Whispered Prayers of a Girl

by Alex Grayson

  Reluctantly, I loosen my arms and she takes a step back. I stalk over to the phone and snatch it from the counter. Looking at the screen, I release a tired sigh.

  It’s my mom, and I know there’s no way I can put her off anymore. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve spoken to her and she knows what tomorrow is. She’s a mother and her natural instinct is to worry about her kids. She knows how tough the anniversary of their deaths is. If I don’t answer now, she’ll only continue to call back until I do. Or even worse, call the sheriff and have him come check on me. Yes, she’s done that before when I went weeks without answering her calls.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I swipe my finger across the screen.

  “Hey, Mom,” I answer.

  Gwen’s eyes widen when she hears who’s on the phone. A moment later, she leaves the kitchen, I assume to give me privacy.

  “Alexander,” my mom breaths through the phone. I can tell she’s surprised I answered.

  “How are you?” I ask, leaning against the counter and crossing my ankles.

  “Much better now that I’ve heard your voice.”

  “Mom, I’m—” I start to apologize.

  “No, Alexander,” she interrupts. “Your dad and I have been talking and he’s made me realize something. I know I hover too much. I know I’ve smothered you over the years since….” She trails off, not needing to clarify. “I just worry about you. I hate knowing you’re in pain,” she finishes quietly.

  I twist my neck from side to side, trying to relieve the tension I always get when I talk to my mom. She doesn’t mean to add more stress, and I’m sure it would upset her if she realized how much she’s caused me with her worrying. I haven’t had the heart to tell her because I know she’s only doing it out of love. That, and the fact it wasn’t just me who lost Clara and Rayne. She lost a daughter and granddaughter.

  “I get it. I really do, but you’ve got to stop worrying so much, okay?” I hear her sniffle on the other end of the line and it makes me feel like a dick, but I press forward. “I’m fine. Yes, it still hurts to breathe sometimes, but I’m getting there.” I pull air in my lungs and let it out slowly, knowing this is going to hurt her, but also knowing it needs to be said. “I love you, Mom, and I know you mean well, but when you constantly call and ask how I’m doing, it helps keep that wound open.”

  Her hiccupping sob guts me, and I close my eyes. When I open them, they meet Gwen’s over the bar. She’s standing on the other side of the couch with one of the puppies in her arms, watching me. I’m not sure if she can hear what I’m saying, but I’m sure my expression says enough.

  “Oh, Alexander, I’m so, so sorry, baby,” my mom cries softly, her voice tearful. “I never meant to make it harder on you.”

  Still keeping my eyes on Gwen, I console her. “I know. And I love you for caring so much.”

  She sniffs again and then there’s a shuffling sound. Next comes the deep murmur of my father’s voice talking to my mom before he gets on the line.

  “Son.”

  “Hey, Dad. How is she?”

  “She’ll be fine.” He sighs. “I heard what you told her and it was something she needed to hear. She can’t keep smothering you. She needs to let you heal.”

  I feel like an asshole because I know my mom wants me to heal, she’s just not giving me what I need to do so. I’m not entirely sure I deserve to heal after what I’ve done.

  “How are you doing?” my dad asks.

  You’d think that after upsetting my mom to explain that her constant worry wasn’t helping me that having my dad ask the same thing would bother me. There’s a difference between my mom asking versus my dad. I love my mom just as much as my dad, and I appreciate both of them worrying, but whereas my dad takes my answer for what it is and leaves it at that, my mom will dig and dig, thinking if she gets deep enough I’ll reveal my true feelings.

  Knowing he’s asking because of what tomorrow is, I say honestly, “I’m doing the best I can.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, then says quietly, “You need us, you call.”

  “Will do, Dad. Thanks.”

  He clears his throat, then changes the subject like I knew he would. It’s not that he doesn’t care, it’s that he knows not to push.

  My eyes are still glued to Gwen, who’s now holding the puppy closer to her face. She watches me curiously.

