Random Acts

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Random Acts Page 7

by Jennifer Hebbard


  Parker's head was starting to pound. She thought she’d done enough thinking for today and got up with the intention of finding Dylan and seeing if she was interested in watching a mindless movie that night. She felt good, or at least, okay, she thought. She saw Dylan stumble through the front door, her hair and coat covered in snow.

  “Whew! It's really coming down out there!” Dylan exclaimed shaking her head like a wet dog.

  “I see that,” Parker replied laughing and Dylan's antics.

  “Yeah I didn't really think we would get the massive storm they were calling for. It was just 60 degrees 2 weeks ago! Here, I brought in the mail.” Dylan handed Parker a stack of slightly damp envelopes and proceeded to take off her coat and boots.

  Parker took the mail and started to flip through it. “I thought it might be a good night to light a fire and watch a—” She stopped in mid-sentence.

  Dylan didn't notice right away but soon the silence made her look up “Watch what? Parker? Are you okay? What is it?” Dylan became alarmed when she saw Parker's pallor had turned the color of ash. Parker started to fall to her knees and Dylan leapt into action, slightly tripping over her snowy boots. She reached Parker's side just in time to catch her fall and helped her to the sofa where they sat down.

  “I can't. I can't. No.” Parker repeated the mantra.

  Dylan was lost. “Can't what, Parker? What's happening here? You're scaring me.”

  Parker looked over at Dylan as if for the first time realizing that someone else was there. She silently handed Dylan the letter she had clutched white knuckled in her hand.

  Dylan looked at Parker perplexed and took the letter.

  “Just read it,” Parker said in a near whisper and stared out into nothing.

  Dylan stared at Parker for a few more moments before looking at the paper in her hand. She noticed the return address was the Colorado Department of Corrections and got a sick feeling in her stomach. She didn't want to read whatever was in the letter. She wanted to go back 10 minutes before the letter arrived to when Parker looked happy to see her and everything was okay. She read the first line of the letter and felt sick:

  This is to inform Parker Bennett, as the next of kin to a victim of a violent crime, one Grace Bennett, that the convicted prisoner, one Carl Hogan is due to have a parole hearing in two-weeks time. If you would like to speak at said hearing please contact us or the victim's advocacy group at…'

  Dylan closed her eyes and folded the paper back up. She didn't need to read anymore. She didn't want to. She looked at Parker who sat in an almost catatonic state beside her. She wanted to reach out, to comfort her but she didn't know if that was the best thing right then. “Parker, I—I don't know what to say. What to do. I'm so sorry.”

  Parker turned her head slowly and looked at Dylan. Her eyes had a glassy appearance to them, and Dylan could tell that she was barely holding herself together. “There's nothing. Nothing to say, nothing to do.”

  Dylan thought Parker's voice was eerily calm. Too calm. She worried about the fragility of her mind at that instant.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Parker suddenly stood, startling Dylan. “I need to go. I just need to be alone right now.” Without a backward glance, Parker left Dylan sitting alone on the couch contemplating what she should do next. Dylan stared after her, not attempting to follow. She knew that Parker needed time to process this on her own. Suddenly, Dylan felt angry. She felt the rage building up from her core and threatening to bubble over and outward. Why did this have to happen? Why now? Five years? He gets a parole hearing after a measly five years after killing two people in cold blood? Things seemed to be going so well and Parker had seemed more relaxed, more open recently. She was really making progress, and everyone could see it. And, now? If this didn't send Parker spiraling back to the worst tragedy in her life, nothing would. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair and that made Dylan so incredibly angry that she didn't know what to do with it all. She looked out the front window and watched the snow falling outside. It looked so soft and white and Dylan wondered how something that was so pure could even exist in this horrible, violent world. Everything looked so untouched under the snowy sky.

  Dylan knew that the overly white snow covered up all the ugliness that lie beneath. The contradiction of it all was not lost on Dylan as she continued to stare out the window. She looked at the crumpled letter that still sat on the couch cushion next to her. Her first instinct was to throw it right in the trash and pretend that it had never arrived at all, but she knew she couldn't do that. Pandora's Box had already been opened and she only prayed that not all hope would be lost for Parker, or herself. She picked up the letter and tried to iron out the wrinkles with her hand. She placed it back in its envelope and stood and placed it on the coffee table. It was up to Parker what she wanted to do. Dylan o hoped that Parker didn't shut her out completely and would allow her to help Parker through this. Parker couldn't go through this alone, not again. Dylan had never felt so helpless in her entire life. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt in that moment that she had fallen hopelessly in love with Parker Bennett and that scared her more than anything else in her life ever had.

