Free Black Widow by Randy Wayne White Page A

I took it. It’s in my purse. No one’s read it but me. Take a look.”
    It was to her parents.
     
Papi and Mami

I am so tired and afraid all the time and I’ve done something I know will never go away. You were wonderful and I never wanted to make you ashamed. I am so sorry and tired of being afraid. Forgive me . . .
     
    It was written on paper torn from a spiral notebook. Written in a rush by a woman desperate for relief.
    In the world’s most dissimilar languages, pet words for mother and father are touchingly similar. The Chinese say
baba
and
mama
. In Arabic, they are
ami
and
omi
. When conquistadors invaded, Aztec children ran screaming for
apå
and
amå
.
    The first two words we learn as infants echo humanity’s first words. They are the sound of primal bleating; a child’s plea for help. Those two words are hardwired in the womb, and we carry them with us to the grave. It is known, from voice recorders recovered at crash sites, that
mama
is often the last word a pilot speaks.
    Corey had called for help, but silently, as proud people sometimes do.
    I folded the note as Shay said, “Was I wrong to take it? A suicide attempt . . . all I could think about was how bad it would look on her record. She’s given up on the acting thing, but the design department loves her at Chico’s. Without the note, they can’t prove it wasn’t accidental, can they?”
    I said, “You did the right thing,” as I returned the note to her purse. “She needs help and protection but, yeah, I think Corey will thank you—” Then I said, “Hey,” watching her yawn. “Enough for now. I’ll come back this afternoon.”
    “But I don’t want you to go. I’m not sleepy.”
    Yes, she was. The nurse had also told me she’d been given a painkiller. But the girl reached and took my hand, something else on her mind.
    “I’ve been a good friend to everyone but you, Doc. I needed to say that. And apologize.”
    “I’ve got no complaints.”
    “But I haven’t been straight. Even now. The real reason I missed Corey’s call was because I was at the computer. There was an e-mail waiting when I got home. He wants more money. The full quarter million. He knows my wedding’s a week from Sunday. If he doesn’t get the money by Friday, he’ll . . . he’ll ...” The girl closed her eyes and touched fingers to her head. “He’s going to put the video on the Internet. That’s what Corey meant, the part about her parents being ashamed.”
    “I see.” I gave it some time, as if surprised by the news, then said, “But maybe he did us a favor.”
    Her expression read,
You got to be kidding
.
    “Think about it. At least he showed his hand — better now than later. And he gave us time, seven days. We have space to deal with it.”
    “But I don’t have the money, Doc. And . . . there’s something else. My bridesmaids got the same e-mail. They knew from the beginning. The four of us chipped in to pay the hundred and nine thousand.”
    I sat back in mock disbelief. “Dex didn’t leave a fat insurance policy?”
    “All that man left me was a couple of guns, a junker Cadillac, and some real bad memories. Dumb, I knew you didn’t believe me. But it was the only thing I could think of.” She squeezed my fingers, her grip childlike. “I lied to you, pal.”
    I smiled. “So what? Compartmentalization — the smart way to handle it. I would’ve done the same.”
    Again, she squeezed.
    “If I was smart, I wouldn’t be in this mess — I think Michael knows.
    Vance stole Corey’s password and read the e-mail before she did. Michael hasn’t mentioned it, but Vance told him something. I can feel it, the way he looks at me now. There’s not going to be a wedding.”
    “Did he tell you it’s off?”
    “While I’m in a hospital bed? No, he’ll wait.”
    “What about his mother? Would he have told her?”
    “Uh-uh. If he had, the only reason she’d come to the hospital is to spit on me. Mrs. Jonquil’s French, not