  “Your mom wants to come for a visit. I’ve put her off for as long as I can, but I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to.”

  I break my gaze from Gwen and turn around. It’s hard to think about anything other than Gwen when I’m looking at her. I think that’s part of the reason I want to keep her here so badly. The guilt and pain don’t consume me as strongly when she’s here.

  It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen my parents, and I know it hurts my mom that it’s been so long. As much as she bugs the hell out of me, I miss them both.

  “Give me a couple weeks and tell her to plan a trip.”

  “You sure?” my dad asks.

  “Yeah.”

  We talk for a few more minutes about nothing in particular before we hang up. I keep my back turned to the living room, trying to gather my thoughts before facing Gwen again. The woman has me wrapped up in feelings I haven’t felt in a long time, and I have no idea what to do with them. With fear of sounding like a pansy-ass, Gwen’s put me through the emotional wringer.

  Instead of going back to the living room, I opt to make myself a plate of the leftovers Gwen brought with her. Mrs. Myers only lives a few miles from me and there’s been several occasions she’s called on me for help around the house. Both of us, along with a couple more houses, are the only people out this far from town. I don’t mind the times I’ve had to help the little old lady out, and whenever I make one of my rare trips to town, I always call her to see if she needs anything. A couple times when I went by her place she insisted I stay for dinner. She’s a really good cook, so when I bite into the homemade mashed potatoes and the oven-roasted turkey, my taste buds nearly explode with pleasure. I scarf down the plate of food in no time.

  When I walk back into the living room a few minutes later, I only find Daniel and Kelsey.

  “Where’s your mom?” I ask Daniel.

  He pauses in playing with the puppies with a couple of the wooden figurines and looks up at me. Shrugging, he says, “She said she was going to the bathroom.”

  My eyes immediately move to the hallway, where I have a view of the bathroom door. It’s open with the light off. Not caring that she uses the bathroom in my bedroom, but finding it weird that she would do so, I make my way down the hallway to the door down at the end.

  When I step through the doorway, I’m both surprised and pissed at what I see. Gwen’s sitting on the bed with the pictures from my nightstand in her hand. I don’t know why it makes me angry that she’s looking at them. It’s not that she went through my nightstand. Yes, I’m a private guy, but with Gwen I’ve been more open than I have with anyone else in a long time. It’s just… I don’t like her looking at what’s caused all my pain and heartache, knowing I’m the reason I’m going through it.

  “What are you doing in here?” I ask, my tone harsher than I intended it to be.

  She jumps up from the bed, startled both by my presence and tone. She looks down guiltily at the pictures still in her hand before bringing her eyes up to meet mine. I’m trying to rein in the anger, but I know some of it seeps through. I’m sure she didn’t purposely come in here to snoop, I just don’t know why she is in here.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, her face drawn down into a frown. “I was looking for my earrings I left on the nightstand. I thought maybe they fell in the drawer.”

  My hand, already in my jeans pocket, fingers the earrings I have in there. For some insane reason, I’ve been carrying them around with me since the day James saw them on the bar. Maybe it makes me feel closer to her having them so close to me. Or maybe I’m just fucking weird. For whatever reason,
when I get undressed at night, I place them on the nightstand, then put them in my pocket the next morning.

  I pull them from my pocket and show them to her.

  “Oh,” she says. She doesn’t ask why I have them in my pocket, and I don’t offer the information. “Thank you.”

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment and makes no move to take the earrings from me. She simply looks down at the pictures. I grind my teeth, holding back the urge to snatch them from her hands and stuff them back in the drawer. I know exactly what she’s looking at, I just don’t know what she’s thinking.

  “She’s beautiful,” she says softly, rubbing her finger over one of the pictures. “They both were.” She looks up at me and sadness lines her face.

  My gaze drops to the photo. It’s the one I was holding outside the other day. I swallow thickly, trying to push my emotions back. I don’t say a word as I stand there and watch her look at the next one. It’s like I’m frozen on the spot, even as my mind screams at me to take them from her and hide them. I still love my lost family, but I’m ashamed of what happened to them. What I did to them.