  Parker sat on the edge of her bed shaking. The tremors had started from her toes and worked their way up her entire body. Her skin almost felt like it was separating from her body. Her mind was strangely blank, yet her heart hammered so hard and fast in her chest that she wondered if she was about to have a heart attack. Her body’s autonomic fight or flight response had kicked into high gear. The problem with that was, there was no one there to fight and nowhere to run. There was nothing to do at all. Her heart felt cold and empty again. She felt the unfairness of this moment, after she had just begun to consider opening her heart again after so long. She felt paralyzed, trapped once again in the past. After Grace was killed, the police had immediately taken the shooter into custody. There were photos of him on the front page of every local newspaper and even some national ones. CNN had covered the story, as had Fox News. A reporter being gunned down on live television was big news no matter where it happened. Parker didn't watch any of the coverage. She wasn't sure she would have been allowed to even if she had wanted to with all the well-intentioned friends shielding her from any mention of Grace, the shooter or the murders.

  All Parker remembered from those first few days was feeling numb. She knew that following any of the news stories wouldn't bring Grace back to her, and that was all she cared about. She couldn't care less about political agendas or anyone's thoughts and prayers. She wanted her wife back, and that was the one thing, the only thing, she couldn't have. The phone rang off the hook with reporters wanting an interview with her and anti-gun lobbyists wanting her to advocate for tougher gun laws. The NRA even called to offer its sympathies and ask if perhaps, Parker would make the generalized “guns don't kill people, people kill people” statements. She didn't care about any of it. She gave no interviews and made no statements—not then or ever. She wasn't for or against tougher gun laws. It didn't matter to her. Her wife was dead, and she would never hold Grace or kiss her, or laugh or cry with her ever again. That was all that she could think about. Parker knew the shooter was in jail and that did bring her a modicum of comfort, she supposed. She never feared him, or having to face him, until now that is. The trial was held a few months later and Parker insisted on attending in the court audience. Sam tried for days to talk her out of it to no avail. Parker felt it was something that she had to do, for Grace, and for herself. So, she went, every day to the court house and stared at the back of Carl Porter's head. At first, violent fantasies took control of her thoughts. She imagined walking up the back of his chair with a baseball bat and beating him to death with it right there in front of God and the Judge and jury. She imagined shooting him with the gun that she kept in her nightstand at home. She knew on a logical level, of course, that her fantasies were a manifestation of her latent anger. Parker didn't have the capacity for that kind of violence within
her. Indulging in the momentary fantasies did bring her a few moments of peace. She shamefully admitted that to herself at the time. The guilty verdict didn't come as any surprise. Half the country had seen Porter commit the crime on television. The imposed sentence however, completely stunned Parker, and most everyone else following the story. On the basis of Porter’s history of mental illness, the jury found him guilty of second-degree murder as opposed to Capital Murder. He was sentenced to 20 years in prison with a chance of parole.

  Parker felt like she had lost Grace a second time when she heard the sentence read. She felt that she had failed her wife in every way. Tears finally came again as Parker remembered that day and those feelings. Funny, she didn't think she had any more tears to cry but here they were again. She was tired of crying. She was tired of the sadness and the emptiness and the guilt. She was just so very tired. She laid back on her bed and her thoughts turned to Dylan downstairs. Her heart ached when she remembered the lost look in Dylan’s eyes when she had said she wanted to be alone. She didn't want to hurt Dylan. It was the last thing in the world she wanted. Dylan was compassionate and kind. She was a caretaker to everyone. The only person Dylan seemed to be hard on was herself. She was, at her core, a good person and that scared Parker in some ways. She closed her eyes and thought of Grace. She took the framed photo from her bedside table and traced her finger down Grace's image. She looked at herself in the picture. She looked young and happy and free. She could barely remember what that felt like now. She had forgotten what it felt like not to hurt. She looked at Grace again. The pain of her loss never lessened. It remained a physical ache in her chest that was always with her. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “I miss you so much. Your eyes, your smile, your touch. But you're gone, Grace, and you aren't ever coming back. Tell me, love, how do I let you go?” Parker swiped at the solitary tear that ran down her cheek and returned the photo to the nightstand. Her head was pounding, and she was exhausted. She closed her eyes and in the space between one breath and the next, she was asleep.

