“I promise.” I choked on my words. “You can let go, my love.” The tears ran down my face. “You don’t have to suffer anymore. I will always love you.”
Moments later she took her last breath. She was gone.
“Daddy?” Lyra looked up at me. “Is Mommy sleeping?”
I swallowed the burning sensation that had crawled up my throat. “Yes, princess.” I prayed to the God I no longer believed in to give me the strength to not lose all control. “Mommy is finally sleeping. She’s not in pain anymore.”
Lost.
Numb.
Helpless.
There was no preparing, no counseling available for the pain that saturated my soul. It would spend the rest of my life roaming the earth alone because its other half had left him behind. The only thing that kept me going was the little girl hugging me.
She was the reason I would continue to breathe.
86
WESTON
Depression.
The scent of flowers invaded the cold house. People moved around me as I sat on the couch staring at the black TV screen.
She was gone.
My world no longer made any sense.
My head screamed, my heart wept and the realization that I would never get to hold Emilia pressed heavy on my soul. The bottle of whiskey and the empty glass sat on the table. Today, I would constantly need to numb myself into further oblivion.
“Weston, honey.” My mom sat next to me. My mind replayed our life together. When we first met, falling in love our fights, our trips…
Wait.” I reached for her. “Can I have your name?”
She pulled the straw out of her mouth and brushed her vibrant red hair behind her ear. “Emmy. My mother gave me the nickname when I was a child. She named me Emilia, after her grandmother.” She shook her head quickly and darted toward the door.
“Alrighty then.”
I tugged on her hand. I needed to know everything about her. “Come on,” I brought her hand to my lips. “I’m bringing you home to meet my mother.”
“Is this how you charm all the girls?”
“Only you, babe.”
Her lips puckered. “Come on, Weston. I’ve seen you with at least four different girls.”
I pulled her closer to me, my hands resting on her lower back. Her gaze was glued to mine. “And yet you’re the only who has met my mother.”
“Why’s that?”
“You have the fewest numbers of dents.”
“Oh, really?”
“And you’re yellow gel.”
“What are you doing?” She looked up at me. My hands traced over her skin.
“I’m writing you a love letter.” My lips pressed to the tip of her nose.
“A love letter?”
“Yes. I’m writing you an invisible love letter.”
“It’s nothing.” She brushed the tears away from her eyes.
“Emilia, talk to me.”
With a shaky hand, she drew the letter I, a heart, and the letter U on my chest. It was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever received.
“I love you, too.”
“Weston.” My mother grabbed my shoulder.
“Hmm,” I grunted.
“Why don‘t you go get dressed? We have to leave soon.” She spoke in a soft calming voice. “Leslie is getting Lyra ready.”
Lyra.
She had lost her mom and all she had at that moment was the hollow body of her father. My poor sweet Lyra. Why had life been so cruel to us?
I pushed off the couch and walked down the hallway toward my room. The ghost of Emilia haunted me. I kept expecting her to pop up at any given moment. I hoped that I would wake up from this nightmare and everything would be nothing but a dream.
The hallway seemed longer than usual. I was heading toward the room she had said her final good–bye in. Our room. She had been gone for two days and I had been walking the house aimlessly, unable to sleep.
I stopped suddenly when I heard Leslie talking to Lyra. “When you get scared, you can hold my hand.”
“I want my mommy,” Lyra cried.
“I know, sweetie.“ Leslie‘s voice cracked. I pushed the door ajar and saw her kneeling on the floor holding Lyra in her arms.
“Hey.“ I tried to smile for Lyra. “Come here, princess.” Lyra ran toward me. Scooping her into my arms, I kissed the top of her head. “Remember when you had to go get shots and I held your hand so you could be brave?” She nodded and hugged my neck. “I need you to hold my hand today so Daddy can be brave. Do you think you can do that?”
“Yes.“ She hugged me tighter. “I miss Mommy.“
“I know. I miss her so much, Lyra.” I swallowed back, I made a promise to Emilia that I would be the best father for Lyra and I vowed to honor my promise. “But you want to know something?” She pulled away from my neck and looked into my eyes with her tear soaked ones. “Your mom will always live in here.“ I placed her hand on her chest. “Whenever you’re lonely, put your hand over your heart. And when you feel it beat, that’s your mom letting you know she is still right there with you.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, princess.” I grabbed her hand and placed it on my chest. “You feel that?” Lyra nodded. “That’s how I know your mom is still here with us.”
I looked over at Leslie, who was wiping the tears from her face. “Lyra, why don’t we go see what Granny is doing, okay?”
Placing Lyra on the floor, Leslie gripped my shoulder with one hand and touched her heart with the other. Emilia lived inside all of us. She had brought light into our lives and she would never be forgotten.
I hate the fucking smell of flowers. Their potent scent invades your senses and it constantly reminds you that you’ve lost someone. Why would people send you flowers? They’re beautiful and vibrant. They should be made for celebration only. The pigments of reds, purples, yellow, and green didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, it made me want to crumble each petal between my fingers.
