So Much More

by Kim Holden

  That’s a stunner to open with

  present

  “Faith?” It’s accompanied by knocking on my bedroom door. It’s Benito’s voice.

  I open the door to his smiling face. “I brought you a cup of coffee.”

  I perk up at the sight of it. It’s become a ritual at my new home to have coffee with him on the nights I don’t work at the diner. I look forward to it. Our chats are short, but they always cover a wide range of topics. Benito knows a little bit about everything because he reads so much, but he’s not a know-it-all. He usually delves into something further only when I’ve prompted him or asked questions. And he’s always curious to hear what I have to say; I like that. Good listeners are rare. He’s like the dad I always wanted.

  “What are your dreams, Faith?” Our conversations begin with a question like this, because we need a starting point. Usually, they go down bunny trails, in two minutes we could be talking about the relevance of hip-hop in modern culture or if the Dodgers are going to make the playoffs this year, you just never know.

  “That’s a stunner to open with, Benito.” I’m thinking. Dreams are hard to put into words.

  “I like to keep you on your toes, young lady.” His grin tells me that’s true.

  “That shouldn’t be a hard question, should it? I mean, most people grow up with dreams. They’re defined and vivid and can be measured. My dreams growing up were survival based for the most part. I dreamed of a nice family to live with. I dreamed of my favorite meals. I dreamed of having a new pair of shoes. The older I get I dream about going to college someday. I dream about finding my birth mother. I dream about figuring out who I am…so I can just be her, you know?”

  Benito nods at my words. “I believe you do know…you are her. You’re just too scared to go after the things you really want because you don’t think you deserve them. I’m here to tell you that you do.”

  “Addiction is a hard thing to get out from under. It’s shameful. It’s polarizing. It’s defining. Even when it’s behind you, it’s never really behind you. I still feel like my past will always dictate my future. That’s a tough hurdle.” It’s nice to talk to someone I can be this candid with.

  “Every day is a new day. It took me years to believe that, Faith, but it’s true. Every day is a new opportunity to be the person you’ve always wanted to be. Some days your heart will be in it, and some days you’ll fake it, but eventually it will become a habit and without thinking about it, you will be changed anew. A new attitude. A new outlook. A new perspective. The human mind is a wonderful thing to grant us that kind of change.” He pauses and smiles. “What else do you dream of, Faith?”

  I sip my coffee before I answer because this one is harder to explain. “Love.”

  He’s leaned back in his seat. His posture is never lazy, but it’s always relaxed. I think that’s one of the reasons he’s so easy to talk to. “Love. That’s very general. Do you care to expound on that?”

  “When I was growing up I just wanted someone to love me.” I shrug. “That’s what every kid wants, right? The past few years that’s changed. I mean, I still want someone to love me, but more than that I want someone to love. I want reciprocation. I want connection. I want to wake up in the morning thinking about him and go to sleep at night doing the same. Not in an obsessive, unhealthy way, but I want to know what it’s like to have so much emotion inside for another person that it manifests itself in selfless, kind, random acts. I want their well-being and happiness to be taken into consideration unconsciously, because it’s second nature. I want attraction, not just physically, but emotionally and mentally, I want to be inexplicably pulled to someone. And for them to feel the same. What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance that would be to be in…” I trail off, because all I can think about is Seamus.

  His eyes are thoughtful. He can read between the lines. “What an unbelievably beautiful circumstance to be in indeed. Well put, my dear.”

  He stands, which means it’s time for him to leave. Sometimes our time together only lasts minutes. “Thank you, Benito.”

  “You’re welcome.” He walks toward the stairs, but stops just short. “Faith?”

  I’m still sitting on the couch. “Yeah.”

  “I hope he knows what an unbelievably beautiful circumstance he could be in with you.”

  I smile, this is Benito giving fatherly advice. “Sometimes life isn’t that easy, Benito.”

  “And sometimes, it isn’t that hard.” He disappears with a wink.

  Were you sent straight from hell to destroy my life?

  present

  I’m worshipping at the altar of Pinterest again. Lasagna is the target of my affection. I’ve been stalking it like a sociopath, a carb-loving sociopath, for the past thirty minutes.

  I check my watch. Seven o’clock. In the morning. It’s Saturday, and I’m picking up the kids from Seamus’s at eight. Now that I’m in my new house we’ve agreed they’ll spend weekends with me.

  I clap my hands. “Hell yes, we’re having homemade lasagna for dinner.” It’s positive reinforcement, mental preparation for the culinary challenge ahead. I grab my keys and purse and march out the door on a mission. The mission includes the grocery store, Seamus’s, and while I’m at it I hijack my cooking talisman, Hope—a little insurance that dinner will be palatable. Hope is a goddamn genius in the kitchen. Everyone has a hidden talent—Hope’s, it turns out, is food.

  Everyone and everything gathered, we assemble back at my house for Operation Lasagna.

  Rory, Kira, Hope, and I are knee-deep in making noodles using the fancy contraption I bought, when Kai bows out to go outside and ride his bike. “Stay close, Kai,” I yell when I hear the front door open.

  “I will, Mom,” he answers.

