to read, breath hitching, eyes blurred. In the letter, his mother wrote about how sorry she was. How she wasn't strong enough to get help, to give her family the life they deserved.

She wrote about how much she loves them, with all her heart.

Daniel put down the now tear stained piece of paper, his whole frame shook with quiet sobs. Mark's arm rested over his shoulder in a comforting, grounding embrace.

"I-I miss her s-so much already" Daniel cried, voice thick with sorrow.

"I know, it will be ok...I know" mark comforted his grieving son.

"How can yo- How can you say that, Mom's d-dead" Daniel hickuped, trying in vain to rid his face of tears.

"I know, give it time...we'll be fine..."

NOTE:

Thanks for reading,  I said this already in the description but I'll say it again. If anyone finds any mistakes please tell me, constructive criticism is encouraged.

One more thing, I'm always looking for ideas for short stories so if yu have any ideas please let me know and I'll give it a shot.

Thanks again,

Row