My black suit hung off my body. I followed the army of people out of my house and inside the limo that would be bringing us to the church service and funeral. I carried Lyra into the church, her little head resting on my shoulder as people greeted us.
Jeremy walked up to me. His eyes were red and I knew, like myself, he had shed some tears. Shaking my hand, he didn’t say a word. There was no need to say anything. We had both lost someone we loved.
“Hey, sweet pea.” He rubbed his hand on Lyra’s back and she gave him a small smile. “I’ll see you both inside.” He turned and walked into the church.
I was walking on autopilot. I accepted condolences and told everyone that asked that we were okay.
But we weren’t.
We would never be the same now that she was gone.
Lyra and I sat in the front pew, my parents and Emilia’s aunt and uncle sat to our right. Once the pastor had finished speaking Axel stood and walked up to the podium.
“Good afternoon, I’m Axel Arrington.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t really know what most people say to eulogize someone because, if I’m being honest, I try to avoid these.” He scoffed and shook his head. “But Emilia was one of my best friends, more like my kid sister, and when she asked me to do her eulogy I couldn’t say no.” He paused and looked up at me. I nodded slowly for him to continue.
“Emilia Darcy Carter.” He choked and swallowed. “Excuse me. Emilia Darcy Carter was the most beautiful person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was beautiful both inside and out. Though I refused to believe that she would be here, she knew. She planned this day and if there is anything I can tell you about Emilia, it’s that she never left a rock unturned. She asked me not to stand here and mourn her death but to celebrate her life.
“Because of her, random strangers now look at each other as family. Because of who she was, we will all continue to be in each other’s lives. Emilia was, and will always be, an angel. An angel who left us too soon. I know that Go
d has a plan for all of us, but this plan is just not one I agree with.” He shook his head, tears trickled down his face. “This world was a better place because Emilia was in it.”
There was a hole, a hole where her remains would rest.
The grass had been freshly trimmed, the sun was high in the sky and we gathered around the casket saying our final good–byes before it was lowered into the ground.
One at a time, each person placed a white rose on her casket. Leslie had taken Lyra back to the car, but I stood there watching, unable to move. After each person placed a flower on her casket, they would walk over to me, gently tap me on the shoulder and apologize for my loss.
The casket began to lower and reality set in. It set in hard.
This was it.
Our final good–bye.
“No!” I cried. “No.” I shook my head. My body felt heavy and my knees buckled. “It should’ve been me. We had a deal.” I looked up at the sky. My knees slammed into the ground. “You weren’t supposed to take her!”
“Weston…”
Axel held me up as we watched Emilia be laid to rest.
87
WESTON
One week later.
I was a walking zombie.
I was dead inside.
I didn’t leave the house. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d showered. I stayed in my room and drowned my pain in liquor. My mother had moved in permanently. Leslie had taken a leave of absence from work and, between them both, they helped Lyra grieve her mother’s loss.
I, on the other hand, did nothing. I couldn’t even fathom to look at my own child.
Fucked up, I know.
But she looked so much like Emilia that it fucking killed me.
Gutted me.
I lay on the bed looking out into the ocean. The sun was out, so it had to be mid–morning or early afternoon. I couldn’t fucking tell. My head rested on the soft mattress, my eyes moved from the ocean to the closet that still held all of Emilia’s belongings. The room was still full of her things, even her scent. I sat there waiting for her to come back at any second. Waiting for her to walk in and tell me it was all a fucking nightmare.
She never came back.
She was gone.
And I was alone.
The door was pushed open, and I sat up. Inebriated, my body swayed. I saw Leslie march over to the bed. “Get up,” she barked, slapping my leg.
“Hmm,” I complained. I dropped back to the bed and closed my eyes. The alcohol in my system made the room spin.
“I’m not kidding, Weston. Get the fuck up.” Her voice was louder and laced with anger. “You need to shower, you stink, and I’m sick and tired of you lying in here all day. You’re a parent and you can’t pretend like you don’t have a responsibility.”
“Les…” I inhaled and looked up at her. “Get out.”
“No!” She crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyebrows were pressed together and the anger coursed through her eyes. “You can’t stay cooped up in here. Lyra needs her dad. You need to eat, and I’m tired of babying you.”
“Nobody’s asking you to take care of me.” I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow.
“Emilia did!” she shouted.
My head snapped towards her. “She did?”
“Yes!” She began to strip the bed. “I promised her that I wouldn’t let you get like this, like her father. I promised her that I wouldn’t let you do to Lyra what her father did to her. So I’m not kidding, Weston. Get. The. Fuck. Up.”
“Leave me alone, Leslie.” I hugged the pillow.
“You’re not the only who lost her.” She yanked the sheets from under me and tossed them in a hamper, then walked over to the window and opened the sliding door to let the fresh ocean breeze inside. “Lyra lost her mother, and I lost my best friend.” She turned and marched back towards me. “So I’m not asking you, I’m telling. Get up, Weston. Or I swear to God, I’m going to literally kick your ass. You didn’t die, she did, so start living.”
I scoffed and pushed myself up. Resting my head on my hands, I sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s not that easy, Leslie.”
