Last Heartbreak

by H. M. Ward

  “God, Mindy, how fucked up are you? I was having nightmares, not wet dreams! How could you not tell the difference?” My eyes rest, finally, on the tiny bags of white powder. “Of course, you couldn’t tell—you were too fucking high. Mindy you have a problem. You need to get help.”

  “Then you started seeing Graham, and it was different. You really love him don’t you?” Her voice sounds broken. She rubs her nose again, hands twitching to grab the cocaine still in plain view on the table.

  “I thought I did, but he’s just like the others—a lying bastard. It shouldn’t prevent him from caring for his little girl, though.” I cradle my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I’ve got to go.”

  I stand to slide out of the booth and Mindy simultaneously begins shoveling things into her purse—powder-filled bags first. I put a hand over hers, pausing her efforts.

  “Mindy, you need help,” I say again gently. “Please, call this number and let them give you resources for getting clean—before you ruin more lives than your own.” I pick up the teal-colored pen and pop the cap again, scribbling the number for the Midtown Crisis Call Center.

  “Kienna, about Lori, I—“

  “Nope, Mindy, that’s over. And so are we.” I squeeze her hand and leave the bar, not bothering to cover my bruised face on my way to the elevator, and not looking back.

  CHAPTER 30

  How can a whole month pass so quickly, when each single day seems to take forever? I'm alone in a conference room, setting everything up for a two o'clock meeting, making sure everyone has handouts, pens, notepads, clean glasses, and full pitchers of ice-cold water. The silence in the room is too loud. My head pounds constantly, and my eyes are burning. No amount of cold compresses can control the puffiness.

  I cry without ceasing.

  It's the only thing that feels real right now. It happens a lot. Sometimes for no reason whatsoever, but most of the time it's because I miss him and hate myself for it. Sometimes I cry in bed at night when it's impossible to sleep. Sometimes I cry curled up naked in a ball in the middle of the bathroom floor.

  In public, I smile. Stephen Dougherty is officially the youngest elected mayor in the history of New York City. It's a happy time, so I smile. I go into work every day. Work is easy. I simply look away. I purposefully don't pay any attention to the secret dealings my father has with Stephen, who grants him construction permits for new hotels outside of city laws. I know what my role is, now. This is why he wanted me here. As my father would say, everyone has a price. Even the mayor. I'm tired of fighting for the good guy. He doesn't exist, and I have no more fight left in me.

  I was stupid, pretending to be someone I'm not. I keep Mr. Sin's severed head in one of my potted plants, a constant reminder to never trust again.

  Rumors about my supposed anorexia are running wild. I'm not anorexic. I eat. Sometimes. When was the last time I ate? Was it yesterday or the day before? Doesn't matter. Room service is delivered every morning even though I don't order it, even though I don't eat it. The hotel staff is all scared of me. They should be. The hotel fired Graham, and they could be too if they show any display of kindness toward me. I don't deserve kindness.

  I try not to think about him, but it's hard. Every ray of sunlight reminds me of him, so I close the blinds to block him out. A foolish part of me wants to believe he truly is an honorable man, but then I remember his lie. I can't stop thinking about Lori, but I try to remember that door is closed.

  Speaking of doors, the one to the conference room finally opens. It's show time. I stand straight and smile, greeting everyone as they come in. Until I see a face I never thought I'd see again.

  "Kia? Is that you?"

  My heart freezes. No one calls me that anymore. "Lilah? What are you doing here?"

  She nervously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly as uncomfortable seeing me as I am seeing her. "I'm here for the presentation. To renegotiate the donation from the City for EPYC?"

  "Oh, right! I didn't realize. When I saw the name, I didn't think to make it into an acronym. Are you on the Elise Parker Youth Center Committee? That's great! I'm sure everything will go well. It's an excellent program with an awesome staff providing a much-needed service to the community." Frick! I've been feeling like a damn robot for so long, seeing Lilah and talking about EPYC brings back both happy and sad feelings. I want to be numb again. I don't want to feel. "Well, I'll let you get started with your meeting. It was good to see you again. Good luck in there!"

