by Keelan Storm
30
A Father’s Gift
There was movement downstairs. Apparently, her family hadn’t left for the Thanos’ yet. They really should give up hope on her going. She had absolutely zero desire to celebrate the New Year or her birthday for that matter. It wouldn’t change anything. That piece of her heart would still be gone. Well, not gone, but lifeless. She wasn’t sure if it still even beat anymore. It felt more like dead weight just lying there in her chest.
She wouldn’t hold it against anyone else who wanted to celebrate the New Year, though. They hadn’t suffered her loss. They shouldn’t stop living just because her world had come to a crude, unexpected standstill.
All she wanted to do was lay here in her bed and stare at the wall. The bare monotony of it suited her just fine. It matched the numb feeling that stemmed from the dead weight in her chest, a numbness that consumed her almost completely.
Every now and then, often when she least expected it, the living fraction of her heart would send sharp, momentary stabs of grief through her chest so strong that she sometimes wondered how they didn’t tear the only beating part of the necessary organ into shreds.
She wished it would. The numbness was bearable. The pain wasn’t.
There were footsteps on the stairs now. She wondered who it would be this time. Her mother, Annie, and Tyler had all tried to talk her out of bed several times since she’d come home from the hospital a few days ago. Jet and Emma also made attempts when they would come over. Even Leo stopped by once to give it a try.
The only person who hadn’t made the effort was Tucker. The last time she had seen or heard from him was when he helped her up to her bedroom. She’d lain down. He’d kissed her head, said “I love you,” and left.
His absence didn’t surprise her really. She had been anticipating it. He had come to see her every day she was in the hospital, but he was distant, never able to look into her eyes anymore, as though he were there in body, not in spirit.
She didn’t blame him. She understood why. She’d want to get away from herself too if she could, anything to get away from the torturous guilt that constantly lingered on the outskirts of her mind, threatening to break through into her every thought.
It still hurt, though. Tucker’s detachment seemed to be the one thing that could penetrate the numbness, making it more of a hollow ache when she allowed herself to think about him.
She quickly shoved those memories aside when she felt the ache draw near. She really couldn’t handle it right now. She just wanted the numbness. That was safe to feel. Or not feel, depending on how you looked at it.
She focused on the dull, yellow wall in front of her. Funny, the color had seemed so much warmer when she and Annie had picked it out.
A light tap sounded on her cracked bedroom door.
“Isabel?”
Her mother. She didn’t answer. She never really talked anymore. Maybe her mom would think she was asleep and leave without the wasted effort.
Nope.
Her mother’s footsteps were now crossing the room.
Bridgette sat on the edge of her daughter’s bed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Everybody would be so excited to see you.”
“Except Tucker,” Isabel responded in her head. She then began to wonder if he was even going tonight. She doubted he would feel up for the party, but would he go for appearance's sake like her mother wanted her to do? Was he even able to do that?
It hit her then that she didn’t have a clue as to how Tucker was doing. If he was feeling any better than she was. She hoped so. He didn’t deserve the pain her mistake was putting them through.
The ache thudded in her chest, and she flinched. Bridgette sighed.
“I know it hurts, baby, but it’s not going to get any better by just lying here all alone.”
Isabel didn’t respond. Bridgette made one more attempt.
“You might feel better. You never know unless you try. You could always come back home if you need to.”
She did too know. The numbness was too great for any amount of social interaction to help. Besides, she wouldn’t subject her family and friends to her depression during their celebration.
Her mother was still waiting. Isabel closed her eyes, signaling the end of her listening. She thought her mother would leave, but instead, she ran her fingers through her hair again and said something her daughter didn’t expect.
“Do you remember how bad it hurt when your daddy passed?”
Isabel winced as one of those unexpected stabs tore at her chest.
“Well,” her mother continued, “As painful as that was, for all of us, it’s slowly become bearable. It doesn’t hurt the way it did last year. I imagine that’s what will happen with this, too, if you let it.”
A tear escaped Isabel’s eye. She quickly wiped it away with her fingertips.
Bridgette sighed and leaned over to give her daughter a kiss on the head. Before she stood, she murmured, “You’re my baby, and I’d hate to lose you. A parent should never have to know what that would feel like, and I’m so sorry you have to.”
Her mother left then, and Isabel laid there with silent tears trickling down her cheeks. At first, the tears were part of the ache, but slowly the numbness crept back in, and she fell asleep.
She woke later with a splitting headache. She did her best to ignore it at first, not wanting to move, but she soon gave in to the fact that she needed medicine.
She rolled out of bed and walked stiffly over to the bathroom, glad that her doctor had put her in a walking cast before she left the hospital. She didn’t think she’d be too successful using crutches with the cast on her arm.
The medicine cabinet was surprisingly empty. Did they clear it out before she got home, worried that she might be suicidal or something?
Please. She wasn’t that pathetic.
