My addiction was dead.
My sanctuary was dead.
My protection was dead.
If you think death is painful, try living.
I looked at the door, half-expecting it to open and for him to walk in. But it didn’t happen and I knew I’d be left disappointed every time my heart, his heart slipped up and forgot he wasn’t coming back. It was too much.
I pushed myself to my feet and shuffled into the bathroom. My palms met the sides of the sink, and I angrily stared at the soap dish. The doctors told me to not get worked up. Stay calm. But how could I? Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my injuries still hadn’t fully healed. I touched my cheek, wincing at the pain—both external and internal.
With shaking hands, I unbuttoned my shirt, studying the massive black stitches spanning the area under my sternum and down between my breasts. My breath hitched while I fingered over the surrounding flesh, unable to comprehend Adam being so close to me, yet so far away.
I tilted my head toward the ceiling and a piece of paper caught my eye, affixed to the top of the mirror with a piece of cellophane tape. Tugging it free felt like it signified the end of something, something I had to come to grips with. My eyes brimmed as I unfolded it. It was a series of cartoon letters formed from puzzle pieces written in simple black ink.
You’ve always held my heart
As always, he’d initialed and dated the piece of artwork on the bottom. He’d left it the day he died, but he had no idea how poignant those words would be mere hours later. I couldn’t handle standing in the bathroom anymore.
Like the mother-in-law house, I punished myself by walking through each room to revisit the memories.
Where we’d argued at the table.
Where we’d played that silly question game.
Where we’d had sex on his bed.
Emotional exhaustion far exceeded the physical. I crawled onto the rumpled sheets and sobbed, clutching his pillow, his scent still irrefutably present.
Daveigh walked in the room a few minutes later and sat down next to me. Her frame made the mattress sink a few inches as she stroked my hair. “I wish I could take away your pain.”
I rested my head on her lap and let the tears freely fall as my shoulders heaved. No more holding back. It was finally time I told Daveigh the entire story. She needed to know everything about Adam and Tom, to get it off my chest, once and for all.
Roughly Eight Months Later
I sat outside on the porch, rubbing the two pennies embedded in the cement. It was my daily ritual. Even though the property was technically mine, I still couldn’t call it my own. It seemed like I did a disservice to say those words aloud. After Ty learned about everything that’d happened and formalities surrounding Adam’s death were finalized, he’d put in an offer on the house. In turn, a bidding war ensued with Zachary Main. It was a final dig at me. Ty Brennan won, and the house was put in my name. The beyond-generous gesture took a long time for me to accept. I felt like I lived inside a shrine, afraid to move anything, afraid to touch anything. Terror consumed me it would erase his memory. But at the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind either.
I wrapped my hands around a cup of tea and wound a blanket around my frame. So cold lately. I’d been in Steele Falls a full year at that point, only going back to Sacramento with Daveigh and Wesley to pack up my apartment and Catzilla. I never looked back.
Cancer and suicide stole Madelyn from me, two constituents outside my control. Even though Adam’s truck accident wasn’t my fault, I felt like my own fear and stupidity were catalysts in his death.
Over the past few months, Cash reached out, saying he missed me, asking if I’d ever thought about reconciling with him. Every message from CREAM went ignored on my phone. He didn’t know about the accident, the heart transplant, or about Adam’s death. If he did, I had a feeling he’d show up in his flashy Ferrari. There wasn’t a procedure in any of his medical books that could fix me, even if he wanted to. Not this time.
Daveigh came by almost daily, half the time with Wesley and the baby in tow. Those were my least favorite visits. I could see the pity residing behind his eyes in knowing I’d lost two loves. First Mads and then Adam. Everyone walked on eggshells around me, not knowing how to act or what to say. Hell, I didn’t know how to keep myself from falling apart either. I’d been dealt the worst hand of cards imaginable, and death sounded like a welcome invitation.
I looked at my watch and grimaced at the idea of socializing. The week before, I promised Daveigh I’d go over to the momster’s house to visit the baby, my niece—Mireille Faith. The namesake was my sister’s way of making peace with the way she’d treated Adam, especially after she’d found out everything that’d really happened. Mireille means miracle, and it was a tribute to Adam—that I’d survived because of him.
When I arrived, I was thirty-five minutes early. No one was home, so I sat down on the porch. On most days, I wanted to be alone. Isolation welcomed me with open arms, and I didn’t have to fake normalcy. I didn’t have to listen to anyone pretend to care about how I was doing or what I felt.
I still hadn’t spoken to the momster since the accident, despite her numerous attempts to reconcile. Since I’d been discharged, she’d put more effort in connecting with me than she ever did over twenty plus years. Texts. Emails. Phone calls. Visits. All of them went ignored. In fact, that moment was the first time I’d stepped foot on her property since October. That weekend, she was out of town though. A romantic getaway with her new husband—Harold. I didn’t attend the wedding, give them my blessing, or buy them a toaster. As far as I was concerned, she was dead to me. The bridge between her and I had burned into a blackened pile of ash. And there was no repairing that. It was her fault I was left alone. I’d have rather died alongside Adam than to survive alone.