  This is the point at which, in hindsight, I want to stop everything and put it in temporary suspense.

  Life.

  The Earth spinning on its axis.

  Every.

  Fucking.

  Thing.

  I want a do-over.

  In my do-over, this is what would’ve happened:

  I tell Kai no, he can’t ride his bike. Ever again.

  He stays and we all tag team the hell out of building a glorious pan of Italian magnificence.

  We eat said Italian magnificence in blissful harmony at my dining room table.

  Happily ever after.

  The end.

  Instead, this happened:

  I realized I forgot the damn ricotta cheese, because I’m a forgetful loser.

  I asked Hope to watch the kids while I ran to the grocery store, instead of taking them with me like a good mom would.

  I hurried out to my car and started it with only conquering lasagna on my mind in true self-absorbed fashion, because I’m a selfish bitch.

  And then I backed out with a vengeance, forgetting there are more important things in the world than making lasagna.

  I heard the crash.

  I felt the impact.

  And my heart.

  Stopped.

  Beating.

  They say change comes when you least expect it.

  That all transformation needs is a catalyst.

  I’ll take transformation, but I want a different fucking catalyst.

  I’m mechanically filling out forms though I can’t see the words on the page through the fear blotting my vision and streaming down my face. The words, You’re a horrible monster, repeat over and over taunting me like the soundtrack of a horror movie. I’m arguing with them, praying, trading promises, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please let him be okay. I’ll do anything. Anything. Take me instead.

  “Daddy,” Kira’s voice is weak with sadness, and it pulls me out of my trance.

  Seamus is standing just inside the automatic doors, scanning the waiting room for us.

  Rory charges to him from the seat next to me.

  I’m scared to look at his face. Whatever emotion he’s wearing will be a variety so raw it will stri
p me to the bone. And I’ve got no flesh left. I forgot what I said to him on the phone when I called. Kai. Bike. Car. Accident. Hospital. Those are the only words I can recall now.

  “Is there any news, Miranda? What are his injuries? What have the doctors said?” The words are shaky with dread, but to the point and protective. He’s laser-focused in thought and mission, in problem-solving mode. His posture is stiff and rigid with determination.

  But when I meet his eyes, all the fear I feel is reflected back at me tenfold, so I do the only thing I can do. I lie. To put his heart at ease for a bit, I lie. “We don’t have details yet, but he’s going to be okay, Seamus.”

  “You’re sure he’s going to be okay?” he asks, eyes pleading for good news.

  I nod, and my stomach turns at the lie.

  He releases a wobbly breath. It’s relief, and he sits in the chair next to me. Rory crawls into the chair next to him and takes his hand, and Kira climbs into his lap, and he wraps his arm around her. The three of them cluster into a loving, supportive mass because they know how this whole family thing works. They’ve mastered it.

  I’m reminded again that I’ve failed. Kai. Them. Me. You name it. I’ve messed it up. I let them find comfort in each other while I finish the paperwork. When I return it to the nurse’s station, I ask if there’s any news. “They’re prepping him for surgery. A doctor will be out to speak to you shortly.”

  Shortly isn’t soon enough when the mortality of my child is in question.

  “Lost a lot of blood. Broken femur. Ruptured spleen. Broken ribs. Surgery.” He says more, but those are the words I remember.

  I’m pleading again. Please let Kai be okay. I’ll do anything. I’ll change. I’ll be the best mother the world has ever seen if you just let my little boy be okay. Please.

  As if he can read my desperate thoughts, Seamus says, “He’s a tough kid, Miranda. He’s going to get through this.” Even though he just heard the same news I did, it’s optimistic Seamus putting positive words into action. Willing it to be true. He won’t even allow himself to consider a different outcome.

  I felt pain when my grandmother died. It was crushing pain. My world was forever changed, my guiding force was gone. This pain is different. I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s worse, it’s so much worse. It feels like pain I won’t be able to recover from. Pain that’s slowly squeezing my heart within a fist, and if this all goes bad it will constrict until it ruptures from the pressure, leaving only mutilated pieces to fall away in an act of defeat.

  The pain is also the biggest epiphany I’ve ever had. I love my kids. Because only love could create this kind of reaction within me. Not guilt, but love.

  I stand only to kneel in front of them. I take Kira’s hand and rub the side of Rory’s calf. “I’m going to find you both something to eat.” When I look at Seamus’s face it’s blank, he’s checked out and pulled inside to deal with this. Focusing all of his energy and thoughts on Kai. “Can I get you anything?”

  The question doesn’t register in his eyes, but he shakes his head.

  The wait is hell. I never realized what a formidable opponent time could be. It teams up with my thoughts and drives me to the brink of insanity all within the span of a few hours. It’s a constant battle. One minute I have myself convinced Kai is going to be fine. The next minute I’m cursing the universe that the possibility exists that children can be taken before their parents.

  By their parent.

  The doctor returns with more news. More words. “Critical condition. Sedated. ICU. Monitor closely. No visitors.”

  Though his body still looks alert and determined, the light is still absent from Seamus’s eyes, exhaustion and fear have drained him. “I need to see him,” he pleads. “Please.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McIntyre. The situation is too unstable at this time to allow visitors.” I can’t see through my tears, but the doctor sounds sadly sympathetic.