  She eyes me curiously, so I leave before she gets a chance to say anything. My heart is already pounding too hard, my lip is quivering, and my chest is convulsing, the first sign another wave of tears is on its way. I don't want to do this here. The light in the conference room dims, and a slide show gets started. I walk over to my desk and grab a tissue, soaking up the moisture as it builds at the corner of my eyes. All is calm for a few minutes, and then the conference room erupts in protests.

  The other representative with Lilah, an older administrative looking woman, speaks up. "Mayor Dougherty, I understand your concern, but Elise was a remarkable woman. If you read our application outline, you'll see the list of struggles she endured to open up our youth center. She fought to ensure families with low incomes had access to affordable, responsible childcare. She was barely a child herself when she opened our facility, and she beat the odds. I don't understand how you can mistake her for a negative role model."

  "Ms. Leone," Stephen begins in a robotically polite voice, "I admire your conviction, but you can hardly ask me to believe a high school dropout and runaway, pregnant at the age of sixteen is a positive role model for our youth. Especially considering she orphaned her two children by taking her life. I can't justify spending our taxpayer's money condoning such irresponsible, selfish, and cowardly acts. What kind of message would that send? Your mission is admirable. If you disassociate yourself from Ms. Parker, the City may be willing to contribute. If I remember correctly, your facility almost closed once already because she repulsed people. Do yourself a favor, Ms. Leone. Make a new start with a new image."

  The meeting continues with heated discussions about the right and wrong doings of Elise Parker. Curious, I pick up my copy of the meeting's handouts and sift through the information. Among spreadsheets detailing operational costs, projected costs, donations, and registration fees, there's also an information sheet with the history of the center, mostly centered on its founder.

  Elise Parker was a teenage runaway from an abusive family. I wonder, briefly, what my life would have been like if I'd escaped my father's clutches in my teens. Every time his hand collided with my face, I'd fantasize about leaving, but I wasn't brave enough to do it. Elise was.

  My fingers scan the page, wanting to know more about this young woman and what happened to her, what could have happened to me if I'd chosen a different path. She lived on the street for a couple of months until she got pregnant, then moved into a series of women's shelters. As a single, undereducated parent, she was unable to find a job and also afford childcare. That's when she founded the facility that would become the EPYC, while her son, Graham, was still a baby.

  The documents fall to the desk as I make the connection between the names. This is the story of Graham's mother. I snatch the paper back up, scanning the information about the success and growing expansion of the center, her marriage to the love of her life, and the eventual birth of their daughter, Lorianne, sixteen years after the birth of her son.

  My knees bounce up and down nervously, as my eyes scan the pages for more. Graham is Lori's older brother, not her father. It's getting too hot in here. I need air. I pick up my things, including my handouts, and run out the door. Outside, I lean against the brick wall and continue reading.

  One year after Lori was born, Elise killed herself, unable to overcome a severe case of postpartum depression. Her husband cared for the two children, working full-time as a hotel janitor until he succumbed to a heart att
ack. Graham was eighteen, on his way to college. Lori was two.

  I press my fingers to my mouth. I can only imagine the pain they suffered. They always seem so happy.

  The door next to me opens as Lilah and Ms. Leone step out, flustered and frustrated.

  "Ass." Ms. Leone says as the door clicks shut.

  I try to look composed and give them my best sympathetic look. "I gather things didn't go well?"

  Ms. Leone shuts her eyes tight and leans back against the door. "They single-handedly closed us down by refusing to maintain the City's donation. Why? Because Elise suffered from an illness they don't understand. Oh, Lilah. How will I explain this to Graham? This will crush him. We've fought so hard to keep the place open, and we're no better off than when Elise first left us. What about the parents and the kids? We'll have to hike our prices. How will they afford it?"

  "We made it through then, and we'll make it through now. We'll work on plan B together. We don't need the City. We'll find people sympathetic to our cause. Please, don't strip away Elise's name." Lilah's sweet voice sounds pleading.

