Loving Frankie came so easy; she was just carefree about everything—nothing fazed her, nothing upset her, it just was. Her motto was “Even if you get angry or mad, it won’t change anything.”
I shake my head. Until she turned eighteen, when she started feeling sick. It just wouldn’t go away; nothing she did made her feel better. One day, I took matters into my own hands and got her dressed to take her to the doctor, but I didn’t have to leave her house because she sat me down.
“I know why I’m sick,” she said, avoiding my eyes.
“Did you go to the doctor already?” I asked her, finally relieved that she was going to get better. She had lost so much weight.
“I did about two weeks ago.” She finally looked up, and her brown eyes were filled with tears.
“Well, you should have gotten better already, so we need to go back.” I started to get up, ready to take her to the hospital.
“Blake, I’m not going to get better,” she whispered as one lone tear rolled down her cheek. A cheek I’d held in my hand, a cheek I’d kissed, a cheek that hid a secret dimple that only came out when she was really, really smiling. “I have leukemia.”
Three words cut me off; three words that took away my world. That night, I went home and researched everything there was to know, but nothing, nothing, prepared me for what was to come.
We did everything the doctor said, everything down to the T, but in the end, the disease won, and she was nothing but a shell of the vibrant woman I once knew. I begged and pleaded with her to fight. I begged and pleaded with God to spare her. But no one listened; her parents didn’t think I would stick around, but an army of Navy SEALs couldn’t keep me from sitting by her bedside. Nothing could stop me from begging her to be my wife; nothing could stop me from loving her so much that when she took her last breath, I died as well. Breathing was hard to do because the pain in my chest never went away. Fuck, it still lingers. My hopes, my dreams—everything got buried the day we lowered her casket into the ground. I went through the motions, pretending I was okay when inside, I was empty. I was hollow; it was gone. My heart was still beating, my breath was still coming, but I wasn’t there.
My hands trace the letters on the tombstone. “Miss you, baby,” I say. When I feel a soft breeze go by, it’s almost as if she answered me today. “So much,” I say, the tears coming no matter how much I fight them. No matter how much time goes by, the tears always come. I stay here for twenty minutes, lying down in front of her plaque with my head resting on my arm. Leaning forward, I kiss her name. “See you next week,” I tell her, getting up and walking back to the truck. Making my way back to my sister’s house, I hope someone is going to be able to give her the strength she needs to go on.
The drive back to Hailey’s house is quiet as night falls. The stars are coming out; some are blinking, some just lighting the sky. My mother and father are in the kitchen, and my mother is cooking.
“You think she’s going to eat any of that?” I ask them. Heading for the bottle of whiskey still on the counter, I pour one shot after another. The numbness never comes, so I sit down and look at my father, who shoots his eyebrows up at me in question. “Don’t.”
“We have to eat and keep up our strength for your sister,” my mother says.
I hear squeaking on the stairs and know that’s either Crystal or my sister. “She’s up,” Crystal says. Walking into the kitchen, she grabs the bottle of empty whiskey. “You couldn’t even save me a shot?” I don’t answer but look up at her. We both look at the hallway when more creaking sounds. Hailey comes into the kitchen with her hair tied on top of her head, wearing Eric’s robe. Her eyes are swollen from the tears she has shed all day.
“Hey.” Crystal walks to her, whispering, “You hungry?” Hailey looks around the room at the table that my parents set, then spots the brown paper bag on the counter. She turns on her feet, going straight to the brown bag. My eyes find Crystal, and we both take a big inhale.
The sound of the crinkling bag fills the silence of the room as the four of us stand, waiting for her to fall. Waiting to catch her.
Opening the bag, she takes out his watch first, and looking at it causes the sobs to rip out of her. She brings the watch to her nose to smell it, her other hand gripping the counter for support. I step forward but stop when she sets it down. I don’t see what she brings out next because the tears block my vision.