She decided to go check the other bathrooms. Surely, there must be some Tylenol in one of them. The bathroom connecting the other two rooms upstairs didn’t have any. Neither did the half bath at the bottom of the stairs. That just left the one more.
She slipped inside her mother’s room and wasn’t sure why she was trying to be so inconspicuous about it. The clock on the nightstand told her it was only ten-thirty. It would be at least another two hours before anyone came home, and her mother wasn’t cynical about her children going in her room anyway.
Isabel just didn’t like to without permission, but right now, she was desperate. Her head was throbbing almost as badly as it had when she’d first woken up in the hospital. Besides, it wasn’t like she’d told them to take the medicine out of all the other bathrooms.
She had to jimmy the lock on the bathroom door but found what she needed, not even having to open the cabinet. There were three bottles sitting right there on the counter. She sifted a few tablets into the palm of her hand and popped them into her mouth, swallowing them without water.
She grabbed one of the bottles on her way out of the bathroom, not wanting to have to walk back downstairs if she needed another dose later, and was almost out of the bedroom when something on the dresser caught her eye. Intrigued, she walked over for a closer look.
Lying on the center of her mother’s dresser were two envelopes, each with a colorful bow stuck to the corner. One was addressed to Isabel, the other to Annie. They were obviously meant as gifts. Her and Annie’s birthday was tomorrow, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was the handwriting on the envelopes that was causing her to stare.
She was hesitant as she picked up the one addressed to her. In actuality, it was light, but it felt heavy. Like it contained something crucial. “And it should,” she told herself. She was holding a gift from her father in her hand, something that she never thought would ever happen again.
Suddenly, her body itched with curiosity. She didn’t want to wait for her birthday to see what the envelope held. She wanted to kno
w now, needed to see what her father decided to leave for her before he had to go.
Isabel hurried from the room, desperate to make it up to her own bedroom so she could unearth the mystery clutched tightly between her fingers. She had to slow her pace on the stairs, thanks to the cumbersome boot on her foot, but sped up once she reached the upper landing. She flung the door closed behind her, wanting to ensure privacy even though no one else was home, and went to sit on the edge of the purple print bed. She dropped the now unimportant bottle of pills at her side, not even noticing when they rolled off the edge of the bed to the floor.
Her fingers shook with anticipation as they broke the seal and pulled out the folded papers. Opening them, she realized she was holding a letter. A letter her father had written specifically for her. Her eyes prickled as she began to read.
Happy Birthday, my sweet Isabel,
How does it feel to be eighteen? Do you feel grown up? Even if you’re not sure, you’ve always been good at finding that balance between youth and maturity, something that was always harder for your mom to understand, and your sister I suspect as well. Humor them a bit when they fight you on it. It’s there. Trust it.
You might like to know that we have that in common. When I was in high school, your grandma used to love to tell me I was too mature for my own good. She nearly had a fit when I ran off and married your mother barely a year after graduation, but I was ready. When I met her that spring break, I knew, and nothing would have stopped me from making her mine. Your sister’s persistence comes from me, after all.
There was school, yes, but I’d been working on my crafting skills with your grandpa for years. And your mother? It took a bit of convincing. She was a bit older, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she’s a lot like your sister…full of enthusiasm and always raring to go. As soon as she realized we were the real deal, there was no stopping us.
You’ve got her drive, you know. The first time I saw you dance, baby girl, I knew you were something. I hope you never lose that part of yourself. Hold onto that passion. Keep what centers you close. Our little family was that for me.
I wonder if that special guy has stolen your heart yet, or perhaps I should say if you’ve stolen his. If not, don’t worry; be patient; the right guy is there. If he has, I hope he takes care of it, that he knows just how special it is, how lucky he is that you chose him. I’m waiting on the other side to give him a piece of my mind if he doesn’t. Although, I’m sure Annie will take care of it long before I have the chance.
I wish I were there with you today to see the lovely young woman I know you’ve become, but I’ll always be there in your heart. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, but it’s how it’s supposed to happen. The parent goes before the child. Even if, in our case, it happened too soon.
But don’t think I didn’t think ahead, being mature beyond my years and all that. Your mother and I were smart. We had plenty of life insurance for ourselves, not wanting to leave the other one stranded if something ever did happen. I can leave comfortably knowing that she has enough money to get by without me.
What your mother doesn’t know is that I went one step further. I wanted to make sure that our children had more than enough for what they would need as well.
Each of you has an account from a term life insurance policy I set up that you’ll only now be able to gain access to at eighteen. Whether or not that is on your birthday, I have left up to your grandpa. He will judge if you are ready for it, but don’t worry. The latest you will receive it is your graduation from high school, conditional upon some kind of plans for school or a career.
Beyond that, the money is yours to use as you see best. Whether you choose to use it for college, a house, or something else you may need, it doesn’t matter. All I ask is that you use it wisely. We can still worry up here in heaven, you know.
I’m always watching out for you. I’m so proud of you. I love you. I miss you.