  The next photo is of Clara and me standing in front of the fireplace. She was six months pregnant. I was holding the sonogram we had done earlier that day that finally showed us the sex of our baby against her rounded belly. The first couple times she was being stubborn and not showing her goods to the doctor, but that time we got lucky. At the bottom of the picture, Clara had printed the words Our First Family Photo.

  The last image is the sonogram itself. It’s not often I bring the photos out anymore—it’s too painful to look at them—so to see them now and tomorrow being what it is, makes me feel like one giant pincushion with thousands of needles being pushed into it.

  Her head finally lifts, and there’s tears glistening in her eyes. After blinking a few times, she turns and gently sets the pictures back in the drawer and closes it. I pull in a few deep breaths while she has her back turned.

  When she does turn back around, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “You should leave.”

  I regret the words as soon as I say them, but I don’t take them back. I need to be alone. My reprieve has come to an end, and she and the kids need to leave before I completely lose it. I feel the threads of my control snapping, and I don’t want them to see me like that.

  The pain that crosses her face has the ache in my chest escalating. I hate myself for putting it there.

  She nods, then looks down at her hands. After a moment, she walks toward me. I want to reach out to her and apologize as she passes me, but I don’t. If I do, I know I won’t let her go, and she needs to.

  I follow her, but stay at the mouth of the hallway as she tells the kids to gather their things. Daniel grumbles and looks sad. I look at Kelsey, and the expression on her face says it all: Disappointment and despair. Between Gwen’s and the kids’ reactions, I want to stab myself in the chest. It’ll likely hurt less than the pain I’m feeling now.

  Gwen gives me a sad smile as she and the kids walk to the door. I walk behind them and step out onto the porch. After Daniel says goodbye and Kelsey looks at me blankly, Gwen tells them to go to the car.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” she says, hurt evident in her voice.

  “I know.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her. “I just….” I clear my throat and look out across the yard. “I need to be alone.”

  She lifts her hand like she’s going to reach out to me, and I hold my breath, both hoping she doesn’t and silently begging her to. Making her decision, she drops her hand.

  “Thank you for letting the kids and me stay for a bit. They really enjoyed spending time with you.”

  She nods and tries to smile, but it falls away too quickly to be real. I wonder if she enjoyed it as well, or if she regrets coming. I know I’m giving her mixed signals, and I feel like shit doing that to her, but I’m so fucked-up right now, I have no idea what I’m doing. I want to grab on to her and never let her go. I want to cherish her kids and love them like they should be loved. I want to care for Gwen like she deserves. I want to be the man they need, but I’m so damn scared of failing. I so afraid my past won’t allow me to be the person they should have.

  Looking over to the car and seeing the kids occupied, I do what I know I shouldn’t, but am unable to stop myself. I step closer to Gwen and cup the side of her face. Her skin’s so soft compared to mine, and I wish I could feel it against me all the time.

  I dip my head and very gently lay my lips across hers. I hear her breath hitch as she holds still, letting me do what I both want and need. I don’t take the kiss far, giving us both just enough. My lips slide across hers and she tastes like vanilla, just as I remembered from yesterday. We open our mouths at the same time, and I meet her tongue with mine.

  The kiss is soft and gentle, and I pull back before it can go any further. I hurt from the loss, and from the look on her face, she does too.

  Without another word from either of us, she turns and walks down the steps to the truck, and I’m once again left watching what could have been drive away. My hands slide inside my pockets and brush against the earrings I never gave back to her.

  I drive down the small embankment and park my truck at what is the location of all my heartache. I turn the truck off, and with a pain so sharp it feels like I’m being stabbed to death, look at the two crosses hammered into the ground. It wasn’t my doing. I’m not sure who did it, but they’ve been there for a while. I see them every time I go to town, but it never hurts so much to see them as when I’m this close. I try to avoid them as much as possible, but there’s no avoiding them on this day.

