Cautiously, I walk over and get down on my knees in front of him. Even through my jeans, the ground is cold. He watches me with bleary eyes. When I take the bottle from his hand, he blinks at me slowly, like he’s unsure of what’s going on. A gust of wind swirls around us, and I feel it in my bones, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Alexander,” I say in an agonized whisper. Seeing him like this tears me up inside.
“What?” he grunts.
“What are you doing to yourself?” I ask the question that I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to.
When he answers, his voice is strong and much clearer than you’d think coming from someone who’s drunk almost a full fifth of whiskey.
“Paying the price the only way I know how.”
He reaches down by his hip and produces another bottle of alcohol, this one full and unopened. I contemplate taking the bottle from him, but decide against it for the moment. As much as it pains me to see him drink his sorrows away, this is his way of coping and who am I do deny him? I saw the beer in the fridge when we were staying with him, but they were pushed all the way to the back, which makes me think him drinking is a rare occurrence.
“Why are you here?” he asks before taking a big swallow of the amber liquid, then wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I was worried about you. You shouldn’t be alone.”
He looks at me for a moment, his eyes drooping slightly, before he looks away. His jaw is tight and the hand not holding the bottle balls into a fist. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “But I won’t leave you here by yourself.”
His eyes swing back to me and the look in them reminds me of the day we first met in the market. Despondency, regret, and anger flash in their depths.
“I don’t want you here,” he growls as he leans forward.
Although I know the anger is born out of guilt and pain, I still flinch at his tone. He sees it, and for a moment it looks like he’s going to apologize as torment replaces the guilt and pain, but then the emotion is gone and his face goes blank. His head drops back against the concrete with a thud and he closes his eyes.
Walking on my knees until I’m on the other side of him, I settle my back against the pillar. Our shoulders touch as I wrap my arms around my knees. It’s early evening in winter time, so the sun will be setting shortly. The temperature is sure to drop at least ten degrees, and I’ll likely be frozen come the end of this, but there’s no way I’m leaving him out here alone. He can push and shove all he wants, but it’ll get him nowhere.
We sit this way for a while, neither of us saying a word. I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts, I just want him to know I’m here if he needs me. Every so often, the breeze will pick up, sending a shiver through my body. I try to hold off the shakes, but they end up getting the best of me and I start shivering. His arm that’s pressed against me moves occasionally when he lifts the bottle to his lips.
After thirty minutes, I feel eyes on me and look over. He’s watching me with a frown and the side of his face that’s scarred is pulled tight. I can smell the whiskey on his breath every time he breathes out, and it mixes with his own personal scent.
His frown turns into a scowl and he turns his head away from me with a muttered “fuck” before he clumsily climbs to his feet. I make a move to get up to help, but he shoots me a look and growls, “Stay there.”
I watch as he staggers his way to his truck. His movements are sluggish, but he’s still moving relatively well for having drunk so much.
He slams the truck door, and I’m surprised when he comes back with a blanket.
“Sit up,” he barks when he’s standing in front of me. I ignore the harsh command and do as he says. He unfolds the blanket and places it around my shoulders, making sure to tuck it around the front of me. The gesture is sweet, and I know he’s doing it because he cares, even if his tone and attitude say otherwise.
“Thank you,” I state once he’s back to leaning on the pillar. He doesn’t answer, just takes another swallow of his drink.
Again, we sit in silence. The sun is starting to set behind the trees, leaving behind a beautiful purple and pink sky, and I’m grateful for the blanket. I lean my head back against the pillar and rest my eyes. A few minutes later, I open them when Alexander starts to talk, his voice devoid of emotion. His eyes are closed.
“I met Clara the summer my family and I went to help my aunt and uncle move. They lived a few hours away from here and were moving across the country for my uncle’s new job. On the second day we were there helping them pack up, the family that was buying the house came by to take measurements for a back porch they were going to add on. It was Clara’s family. I had only just turned fifteen at the time, and she was fourteen, but I remember thinking she was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. We struck up a conversation, but they were only there for about thirty minutes before they left again, so I wasn’t able to learn much about her. It bothered me, because I wanted to see her again. I thought I wouldn’t get the chance, but on the fourth day, they came back and then again a day later, which was our last day there.”
As he talks, his expression turns soft. It’s a look I’ve never seen on his face, but one that makes him look devastatingly handsome.
“Each visit was short, but with each one, I dreaded her leaving. She was so sweet and soft-spoken, but also had a sense of humor a mile long. We’d sit outside on the porch and make each other laugh until our stomachs hurt. She was one of the easiest people to talk to. On the last day, I got her phone number and promised to call her. I did as soon as I got home, and for a year and a half, that’s how we communicated.”
He stops for a moment and stares off into space, as if lost in thought, then shakes his head and continues. I keep my eyes on him, not wanting to miss anything.
“The day I got my driver’s license, I begged my mom to let me go see her, but she wouldn’t. She said it was too far to drive with my newly earned driving status. It took me six months to convince her to let me go, and even then, I had to pull over and call her every hour.”
He chuckles, but it sounds dry.