  ***

  Dylan laid her head back on the couch and sighed, her thoughts consumed with the woman upstairs. Every fiber of her being screamed at Dylan to go to her, hold her, comfort her. She wasn't sure that was what Parker needed from her right now. She wasn't sure Parker needed or wanted anything from her at all, and that left a physical ache in Dylan’s chest. She had never been much for praying, but she did now. “If anyone is listening, I could use some help here. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help her. How do I show her that I love her, without scaring her away?” Dylan thought for a moment and then continued in a much lower voice. “Grace? If you are listening, if you can hear me at all, I am so very sorry for what happened to you. If I could, I would erase it all. I would make it all better for her. I can't do that, of course. I can't make any of it disappear for her, but I can love her. Please, help me love her.” Dylan closed her eyes and released a deep breath. Visions of Parker's eyes, her smile played behind her closed lids as she drifted off to sleep.

  ***

  Parker woke with a start and looked at the clock. She couldn't believe she had been asleep for two hours. She’d learned that sometimes your body has to steal what it needs from you and obviously her body needed rest. She stretched her cramped muscles and marveled at how much better she felt. Then she remembered the letter and leaving Dylan alone downstairs. “Oh, Dylan, I'm so sorry,” she whispered, pulling herself out of bed and headed for the stairs.

  Parker carefully made her way downstairs. When she reached the bottom stair, she stared at the woman sound asleep on the couch and smiled. Dylan had her head back, mouth slightly open and every few breaths she emitted a small snore. Parker covered her mouth to contain her laughter. “Absolutely adorable,” she whispered. She made her way quietly to the couch and laid a light blanket over Dylan's legs and chest. It was then that she noticed the envelope with the Department of Corrections label on lying on the coffee table. She felt sick to her stomach and the refreshed feeling she had achieved from her nap instantly disappeared. Her head started to pound again, and she could swear she could actually hear the blood racing through her veins.

  “Hey, you okay?” Dylan's sleepy voice broke through her haze.

  “Yes. No. I don't know.” Parker sat on the couch next to Dylan, keeping her eyes on the envelope as if it might become a venomous snake at any moment and bite her. “I don't think I even know what okay feels like anymore.”

  Dylan unconsciously put her hand on the small of Parker's back and started rubbing small comforting circles. Parker welcomed the contact and leaned into it. “Listen, Parker, you don't have to do anything that you don't want to do here. No one will think less of you if you don't go to that hearing. However, if you do want to go, or feel that you need to—I will be right by your side every step of the way.”

  Parker leaned her head on Dylan's shoulder and let a few tears trickle out. “I don't deserve you,” she whispered.

  Dylan let her arm drop to Parker's waist and she squeezed. “There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, Parker. Don't you know that?”

  Parker's breath caught in her throat as she lifted her head to look at Dylan. What she saw in Dylan’s eyes left her stunned. There was compassion and kindness which she expected, but there was also a fierce protectiveness and a softness that could only be love. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she closed her eyes and leaned forward. The first touch of Dylan's lips on her own sent electric tendrils shooting throughout her body. Dylan's lips were soft, and undemanding and she tasted fresh, like air after a spring rain. Someone moaned and Parker wasn't even sure which one of them it was. She felt Dylan's tongue line the outside of her lips, gently asking for permission to enter. Parker opened her mouth and the kiss deepened.

  Dylan moved her hands up Parker's sides and cupped her face reverently. Kissing Parker, she felt like a starving woman eating food for the first time in a month. She couldn't get enough of her and she never wanted it to end. Eventually, the need for air forced them to break away from each other. Both were breathing heavily. “Wow,” Dylan whispered, her eyes hazy and her lids heavy.

  “Yeah, wow,” Parker echoed, a blush infusing her cheeks.

  “Are you—I mean was that okay?” Dylan kept one hand on Parker's cheek. She had an irrational fear that if she stopped touching her, even for an instant than this feeling of euphoria would disappear forever.

  “I honestly don't know what that was,” Parker replied, taking her fingers to her lips. “But yes, it was very okay.”

  Dylan smiled, and brushed her thumb over Parker's lips. “I feel like I should apologize or something, but I'm not sorry. I have been wanting to do that for a very long time.”

  Parker put her head down. Suddenly she felt shy and confused and happy and sad all at the same time. It was too much. Her head was swimming and she felt as if she couldn't draw a deep enough breath. “You don't need to apologize Dylan, but I—” she hesitated not knowing what to say and definitely not wanting to hurt the woman who sat before her. “I don't know what any of this means—for me, for us. I just don't know if I'm ready yet, Dylan.” She looked up then and saw only understanding in the other woman's eyes.

 

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