Love,
Daddy
P.S. Don’t forget to dance.
By the time Isabel was finished reading the letter, tears were flooding her eyes. She was so sick of crying. She’d cried more in the past six months than she had since her father had gone. But she couldn’t help it.
The irony her father’s letter contained was sickening and infuriating. The numbness she had become dependent on evaded her entirely now. It should have been the best thing she had ever read in her life, and a month ago, it would have been. But now, it felt as though what her father had written out of love was being thrown into her face like a cruel joke.
This letter was meant to make everything okay, but it didn’t help one single, damn thing that had gone wrong. Her world was in shreds, and it felt completely irreparable.
Restlessness overcame her then, and she couldn’t shake it away. She didn’t want to be here anymore. Not on this bed, not in this room, not in this house, not anywhere near here.
She jumped up from the bed, ignoring the rush of pain it sent through her head, and grabbed the first right-footed shoe she could find, shoving it on her foot in haste.
She reached for her keys, and the bulky boot smacked into the intricately carved dresser, leaving a scratch in the varnish. Isabel cursed as the pain shot up through her leg.
She glared at the dresser. Its very presence at that moment was infuriating. Why had she held the stupid thing so dear to her heart? It was just a vain representation of her father. Giving it such significance before was ridiculous. Inanimate objects didn’t compare to the real thing.
This painful realization sent a fury through her so immense she didn’t recognize herself. She kicked the dresser hard, again and again, relishing the agony in her leg. When she was satisfied there were enough damages to the base of the furniture, she grabbed onto the drawers one by one, yanking them from their place as her casted arm screamed in protest. Ignoring it, she flung them hard into the dull yellow she had stared at for days, creating several gaping holes in the wall.
She expected this exercise to extinguish the raging energy that now coursed through her veins, but it only fueled it more. She tried to calm herself and rubbed a hand across her burning, still bruised ribs as she worked to steady her breathing.
Something caught on the smooth silk of her turquoise, spaghetti strap pajama top. Looking down, she saw the ring Tucker had placed on her finger just barely under a month ago. She scowled and yanked the diamond-covered band from her finger, tossing it into the pile of dresser drawers on the floor. That inanimate object was even worse.
Tucker didn’t want her now. It didn’t matter that he’d once said nothing would ever change him wanting to be with her because the fact was that his retraction was completely, excruciatingly, and devastatingly deserved.
All infuriating objects now cast aside, the restlessness from before resurfaced. Isabel grabbed her keys, bolted from the room, and ran dangerously fast down the stairs as she fled for her decrepit truck, not even slowing to shut the front door behind her.
The cab shook violently beneath her as it groaned to life. She threw it into reverse, backing quickly from the driveway, and sped off down the street as fast as the ancient, blue Ford would allow, not caring where she was going, as long as it was away.
* * *
“It’s almost time!” Victoria shouted from the living room where she and Tabitha had been watching the televised countdown on the TV. “Get ready!”
Annie watched as Jenna hurried over to Chuck, and Stefano pulled Helen close. She was about to look around for Jet when she felt a hand close around her wrist and pull her swiftly away to the dim, deserted hall.
Jet spun her around. She leaned back against the wall, his body leaning in over hers. His eyes danced with excitement, and she couldn’t help but grin back.
They could hear the music that played in the background and their siblings and parents start the count down. “Ten. Nine.” They just stared at each other, ocean blue eyes with bright green, both full
of love and anticipation.
“One! Happy New Year!” all of the children finished while their parents kissed, Tyler squirming when Bridgette snuck up for a kiss on the cheek. Jet closed the gap, taking Annie’s lips with his. She returned his kiss generously, not holding back in the semi-private setting, and pouted when he broke away.
“Happy New Year,” he told her with laughter in his eyes.
“Happy New Year,” she replied, allowing a smile to play at her lips.
“Why the disappointment?”
“It was a good kiss. You stopped.”
“I had to. If I didn’t, I couldn’t say happy birthday.”
She grinned, and he kissed her again, this time not breaking it until they heard his father clear his throat from a few feet away.
Jet stepped back and looked at his dad. “Sorry,” but he didn’t really mean it. There was no way in hell he’d regret that kiss.
Stefano gave the two a look that said he understood. “Not quite so heavy in front of the younger kids, okay?”
“Got it,” Jet grinned.
“Sorry, Stefano,” Annie said quietly, a little embarrassed at being caught.
“Happy birthday, Annie,” he replied.
“Thanks.”
“You’d better come back out.” It was all he said before he walked off, but she understood what he meant. The moms were anxious to wish her the same.
She braced herself for the exclamations as she and Jet followed Stefano back out to the living room, and her mother rushed up as soon as she was in sight. “Happy birthday, baby!”
Helen came up next and gave her a big hug. “Eighteen already! How did it happen?”
Annie waited while everyone took their turns and thought about how awkward it felt not to be sharing this with Izzy. Her thoughts had started drifting back to her sister when Chuck spoke up.