I’d become a hermit, a recluse. It was like being back in Sacramento again. Afraid of letting anyone in. Afraid of being hurt. And my walls were sky high. They were never coming back down. Every beat in my chest was a cruel tease, an ironic taunt, and a malicious reminder of what could never be again. There was no fixing me. In repairing my heart, I’d become eternally broken.
I sat on the porch bench with my knees drawn up to my chest when I heard someone walking up the gravel driveway. Looking out, I saw Ralph. He had a brown paper bag tucked under his arm. Much like the momster, I hadn’t seen him since last fall either.
“I’m not in the mood right now,” I said.
“Here.” He held a bag out to me and gave it a firm shake.
I didn’t move.
He reached into the sack and pulled out what appeared to be a greasy sandwich wrapped in thin, white paper.
“What’s that?” I crinkled my nose in disgust.
“The man at the deli called it a gut cleaner,” he replied.
My stomach flip-flopped its negative opinion. “I’m not hungry.”
“You need your strength.” He nodded toward the sandwich.
The smell of old lunchmeat filled the air, making my stomach churn. “Strength for what?”
“Come on.” He motioned for me to follow him.
“Ralph, please…I’m supposed to meet Daveigh and Wesley.”
“They’ll wait for you. Besides, we won’t be long.” The look on his little, old, wrinkled face told me he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
My heart wasn’t into arguing, or anything for that matter. I slumped my shoulders and followed him over to his house and crossed my arms in the driveway.
“Get in.” He motioned to his sports car.
“Why? Where are we going?”
“Humor an old man,” he said. “Come.”
After five more minutes of debating, he’d won. I sat in his car, and he drove down Main Street. Loud, classical music blare
d.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” My voice competed against the sound of robust cellos.
“The cemetery,” he said, looking straight ahead.
“Whoa. Hold the bus.” My mouth hung open. “Stop.”
He gave me the knowing look once more before zooming off at a green light.
“I can’t go there,” I said. “It’s too soon.”
He slowed at a stop sign. “I want to talk to you.”
“This isn’t going to be like the time you wanted to talk to me about virgins and picking apples, is it?”
He looked contemplative for a moment. “Ah! No, not like that.”
“Like the time you talked about planting ‘seeds’ with the hand gestures?”
“Blue,” Ralph looked at me, “It’s nearing a year for you. My wife died five years ago. The first time is always the hardest. You’ll never be able to open up again until you gain closure.”
“I’m not looking for any openings or closings.” My tone was sour. I hated every word of our conversation. Who does he think he is? The last thing I needed was to let go. I needed the opposite—to hold on for as long as possible so I wouldn’t fall to my knees.
He gave me a third round of the knowing look. This time, it was without words.
I spent a few minutes wondering if what he did could be considered abduction. It was hard to concentrate with a lukewarm gut cleaner on my lap though.
The rest of the drive to the cemetery was impossibly long, and I got lost in thought. There were so many times I thought I saw Adam in the house. In the bedroom. In the kitchen. At the front door. I thought I heard him call out my name when I sat on the beach. I was certain I smelled his aftershave as a breeze drifted through the window on a spring night. In a sense, it was like he was always with me. Going to the cemetery would solidify he was gone. The only part of him remaining was still beating inside my chest—and I wasn’t ready to face that.
I stared out the window with my arms folded around my waist, trying to somehow hold myself together. It had become a daily chore, and I was exhausted, wondering when it’d ever end. But I continued to wake up day after day, an ongoing disappointment.
The entrance to the cemetery was lined with the black wrought iron gates I remembered from Tom’s funeral, the tops of each spire a point, reminding me the people who were buried didn’t actually rest below. “Turn around. I don’t think I can do this,” I said.
Ralph parked the car in an empty space near the cobblestone pathway. “You can. And you will.” He gave my arm a squeeze of reassurance before he got out. “Do you know why?”
“Why?”
His smile was both soft and sincere. “Because he’d want you to. Much like Carol would want me to.”
Those five words shipped tears to my eyes. Would Adam want to see me? Would he know I was there? There were so many unknowns, and they would remain unknowns. That was one of the hardest parts. No matter what Ralph said, real closure was unattainable.
I looked at him and blinked quickly.
“I’ll be over there if you need me.” He gestured to a cluster of tombstones on the left of the path.
I stood there and watched Ralph walk away until he was out of sight, his red jacket shrinking until it was a tiny dot. It was time for my own journey to begin. “Obstacles don’t block the path—they are the path,” I whispered to myself.
Shaky step after step, I walked toward the weeping willow tree where I’d been told Adam’s grave rested, the wispy branches blowing in the wind overhead. A gray tombstone sat beneath, the grass in front of it still not fully thick and lush.
Without words, I collapsed to my knees in front of it, covering my face with my hands. Knowing his body was only six feet away was agonizing. But he wasn’t there anymore; he wasn’t sleeping. I couldn’t touch him and my fingers pined for that. All that was left was his shell surrounded by wood and a stupid gray slab with his name. Seeing the words on his tombstone ripped open the invisible wounds that threatened to burst over the months. The lettering was still sharp and new on the edges as I pressed against it with the pads of my index fingers.