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you have to try.” She rested her hand on my shoulder. “You have to try for Lyra because history has repeated itself. A little girl lost her mother too young. Don’t let her lose her dad, too.”
Two weeks after her death.
I sat out on the deck one late Saturday afternoon, my eyes slowly closing as sleep began to seep in. I had showered more frequently the week’s prior, but I had yet to leave the house. I walked around aimlessly most nights as sleep never came, but I was afraid to sleep, petrified of the nightmares that haunted my soul. I would drift off to sleep and they would invade my mind. They were always the same. Emilia’s last breath leaving her body. No matter how loud I screamed or how hard I tried to stop it, she would always die in my arms. I had lived through that once. I couldn’t relive it again in my dreams.
Jennifer was still working with us. Mostly Lyra. She stated that the insomnia was a normal process in the grieving stages. I didn’t care what stage I was going through. I didn’t care if I ever slept again. I didn’t care about anything. It was a sad reality but it was true. I was numb.
Most days I would stay out on the deck and catch a late afternoon nap while Lyra did homework with Leslie and my mother. I would stare out into the ocean, like Emilia had done so many times, and try to forget about life. I preferred being outside. I was beginning to hate this house but I couldn’t move out. I didn’t want to uproot Lyra from her home, and the house smelled like Emilia.
I loved that smell.
I missed burying my head in the nook of her neck and inhaling her scent.
My eyes were beginning to close when Lyra jumped between my legs. “Daddy.” She giggled. “Look what I did at school today.” She held up the construction paper. “It’s a list of all the books I want to read this summer.”
Fuck! Summer vacation was coming.
I didn’t know what switched inside of me, but I grabbed Lyra under her arms and placed her on the ground in front of me. “Seriously, Lyra, I was trying to take a nap. I’ll look at your school stuff later.” Lyra’s eyes filled with tears and she ran back inside.
My heart ached.
I sat back on the couch regretting what I had just done. She didn’t deserve this. She didn’t deserve an absentee father. I was supposed to be her protector.
My hands ran through my hair, and I tugged on the ends. I couldn’t believe that I had done that to her. Grunting, I looked up into the sky. “Can you hear me?” I asked the clear blue sky. I wanted to believe that Emilia was watching me; that somehow she could see me down here suffering, not knowing what to do. “Tell me what to do. Give me some kind of hope because, honestly, I'm lost here. I have no clue how to go on without you.”
I bowed my head and let the numbness due to the pain take over my body. Lying on the couch I closed my eyes. Sleep never came as I waited for Emilia to respond.
One month later.
Pointless Statement has canceled their tour due to a personal family matter. They apologize for the inconvenience and would appreciate privacy during this time.
Music died for me the day she took her last breath. I didn’t know if I would ever sing again. It was unfair to the guys, but the music was gone. There was no reason to make it anymore.
I couldn't listen to the radio because it reminded me of her. Instead, I would sit in our music room, the one that Emilia insisted we build. She had transformed our sunroom; my old vinyl records along with some of her fathers were hung on the wall. She had the contractor install sound proof walls and doors so you could blast the music without interrupting anyone else. A Music Hall turntable sat along the wall and a massive suede couch sat across from it. The records were aligned in alphabetical order in custom–made record cases Emilia had ordered. Before she passed away, she would sit in there for hours and listen to an entire album b
efore moving on to the next. That’s the thing with records; they were meant to be heard in their entirety. Her eyes would be closed, a large grin on her face as the music played. She looked so peaceful.
I would sit there after she died and stare at the wall, never having the courage to hit the play button. I didn’t want to know the last song she had listened too.
It’s funny how things work.
Emilia knew me better than I knew myself. She wouldn’t let me walk away. She found a way, even after she was gone, to remind me why I loved music so much.
One night as I sat in my room. Like most days I would sit in there until the sun came up. Sleeping through the night was impossible. That night though, I caught a glimpse of my guitar. It had been sitting in the corner for months. I remembered when I placed it there. I’d come home from the studio and found Emilia throwing up in the bathroom. I remembered that day like it was yesterday, her heaving and coughing had me rushing to her side. I dropped my case to the ground and ran to her. Her little body was hunched over the toilet as she gasped for air, the IP chemo making her violently sick.
That was the last day I’d touched my guitar.
It hadn’t moved since.
As I stared at it now, a memory flashed in my head. It was a memory from when Emilia and I first started dating. One little memory that caused so much pain.
I walked into my bedroom and was greeted by the sight of her sitting on my bed, my oversized T–shirt draped over her body. Her hair was damp from her shower, and wild curls spiraled down her chest. My guitar sat between her legs, her hand gripping the neck and the other strumming the cords. She looked so hot in my clothes while holding my guitar.
I had gone to the kitchen to grab a drink and when I returned she had a mischievous look on her face. Her lips were puckered and her eyebrows were high on her head.
“Do you play?” I walked towards her.
“I never really wanted to learn. My father started to teach me, but when everything happened with my mom, we pushed it aside.” She bit her lower lip in the most seductive way, her tongue sliding across her upper lip.
Love Letter Duet: The Encore Edition Page 49