  Seamus was keeping it together. Not anymore. His eyes are glassy. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, he’s struggling to keep his composure. “He’s my son. Please. He needs to know I’m here. That he’s not alone. I need to see him. I just need to see him to know he’s okay.”

  The doctor offers another, “I’m sorry,” before he disappears down the hall to our son.

  Seamus hesitates for a minute before he rises and marches down the hall leaning heavily on his cane. I know where he’s going, but I don’t stop him.

  The nurses do. “Sir, you can’t go back there. Sir, stop.”

  Seamus doesn’t stop and disappears behind a door.

  Only to reappear moments later escorted by two males in scrubs.

  “He’s my son! I have a fucking right to see him!” His shouting is pain, nothing more. Sadness and fear have grown so great they’ve turned into pain.

  The men are holding his arms tightly. They look small flanking his tall frame. “He can’t be back there,” they say to me when I approach. “Get him under control,” one of them adds rudely, as if Seamus is the first person to ever act out under stress in this facility.

  I nod. “He’s upset.”

  “Upset doesn’t mean you don’t have to follow the rules, ma’am.” He’s laying down the law like Seamus was caught trespassing on private property, there’s no emotion involved. And then he repeats, “Get him under control or I’ll call security and have him removed. Understand?”

  I step to him. “Do you have children?”

  He shakes his head.

  I lower my voice and the barracuda in me comes out. No one is going to fuck with my family today, Seamus included. “Then you have no idea what he’s going through. Don’t be an asshole. I’m not asking you to break rules, but back off and show some goddamn compassion. His son is fighting for his life back there.” I point to the door in a violent manner because punching this guy in the teeth won’t help our situation. “There’s no need to make threats.”

  He’s unblinking but unhands Seamus. Words are over. My dirty looks aren’t, my scowl follows them as they retreat behind the door.

  “I need some air, are you good with Rory and Kira?” He’s a shattered man and it’s killing me knowing I’ve done this to him. I’m responsible for all of the pain in his life. All of it.

  “We’ll be fine. They’re sleeping. Go outside. Take your time. We’re not going anywhere.” I wish I could help him. All those years when he needed me and would’ve accepted and welcomed my help, I ran the other way. Now, when I want nothing more than to be the one he turns to, it’s his turn to run. My timing is absolute shit.

  Watching him walk away makes me realize that when you love someone, you only want what’s best for them. And how much I wish what was best for him was me. It’s not. It never was, and it never will be. And then I sit down in a chair next to Rory and Kira, who are both sleeping, and I bawl. It’s crying that wets my cheeks and demolishes my soul. The tears are for Kai. And Seamus. And me. And my grandmother. All for different reasons. I can’t get the visual of Kai lying crumpled, bleeding, and unmoving on the street out of my head. It was an accident.

  Accident.

  An innocuous occurrence.

  Until it involves my little boy on a bike being hit by my car.

  Or my grandmother riding in the seat next to me.

  There should be a different word for this type of accident. Accident seems too mild when tragedy is involved. Accident—Kai and my grandmother are meshing together in my mind until they’re one bloody heap that I feel wickedly responsible for. For years, I’ve tried to ignore the guilt that crushes me regarding my grandmother. It has a far weightier companion now.

  When Seamus returns, I’m cried out. For now, anyway. I excuse myself to the restroom.

  Bladder relieved, face splashed with cold water that does nothing to relieve mental or physical anguish, the waiting room receives me back in like an unwelcome guest. I wonder if Seamus can feel my guilt, it’s a larger presence in the room than I am. I need to tell him what
happened and face his justified wrath.

  Rory and Kira are huddled together, still sleeping in one big chair under Seamus’s jacket. Part of me wants to close my eyes too, but even if I did, I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep, my waking nightmares are worse than anything my imagination could dream up. I may never close my eyes again and just endure the torture.

  I drop into the chair across from Seamus. He’s sitting up straight in his chair, but it’s contradictory to the exhaustion and sorrow in his eyes.

  “You can talk to me, you know?” he says. It’s quiet, I’m sure because of the late hour and the kids sleeping next to him, but it’s also his concerned voice. A voice I haven’t heard in years. A voice that wraps me up like a warm blanket.

  “My grandmother died.” This is me talking.

  He looks at me thoughtfully, he’s never heard this story, and I’m sure he wasn’t expecting anything remotely close to this. “The one who raised you?”

  I nod.

  “When did it happen?” he questions. I know he thinks this is strange; I’ve always refused to talk about her to him.

  “I was eighteen. She was sixty-two though I always thought of her as ageless. A woman with the wisdom time affords, but with the vitality and enthusiasm of someone much younger. An enigma. The type of person who should be able to dodge death, outsmart it, forever.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “I killed her. It was my fault.” I’ve thought those words thousands of times. They’re loud and condemning in my head, but quiet and wounded when they dribble between my lips. It should worry me that this type of shock-worthy declaration is registering shock-free on his face. But I’m not worried about me for once. I’m purging. Purging all the bad. “We were in a car crash. Hit a tree. I was driving.”