Adam Jacob Rockwell
You touched our lives
for the briefest of moments,
but you’ll be with us forever
I fingered over the scar through my shirt at the double meaning. A part of Adam would always be with me.
“Hi,” I said, wiping my nose. The one simple word gave me a pang of sadness as I thought back to the night I showed up on his doorstep.
In some stupid way, I expected there to be a response. A sign. Something. Anything. There wasn’t.
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to visit. 278 days to be exact.” Pathetically, I’d kept count on a calendar, as if I were counting toward some cataclysmic event, unknowing when it’d arrive. “Ironic, huh? You’ve been my hardest goodbye, and I couldn’t bring myself to come…”
Part of me felt stupid talking to his grave. There was no point. No one was going to tell me everything would be okay. And if they did, it’d be nothing more than a bloated lie.
I leaned back against the grave marker. “It seems like all I was ever good at was fucking up and trying to apologize. I’m sorry I ever left in the first place. I’m sorry I made you sad. I’m sorry I lived while you died. I’m sorry I didn’t let you say I love you on the phone that day. You know what?” I paused. “I love you too.” I hiccupped, the emotion taking hold in my throat. “None of this is fair. None of it’s fucking fair! This wasn’t part of the plan. Our plan.” I punched at the ground with my fist over and over, my knuckles meeting the cold earth. “We were supposed to grow old together. Have babies together. Laugh and cry together. Have senior citizen dinners at Mario’s. When will the missing you stop? Because this,” I rubbed my face, “fucking hurts. So bad. There’s nothing left. I’m empty.”
My bawling caused a flock of nearby birds to take flight. I was sorry, for so many things. I didn’t know where I started or ended anymore. Hell, I didn’t know which way was up half the time. Every task, simple or difficult, was a mountain, much like the boulder on the trail. And then I realized that must’ve been how Adam felt for those 278 days before he’d let me go. But I wasn’t brave enough or strong enough or resilient enough for any of that.
Losing him is what showed me his worth. History was cruel in its repetition. “We had a good run, right? Maybe a love like ours was too perfect to exist. It seemed like the world was against it all along.” I sighed. “God, what I’d give to hear your voice, even one last time.” My fingers ran over the sparse blades of grass. “Remember when we walked in front of that jewelry store in Aberdeen and you asked me what kind of engagement ring I wanted? I told you I didn’t care what it looked like; I only wanted your heart.” I sniffled and gestured to his grave, my words a garbled mess, “I didn’t mean I wanted it like this.”
Leaning back, I rested my head against the cool stone for a few moments, feeling more uncomfortable than usual, almost prickly. I brushed the sensation off and chalked it up to the emotion invested in my visit. Besides, who wouldn’t get the heebie-jeebies while sitting in a cemetery? But a foreign tightness in my chest took hold. Breathing became harder, like my lungs had holes in them. Staying calm was impossible as anxiety filled me. Only it didn’t feel like panic anymore. It was different. My vocal chords refused to work. A pathetic squeak. So much coldness poured through my limbs while my heart took off like a racehorse in my chest. Next, tunnel vision arrived simultaneously when my body went limp. The cold ground did little to embrace my face as it struck the dirt with a heavy smack. So nauseated. So dizzy. So shaky. So much pain. Something wasn’t right. My mouth gaped open and shut, and I felt like a fish out of water.
Ralph shouted from across the cemetery as his blurry figure scurried to where I lay on the damp
earth. Everything looked hazy and I smiled. Letting go had never felt so good. It was the first sense of relief I’d experienced in 278 days, and my own day one was finally being repaired. The pain drained from me, exiting through my fingertips and toes. It made me feel weightless. A paradox. Because at the same time, it’d become harder to move my limbs and everything felt so, so cold and chokingly heavy.
“Blue! Blue! Can you hear me?” Ralph patted at my cheek, but I couldn’t feel his touch. “Blue!”
For a moment, I fought to focus on him, but releasing everything was peaceful. Almost heavenly. I could barely make out the words he spoke through his thick accent while he called 911. Something about blue lips and struggling to breathe. I didn’t care. My ability to comprehend what he said was dwindling. With a round of CPR compressions as he talked himself through the motions, the world brightened for a brief moment before it dimmed again. Ralph’s voice quieted into a dull echo as his demands for me to stay awake became more incoherent.
A final beat. And then the most beautiful, wonderful nothingness took hold. It was both comforting and consoling for one reason: I wasn’t afraid anymore. That moment was when I saw him. Patiently, he waited for me under the willow tree with an outstretched hand, the half-smile I couldn’t resist, and those caramel-colored eyes.
He would always be my addiction.
He would always be my sanctuary.
He would always be my protection.
Steele Falls was a small town in Washington State, flavorlessly sandwiched in a cranny between Hoquiam and Ocean Shores. It was nothing shy of bland. Some argued you’d miss the city if you blinked. If you asked me, I didn’t miss it at all. Not a damn bit.
Children grew up there, dreaming of ways to get out of the sleepy and dilapidated city. Adults longed to retire there. Either way, few stuck around the aged tourist trap for long. Hurry up and get out or hurry up and arrive to die.
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