  Taking a deep breath, I reach over and grab the bottle of Jameson and get out of the truck. It’s ironic, because normally this time of year the water is pretty low; however, the year that Clara and Rayne died, we’d had an unseasonably warm and rainy winter, so the water was pretty high. Had it not been….

  I wipe the thought away, because there’s no fucking sense in thinking about what-ifs. It won’t change a damn thing.

  I sit down and lean against the pillar. Before I can stop them, my eyes land on the spot where everything was taken from me. Every year, on the day they died, I come out here and spend the night, using only my jacket and alcohol to keep me warm.

  Memory after memory flood my mind, and I try to chase them away with the Jameson. It never works, no matter how much I drink, and that’s why I always end up plastered. Their ghosts haunt me the most when I’m here. This is my penance for not saving them. It’s what I deserve, and the very least I can do is suffer for them.

  I take a big swig from the bottle, then another, and another. It burns going down my throat, but after the first few swallows the pain fades. Raising my knees, I rest my arms on top of them and let the bottle dangle between my legs. My head clunks back against the concrete, and I close my eyes. As soon as I do, the screams of pain and the wails of my baby girl swarm me, pulling me into a dark abyss that I wonder if one day I won’t be able to escape from.

  Chapter 15

  Gwendolyn

  I stare sightlessly across the room as I fold clothes. Memories of Alexander’s face yesterday when he caught me looking at the photos plague me. He looked so broken and torn. And angry. There was a tic in his jaw and his body was tense, like he was seconds away from pouncing. I get his anger and his sorrow. I shouldn’t have been in there. I should have waited until he was done with his phone call and asked. I didn’t realize the ramifications of looking in his drawer. When I saw those pictures, sorrow slammed into me like a sledgehammer. I had no connection to the woman and baby, but for some reason, I still felt the loss of them as if I did. That feeling grew when I saw the pain on Alexander’s face.

  Although I understood his need to be alone when he told me I should leave, the rejection still hurt. His wounds were wide open because of the impending anniversary of their deaths, and I wanted nothing more than to be with him, to s
how him comfort and not let him be alone during his grief. No one should ever have to go through such a heavy emotion alone.

  The need to see him now, to reassure myself he’s okay, is strong, and the more I sit here and stew over it, the stronger it gets.

  I look up when Kelsey walks into the living room. My eyes fall to the standard crossword puzzle book she has rolled up in her hand. I lift my gaze to hers, confused, because ever since Alexander gave her the one he made, she hasn’t used the other ones.

  I drop the towel I was folding in my lap and ask, “Did something happened to the book Alexander made you?”

  She looks at me for a moment before shaking her head and looking down at the book in her hand.

  “Why aren’t you using that one?”

  She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I saw the answer in her eyes before she managed to clear it away. She’s hurt from him turning us away yesterday.

  “Come sit.” I pat the cushion beside me.

  She comes to the couch and sits down stiffly. I turn so I’m facing her and make her look at me.

  “I know you’re hurt from yesterday.” When I get nothing from her, I forge ahead. I want her to better understand Alexander’s behavior so she doesn’t think it has anything to do with her, Daniel, or me. “Something happened a few years ago that hurt him terribly.”

  Understanding dawns on her face, and I get the sense that she already knows he’s hurting, she just doesn’t know why. The look doesn’t surprise me. It’s said that those who are going through pain recognize it in others. I’ve seen the way Kelsey looks at him. Even at such a young age, there was sympathy and recognition of mutual anguish.

  “He lost his wife and baby, who he loved dearly.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders when her eyes start to water. “I’m not saying this to hurt you. I want you to know he’s in pain, and I don’t want you to think his actions have anything to do with you or Daniel.” I wipe away the single tear that slides down her cheek. I hate knowing this is hurting her. She’s too young to be going through so much pain. Losing her father was enough, and I know hearing about Alexander hurts her even more.