The Night of My Death by: Bellelettres Dear Madeleine: I would never have asked to borrow your husband the night before your baby was born if I hadn't been desperate. I know you must be furious with me, but I'm not sure anyone has told you that Hilda had a gun and threatened to kill me. I certainly couldn't tell you that night, knowing you could go into labor any minute. The lock on the front door wasn't working, you see, so even though I could have stayed away from the windows, Hilda could have walked right in. There weren't many places to hide in that tiny mobile home. There was nobody out there in the country that I could go and stay with. You and Earl were my closest neighbors, and of course I couldn't go to you under the circumstances. What I wanted to borrow your husband for,  was to load the shotgun. I kept trying to load it, but I wasn't as sober as I sometimes am, and it's a good thing I couldn't get it loaded or I would have shot my foot off. Your father had showed me how to shoot it in case I saw any rattlesnakes out there, but I was sober when he showed me how to load it. That night, everything I knew about the shotgun went straight out of my head, except that it was the only protection I had. What I did when you told me Earl wasn't there was to go in the bedroom and close the drapes and turn off all the lights (except the light by the bed) and call everyone I knew to tell them good-bye. You know how much I love my friends, and of course they knew all about the affair. So when I said, "Russell's wife has a gun and is coming to kill me," they knew what I was talking about. Most of them said, "Oh, don't be silly." But my friend in Lubbock laughed and said, "You didn't expect that?" She's a romance writer. I thought of calling the sheriff, but what could I say? Even if he took me seriously, he would probably be on Hilda's side. It's honky-tonk heaven out there. The sheriff probably has a wife just like her at home, and would be honored if his wife threatened to kill his girlfriend. My friend in San Antonio wanted to drive up and take me home with her, but I wouldn't let her. I told her I would never forgive myself if she got shot in the crossfire. But the truth is, I didn't want to leave. I wanted to stay and see what happened. My friend in Dallas told me later that that was the funniest phone call he had ever received. He said he was having a party when I called, and he passed the receiver around so his friends could all hear some of the story. He said I didn't need a response to anything I was saying, so I never knew he wasn't on the line. He said I was the life of the party. I didn't call anyone in my family. I wanted to, not to tell them the situation of course, but just to hear their voices one last time. Thank goodness I had sense enough not to want my last words to them on the night of my death to be slurred. It was going to be bad enough for them for me to be killed that way. I'm the black sheep, but since we didn't live in the same town, they were not humiliated in front of their neighbors by the way I lived. They tried not to know about it. Before they would come to visit, Mother always gave me plenty of notice, so I had time to hide the signs of my depravity. I had an enormous pullman case I call my Sin Suitcase. It was thirty-six inches wide and it had a key. When I knew they were coming, I would go around the house gathering up things to put in there -- my diary, my Victoria's Secret catalogues, my birth control pills, my fifth of Jim Beam -- and I would lock it all up because I knew that the minute Mother and I went out, Daddy would search the house. He must have wondered what that gurgling sound was when he shook the suitcase. You are one lucky cookie, Madeleine. You have a wonderful father. He sends his love and says to tell you to bring the baby to see us, as soon as it's safe to let you know where we are. Your affectionate future stepmother, Lila Belle's Index