“This isn’t his.” She turns to us, showing us a black iPhone. “His phone was white.”
Crystal walks over to her, this time to help her stand. “Maybe it was put in there by mistake. Here, let me plug it in, and we can see who the phone belongs to.” She grabs it from her and walks over to the wall charger, plugging it in.
Hailey finally finds his phone. Running her fingers over it, she closes her eyes as tears drip off her chin, almost as if you left the faucets running. “We took this picture last week after he got home. He was gone for a month this time. It was the longest he was ever away.” She looks up at us, the hollowness almost too much to bear. “How did this happen?” She looks at each of us separately as she waits for an answer. My mom and I are brushing our own tears off our face when the buzzing on the counter starts.
Hailey walks over to the phone and picks it up. Her face goes white, whiter than it was, her lips almost turning an ash. Her hands start shaking, shaking so much the phone slips out of her hand and lands right in front of her feet, the screen shattering. Little did we know that shatter would change the path of everyone’s life.
Blake
Blake
“Twenty minutes, guys,” I say, flipping the flapjacks that I’m making. I’m on my fourth shift of six at the firehouse station, and my duty this week is cooking. I fucking hate it, especially the lunch duty.
However, since we got a call early, we missed breakfast, so I’m doing the easiest thing. Half the guys sit at the wooden table drinking coffee while the other half either lounge on the couch or sit outside in the nice sunny weather.
“Did you guys hear that Squad 47 got a DOA?” asks Ricky, the firehouse chief, coming into the room.
“Tough,” one of the guys says. “Never a good fucking day when you have a DOA,” Colin says, turning the page to the newspaper he’s reading. I nod my head in agreement.
I look at Wyatt. “Is the bacon almost done?” I ask him. “This is the last flapjack.”
“Be done in a second,” he says, pushing away from the splattering grease of the bacon. I place the flapjacks on the counter next to the eggs that Simon scrambled. Wyatt turns and places the sausage and bread next to the eggs, then turns to grab the bacon.
“Ring it,” he says, talking about the bell we always ring when a meal is ready. Going over, I press the little doorbell button. The line has already formed by the time I turn around a couple of seconds later. By the time everyone is sitting down, almost nothing is left. We are a group of eight firemen and four paramedic techs.
“One more twenty-four-hour shift and I get to sleep in my own bed,” Colin says, and we all nod.
The food is eaten and the plates are piled in the sink for the clean-up crew, which is my second least liked job in the house. As I step out of the kitchen, my phone rings, showing me that my cousin, Crystal, who is an emergency room nurse, is calling.
“Hey,” I answer.
“There was an accident.” I’m expecting her chipper and happy voice, but instead, she speaks monotone, and I know, I feel it in my fuckin’ gut, that something is wrong. I hold my breath, waiting for it, but nothing, fucking nothing could prepare me for the name she throws out. “Eric.” My sister Hailey’s husband. My legs almost give out as I hold the wall, Colin and Wyatt both looking at me. My hand covers the phone. “My brother-in-law,” I say as they both look at me with their mouths open for two seconds, then nod that they have this. I grab my keys off my locker shelf, running out of the building.
“Where is he?” I ask right away. Getting into my truck, I screech my tires as I peel out.
“He was DOA,” she finally says, the defeat in her voice apparent. “There was nothing.” My emergency training pops up, and I start issuing orders.
“Call Hailey and tell her I’m on my way. I’m four minutes out.” I hang up the phone and then call my parents.
My father answers on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Dad, it’s me. I need you to get Mom and meet me at the emergency room,” I say, zigzagging in and out of traffic to get to my sister’s house.
“Bad?” It’s the only question he asks.
“Yes,” I tell him. “It’s Eric,” I finally say, my voice cracking.
“I’ll leave now.” He hangs up, and I call Colin next.
“Brother,” he answers right away.
“The DOA this morning,” I say as I turn on Hailey’s street, “was Eric.”