  Ms. Leone takes Lilah's hand in hers and pats it gently. "We'll close down completely before we let those ignorant naysayers kill her memory. You're right, Lilah. We'll find another solution. I'll get on the phone immediately. Maybe Graham has some insight on this. Maybe he can get us in contact with his suicide prevention support groups. With a joint effort, we can put a positive spin on this nightmare. I guess we've got a big week ahead of us. Are you coming back with me to the center or are you headed home?"

  I feel Lilah's gaze on me, but I ignore it. "I'll go back to the center, but there's something I need to do first. I'll meet you there."

  "Of course, Lilah, take your time. Thank you for coming with me today." Ms. Leone walks away, but Lilah lingers.

  I don't know why I'm still standing here, but I can't seem to force my legs to move. My fingers flip the corners of the document nervously. Lilah stays silent, watching her boss walk away. Once Ms. Leone is out of earshot, she turns to me. "He looks like hell, too, if you're wondering. He doesn't smile anymore, and I've never known him not to smile, other than when his mother passed away. A part of me wants to hate you, Kienna. But that would make me like one of them." She lifts her chin toward the mayor's office window. "I know you must think that it's none of my business—"

  I push myself off the wall, and I'm in her face. "You're right, Lilah. It's none of your business. But if you must know, he lied to me. I'm sorry for his loss. I am." I lift the documents up to eye level. "No child should ever go through what he and Lori did, but that doesn't give him a free pass to toy with people as he did with me. He deceived me in an unforgivable way."

  Sweet Lilah, with the silky blond hair and preppy clothing, narrows her eyes and gives me such a fierce expression part of me yearns to step back. "I can imagine. In fact, I know more about it than what you'd think. I know he lied to you. He told me, although I had no idea it was you at the time. He also mentioned he tried to explain, but you wouldn't let him."

  I clench my jaw tight. I don't want to have this conversation, but I can't walk away. As long as I'm talking to her, a part of me is with him.

  "I've known Graham my whole life. We were babies together at EPYC when his mother first opened it. He's the kindest, smartest, most selfless man I've ever known. Did you know he gave up a scholarship at MIT to care for his baby sister? So she wouldn't end up in Foster Care, separated from family? He could have been a brilliant engineer instead of a hotel waiter. He gave up his entire life for that little girl. He let you in because he trusted you—he loves you—and you judged him without a trial, just like those assholes did with his mother. Yes, he lied to you, but you never bothered asking the right questions. You're not the only one hurting, Kienna. Sometimes, the big picture is too big to see from up close."

  My stomach churns. Her words hit me hard. Too many times I've been the victim of people's harsh judgments. That's how I lost Alyson. She never let me explain. I look up at the building where I work every day. My voice is small, shaky. "How can I know for sure he isn't using me?"

  Her tone is softer, more like the kind caregiver I've seen in the park. "You can't. None of us can. You can only trust." She nods to the papers in my hands. "Go home. Do your research. Who knows? Maybe by reading more about Elise, you'll see why he kept certain things from you. Maybe you'll even learn a lesson or two. I'm not a mean person, Kienna, and I don't say these things to hurt you. I simply can't watch Graham bury another loved one—and, right now, that's where you're headed. Don't make the same mistake Elise made. You can't do this alone. Get some real help." She turns her back to me and runs to catch up to Ms. Leone.

  My life has changed so much since I lost Graham. I replay our last discussion over and over in my mind. He wanted to explain. He wanted to tell me. Why didn't I let him? We've always been able to solve our problems by talking about it, and I did the opposite. I shut him out. I pulled an Alyson on him. All because I was too sick to realize what was going on. I grab the papers tighter in my hands and push my feet off the concrete, willing my legs to move. I have to fix this.