“We talked for a year and a half on the phone, but when we saw each other again in person, we were both so nervous. It was easy on the phone, because we weren’t face-to-face. We finally managed to get over our awkwardness and it felt just as natural as when we first met and then when we spoke on the phone. I visited her once a month and we became really close over the years. We both dated other people, but for me, none of the girls really mattered. I knew I had feelings for Clara, but she lived so far away, so I tried pushing the feelings aside, but it never worked.”
He takes a swallow of his drink, then uses his arm to wipe his mouth. I can’t take my eyes off his face. It’s so animated when he speaks of the girl he fell in love with as a teenager.
He drops one of his legs and rests the bottle on the top of his thigh.
“We attended the same college and it wasn’t until I was a junior and she a sophomore that things changed between us. We started dating and making plans for the future. We married after college, and decided right away to start a family. Her degree was in interior design, so she was able to work from home. It was perfect for us, because she wanted to be at home with our kids. We were both so excited. We tried for months, but she never got pregnant. It took two years….”
He trails off, and I know from the look on his face whatever he’s about to say will be excruciating for him. I clutch the blanket in my fists to keep from reaching out to him, worried the gesture won’t be welcome. His body is tenses, as if he’s barely holding himself together.
“She lost the baby when she was two months pregnant,” he says, then stops to clear his throat when his voice cracks. “She was six weeks pregnant when she lost the second.” I suck in a breath and my hand flies to my mouth. Immediate tears fill my eyes. But he’s not done. “At four months, she miscarried our third baby, and at one month
miscarried our fourth. After that, I had decided we weren’t going to try for a fifth. Each miscarriage killed us a little inside, and watching Clara go through each one became too much, but she wanted to try one last time.”
Unable to stand the small gap between us, I scoot closer to him. The sun is below the horizon, leaving us in shadows. I know he has to be freezing, but the warmth of the alcohol and the memories he’s facing right now must be giving him the ability to ignore the cold.
I watch the hand that’s not holding the bottle flex back and forth into a fist as he continues to talk, further breaking my heart for him.
“We were so careful. She made it thirty-two weeks before the baby decided to come.” A smile touches his face for a brief second before it slips free. “She was so tiny and incredibly gorgeous.”
He pulls a picture out of his pocket, and I recognize it as one of the ones in his nightstand drawer. It’s the one of them in the hospital. He fingers the photo with reverence, likes it’s one of the most precious things to him.
“Due to her being so early and her lungs not being fully developed, after a visit just long enough to snap this picture, she was rushed to the neonatal unit, where she was given the chance to grow stronger. She was there for seven weeks before she was deemed ready to go home.”
The bottle drops from his hand and tips over. The amber liquid spills and runs down the embankment toward the water. My eyes swing back to Alexander to catch him dropping his head in his hands, where he fists his hair. His shoulders slump as he breaks down right in front of my eyes. I get on my knees and move closer to him. I hate seeing him in this state, and I need to reach out to him, but I think he needs me to as well. As soon as I touch his shoulder, his head whips up and he stares at me with anguished eyes. The look terrifies me. His pain has become my pain.
“Alexander.” I have no idea what I want to say, but I need to say something to help wipe the immense pain from his face. Before I get a chance to come up with the right words, he stops me.
“No,” he says roughly. “This is something you need to know.”
I nod and sit back on my legs, but still keep my hand on his shoulder; my need to touch him, to silently let him know I’m here is too great. My heart pounds heavily in my chest. I know what he’s about to say will be devastating.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then digs the heels of his hands into the sockets and rubs so hard it has to hurt.
“We were so damn happy we were able to finally bring her home,” he continues, his voice so scratchy it sounds like he’s been screaming for hours. “The weather was rainy and warm for that time of year. I remember looking over and seeing the smile on Clara’s face, knew I had the same big grin of happiness. By the time Rayne was released, it was already dark and the lights from all the Christmas decorations we passed made Clara’s face glow even more.”
I tense, afraid of where he’s going, and I silently pray I’m wrong. My stomach rolls when he starts talking again, his words and the sorrowful way he says them shredding my heart into tiny pieces, then crushing them into dust.
“We were coming up on Hallow’s Creek when a car coming the other way swerved in front of us. I jerked the wheel to avoid hitting him head-on. I could hear Clara screaming in my ear, but I was too focused on trying to keep the car on the road. It was slick and there were puddles. I hit one and hydroplaned. We hit the shoulder sideways and the impact flipped the car over.” His terror-filled eyes move to a spot close to the bridge on the side of the road, and I know he’s seeing where the car started its first roll. “We rolled four times until the car stopped on Clara’s side.”
Tears flood my cheeks and my hand digs into his shoulder. His tone is no longer hoarse, but now blank, revealing no emotion at all. It’s only the tears sliding down his face that show his pain.
“Alexander, please stop,” I croak, not sure I can hear the rest.
He doesn’t stop though, and I force myself to listen to him, somehow knowing he needs to do this, even if it does destroy me. My pain is nothing compared to his, so I can do this for him.
“It was the heat from the flames that brought me to. They hadn’t made it to me yet, but they were close. The tiny wails of my beautiful baby girl were the first thing I heard, but they only lasted a few seconds before they abruptly stopped. I was barely conscious, but the silence scared the shit out of me. I needed to hear her cry so I knew she was okay.”