“Fuck,” he hisses out. “I got you covered. We already called Logan, and he’s on his way.”
“Thank you,” I say, disconnecting as I pull up to Hailey’s house.
I don’t know how much Crystal has told Hailey, so I get out, jog to the front step, and open the door. I spot my sister on the phone as she turns around to face me. Her life is about to change, and she might not ever be the same person again. A piece of her is gone, a piece that might never mend.
I look in her eyes and see the tears already forming. I hold my hand out to her, and the hand holding the phone slowly lowers to her side. She looks at me in confusion, not sure what is going on, and I don’t know if I have the answers for her. I do what I need to do—I give her as much of my strength as she needs. I follow her out of the house and help her in the truck after she opens the door.
Her eyes look at me, asking me a million things, but I know my eyes don’t give anything away. It’s the training—never let them see your sorrow, never let them see you broken. I’ve had ten years of practice and not just at the academy. I buckle her in, and the only thing I can muster up to say is, “It’s going to be okay.”
She nods her head, then I step back and shut the door, jogging over to my side. As I drive, I look over at her watching a bird fly above, her eyes following its every movement.
She watches the bird so intently she doesn’t even realize I’ve stopped the truck and I’m opening her door. Her eyes look at me, glazed over, almost as if she isn’t there. Almost as if her body is closing herself off from the sadness and horror she is about to witness. “You’re going to be okay,” I assure her as I raise my baseball cap to run my hands through my hair.
“What’s going on?” She finally finds the words to ask. The question pleading for me to tell her it’s all a mistake, but I don’t answer. I grab her hand and walk inside the revolving door to the emergency room. We walk silently down the corridor, her hand squeezing mine now. She looks up at me, asking one more question. “Is it Mom? Dad?” I can’t answer her; my heart beating for her can’t give in to the answer. I’m afraid I won’t be strong enough for her. I’m afraid that my grief from ten years ago is going to surface, and she doesn’t need that right now.
Her eyes go back to the floor, and her question is answered when my parents step forward. My mother has tears running down her cheeks, and my father has his arm around her shoulders. They are standing next to the nurses’ station. She looks back at me in horror. “Is it Nanny?”
I don’t answer because Crystal comes out from behind the nurses’ station in her everyday uniform of blue scrubs and Crocs, wearing a stethoscope around her neck.
Hailey takes one glance at her face, and her feet stop in their tracks. I look back at her, trying to lead her to them, but she doesn’t move; nothing moves except her knees when they start to give out and the most horrendous cry of pain comes out of her. I don’t get to her in time before her knees hit the floor and she’s on all fours. The look she gives all of us lets us know she knows; she knows that somewhere in this busy hospital emergency room, her husband lies dead.
Crystal rushes to her as she holds her in her arms, the tears soaking into her blue scrubs. I bend to pick her up, my body cocooning hers. I carry her to the white fucking room no family ever wants to step foot into. The room where the walls are stark white and not one picture hangs on them. Where four chairs line one side with a single chair facing it. The room where you go, and in five seconds or less, they tell you that your loved one who you prayed for, who you tried to make promises for is gone. That nothing you could have done or said would have changed the outcome.
Crystal gets up, and I go to her, pulling her to my side. “What the fuck happened?”
“It was a head-on collision,” she says in a low voice, hoping that no one really hears us. “He was DOA.” I close my eyes, the pounding forming behind my eyes is almost too much to bear.
“Where is he?” Hailey’s soft voice finally says. My father turns to her, trying to tell her something, but she snaps, “I need to see him.” I know from her tone that it isn’t a request, it’s a demand. She needs to see him with her own eyes; she needs to see that this isn’t just a dream. She needs to sit by his side and hold his cold hand for her to know he isn’t coming back. She needs to sit there beside his body that will slowly start changing color while she asks the only question she can ask, “Why?” I look down at my feet as the memories from ten years ago try to enter my mind, but I block them. This isn’t the time. I look up and hear Crystal try to tell her that whatever picture she has of Eric, she doesn’t want one of him lying on that bed.