  CHAPTER 31

  "Aaaand we're rolling. I can't believe you're making me do this, Lori. For anybody watching out there, this is my sister's idea, NOT mine. You realize I'll never have another girlfriend after this, don't you, Lori? Oh, whatever. Okay, here we go. Wait! Lori! Where did you go? Get back over here! I'm not doing this without you. Stand over there and wait for your cue. Hi, Mom! Lori wanted to put on a little show for you on your birthday. I hope you like it because this is embarrassing. Ready Lori?"

  "Weady, Gwaham!"

  "Hit it, baby girl!"

  Pop music plays off-screen, and three-year-old Lori pops onto the screen wearing neon pink tights, a clashing orange superhero t-shirt, and a skirt made of what looks like dishtowels pinned around her waist with laundry pins. Her two curly pigtails bounce up and down with every bouncy step, while lanky nineteen-year-old Graham sways from side to side, snapping his fingers to the beat. The backup singer starts to sing, and Graham silently lip syncs along. When the lead singer takes over, so does Lori, singing loudly and off-key, the words slurred by toddler speech.

  I tap my phone, pausing the video. The paused image on the huge TV screen shows Graham looking down at his little sister with a huge grin while she appears to wail out the lyrics passionately, her hands over her chest, over her heart. Even at the age of three, she was melodramatic.

  I stare at the screen in front of me. The best part is coming up. It's the part where Graham picks Lori up, spinning her around in the air as she giggles, then setting her down only for her to fall to the ground on her tiny bum, too dizzy to stand. It's at one minute and thirty-three seconds in. This video is my favorite.

  After my talk with Lilah, I came home and did some research on the Internet. I needed to confirm what she'd said. Everything was there. Articles about how Elise Parker founded the center, about her suicide, about the horrible way society persecuted her after her death. There were a couple of interviews with Graham, who defended his mother with all the love and conviction a son could show his mother, never once blaming her for his loss and his sacrifices. I also stumbled upon a series of vlogs Graham and Lori created. They start when Lori is two, just after her dad's death. The videos from that first year are heartbreaking. Mostly sad, tear-filled messages. This is the first happy one. In one of the early videos, Graham explains to Lori that Heaven has WIFI—which means that her dad and their mom can receive their messages. I've been glued to my TV screen for days.

  I've come up with a plan. I don't know if it'll succeed, but I have to try. In between work shifts, I've attended meetings with bankers, financial planners, accountants, lawyers and a psychiatrist.

  Lilah was right. I was in desperate need of a mental reboot. My therapist suggested I start by cleaning out the toxic waste in my life. I already cut ties with Mindy. Next on the list are my parents and my job, but those will tak
e strategic planning and timing. Until I'm prepared for that phase, I'm skipping ahead to the next one— confronting my past and forgiving myself.

  CHAPTER 32

  My trembling fingers brush across the engraved letters on her tombstone. I haven't been here since her funeral. I was too scared to come back—scared my guilt would conjure her ghost to haunt me. If I had only known staying away would be more damaging, I would never have abandoned her here, all alone.

  I lean my back against the stone and let myself slide down to sit on the cold ground below. I rest my head against the hard surface and look up to the sky, sighing.

  "Hey, Aly, it's me. I'm sorry I haven't come to visit you. I miss you something crazy, but I didn't think you wanted to see me after what I did. That's why I wanted to talk to you. So much has happened since you left and I don't want you to hate me."

  I hug my knees closer to my chest and hold on tightly.

  "I'm in love, Aly, and I don't deserve it. I don't deserve him. He's such a good man, and he makes me smile and laugh. Not that it matters. I was a bitch to him, and I threw him away."

  I let out a sarcastic laugh. Mixed with the tears, I sound like a croaking frog. Sadness becomes anger as I yell in the cold, "I don't know if I'm strong enough to do what I have to do. I'm scared shitless, and you're not here! You were always here to help me before. Dammit, Aly! You and I were a team, and I feel lost without you."

  Blinding anger and frustration rip through me. Anger at Alyson for leaving without letting me explain, anger at life's cruelty for taking her away from me, anger at myself for my past actions, anger at not being able to go back and change any of the actions I regret. I cry for what seems like hours, holding my legs tightly to my chest, trying to hold on.