He stops talking all of a sudden and looks around frantically, a look of panic on his face. I realize what he’s looking for and hand him the almost empty bottle. The relief floods his face when he grabs it and downs the rest. I wish there is more I can do to help dull the pain this is causing him, but all I can do is sit here, helpless.
“My fucking legs and right arm were trapped between the seat and the steering wheel. It was dark outside, so when I looked to the back seat to find my little girl, all I could see was darkness and what looked like water. That’s when Clara came to. She immediately started screaming Rayne’s name and tried to get to the back seat, but she was trapped as well. The dash had crushed her legs. The flames coming from the dash were getting closer to me, but I didn’t feel the heat anymore. My sole focus was to get to Rayne and Clara. Clara looked at me and begged and pleaded for me to get Rayne out. It wasn’t until the water started rising and covering Clara that I realized we’d rolled down the embankment and were in the creek. Fear like I’ve never felt before seized me, and I started jerking as hard as I could on my arm that was trapped. I couldn’t reach Clara or Rayne with my left, and no matter how hard I pulled and yanked, I couldn’t fucking get my right one free.
“Clara was smashed up against her door and the water was creeping up on her fast and there was no way for her to get away from it. She was screaming and crying hysterically, while I kept trying to get free. The flames reached my leg first, and I felt and smelled as my jeans were burned away. Then it hit my flesh and it was excruciating. The pain from being burned tried to pull me under, but I fought to stay conscious. I couldn’t take my eyes away from Clara as the water reached her face and swallowed her up.”
He stops and his breathing becomes labored as he stares off into space. His eyes look wild, and I know he’s reliving the horror of that moment. I grab hold of his wet cheeks, the blanket falling from my shoulders, and make him look at me, desperate for that look to disappear. The roughness of his beard on the left side feels so different than the smoothness of his scars on the other side.
His eyes meet mine and they appear unfocused, as if he’s not seeing me.
“Alexander,” I call, making sure my voice comes out strong when I feel anything but. “Look at me.” I give him a shake.
I don’t know if it’s my tone or the fact I’m so close to him, but he seems to snap out of it. He flinches, but I don’t let that affect me.
“You’re not there anymore,” I tell him quietly. “You’re here with me right now.”
His eyes flick back and forth between mine and he frowns, then gives me a nod. I’m surprised when his head drops from my hand and he lays it against my shoulder. Next, his arms wrap around my middle, and I’m forced to get back up on my knees. He’s hunched over me as he seeks comfort.
His voice comes out muffled and broken when he speaks next. I already know what he’s going to say, but it still hurts nonetheless.
“She begged and begged me to help Rayne up until the water covered her face, and even then, her eyes pleaded with me until she couldn’t hold her breath anymore. I watched her drown, and I couldn’t do a damn thing. I let my baby and wife die.” I’m shaking my head no, but don’t get a chance to voice my objection. “I tried so fucking hard, Gwen, I swear I did, but I couldn’t get free. My arm had gouges from me pulling so hard. When the flames reached my upper body, I wanted it to devour me. I wanted to die. If they couldn’t live, then neither would I. Right as it got to my face, someone yanked open my door. It was pouring outside so the rain coming in helped control the fire lon
g enough for them to throw water on me. I already felt dead inside when they pulled me from the car. The pain of the burns was searing and unbearable, but the pain of knowing I’d lost my wife and newborn baby couldn’t compare.”
My shirt is soaked by the time he’s done. My own face is drenched in tears as well. Even though I was the one giving him comfort, I still cling to him just as tightly as he clings to me. His weight sags against me, and I know it’s not only from the alcohol, but from emotional exhaustion.
We stay this way for a while, him with his arms wrapped around my waist, his head against my shoulder, and me with my head resting on top of his. I pull the blanket around us both.
After a few minutes, he pulls back, and his tired eyes look up at me. I wipe away my own tears and sit back on my legs. My eyes feel swollen from crying and his carry so much pain. I don’t know what to do to help him. There’s really nothing I can do to help him.
“I’m sorry, Alexander.” It sounds so inadequate for what he’s gone through. “I’m so sorry for what you went through. For what they went through. I can’t imagine….” I close my eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again. I can’t even finish the thought because it’s too incomprehensible.
He swallows, then nods. It looks like he wants to say more, but his eyes drop to my shirt and notices it’s drenched.
“Shit,” he grumbles scratchily. “Sorry.”
It’s a weird thing to notice at a time like this, but I think it’s more of an avoidance thing. Now that he’s told his story and has relived the pain, he’s only too willing to push it aside and try to focus on something else. From the look in his eyes, his attempt isn’t successful. I have a feeling it won’t ever be successful. How does someone recover from something like that?
I shake my head, letting him know I don’t care about my shirt.
“Please don’t apologize.” It almost comes out as begging. I feel restless because there’s so much I want to say, but I know none of it will ever be good enough. “I don’t know what to do,” I tell him honestly. “I wish so much there was something I could do to help your pain, but I know there’s not.”
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 85