I look past her and see two officers approaching. Frank and Landon come in, and I see it right away, the brown fucking bag. I groan inwardly as I think about the fireman on the scene who collected the things and handed it to them. The last of whatever remains of the victim. I don’t have to listen to the speech that Frank gives because it’s almost the same speech we tell the fire victim’s family who waits on the scene. “I’m sorry for your loss.” What a crock of shit. I lean against the wall, putting my head back. I need a fucking drink.
I see Hailey just nodding, but her eyes never leave that brown fucking bag. Crystal drags her away from everyone and walks into another room. Frank comes over to me, extending his hand. “I’m …” I grab his hand, holding my other one up to stop him from the speech.
“I know,” I say, and he nods at me. We all know.
“If there is anything that you guys need, let us know,” he says, and that is the way it is—firemen, cops; it’s all family.
I don’t have a chance to say anything because Crystal yells my name, and I rush into the room where they disappeared.
I pick Hailey up, waiting for someone to say something, but I know she’s in shock. She has to be in shock. This morning, she got up with her husband, probably sat at the table as they made plans for the night or even the weekend, and now she goes back home alone. The plans a distant memory.
“She is in shock. What do you want to do?” Dr. Arnold says. “We can keep her here, or you can take her home.”
“Home,” Crystal and I both say. “The last thing she needs is to be in a room two feet from her dead husband,” she whispers to me. I turn around, picking Hailey up and carrying her back to my truck. I drive her home; this time, the drive is even more dreadful than before.
I look over at her as she clutches that brown fucking bag so tight her fingertips are white. There is no vise that will pry that bag out of her hands.
Samantha
Samantha
“Let’s go, guys, or we are going to miss the bus!” I yell up the stairs toward my girls, Liz, who is eight, and Daisy, who is five.
“The bus is going to be here in two minutes!” I yell again, walking back to the kitchen and picking up my now cold cup of coffee.
I pick up my phone to check for any missed calls or messages, and the only thing that greets me is the picture we took two months ago. Our four happy smiling faces when Eric and I had just found out we were expecting baby number three.
While I sat on the toilet in our bathroom, a whole mix of e
motions coursed through me. I always wanted a big family. Doesn’t everyone who is born in the system wish for everything they didn’t have?
I never had a mother; I never had a father. I never had siblings; I never got into a fight with my sister because she borrowed my clothes and didn’t tell me or vice versa. My parents were out there somewhere, or maybe they weren’t. I had no idea.
My mother was a crack addict. I know that for sure because I was born a crack baby, which is the reason I didn’t get adopted right away. No one wanted the burden of the extra care; no one wanted to be the parents to “that baby.”
So although I grew up and the crack left my system, I was never adopted.
Foster parents weren’t willing to take me either. Nope, I was the lucky one who was always in the group home for unwanted kids. I kept my head down, and my mind on the prize. The prize that when I turned eighteen, I would leave that roach-infested home and be able to create my own perfect life.
The day I turned sixteen, I got a job at the local diner. I busted my fucking ass to work and maintain a GPA of three point five. When college came around, I knew that if I didn’t qualify for assistance, I would never be able to attend. With rent and all that, I knew I couldn’t do it. That was the first time in my life I regretted ever being born. Although my GPA was high enough to be accepted, the fact that I had no money coming in meant that the loan was denied. So after sobbing into my pillow for a straight six hours while I asked God why he hated me so much, I got my journal out and made a plan. I would graduate; it would just take me a long fucking time. I would take two courses a semester, and eventually, I would graduate and become a social worker.
Strange, I know, but I wanted to be “the social worker” to make miracles happen, especially for girls and boys like me who got left behind. Kids were not just a case number but actual people.
Love Series (Complete Series) Page 40