Vivienne's Guilt

by Heather M. Orgeron

  Cassie walks up to me and grabs the phone from my hand as I sink to the floor. I don’t hear what she’s saying. I just know that she’s talking to the officer one moment and then helping me up and into her car the next. She talks to me in soothing tones the whole way to Memorial, but I don’t hear a word she says. I must be in shock. I feel like I’m under water. My sight is blurry and sounds are jumbled. I don’t know how I get from one place to the next, but my body must be cooperating because the next thing I know Cassie is rushing us through the emergency room doors. At that point, I come to enough to ask for my baby.

  I run over to the registration desk and introduce myself. “I’m Vivienne Parker. My husband, Abbott Parker and my...my daughter, Matilda Parker, were just brought in I guess thirty or forty minutes ago. I need to see them. Are they all right? Where’s my baby?”

  “Try to calm down and I’ll see what I can find out for you, okay?” she says as she walks off through a set of double doors.

  Cassie is rubbing my back and repeatedly telling me not to freak out until I know what’s going on, but I can feel it. I know it’s bad. I know that whatever news this woman brings back is going to rip my world to shreds. Because no one has it this good. No one gets to have it all and keep it. Eventually, something comes along to tip the scales. And the better you have it, it seems, the heavier the load.

  Then suddenly I recognize a squeaky little voice and nothing has ever sounded better to my ears. I leave Cassie with instructions to come for me when the receptionist returns and follow the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. I arrive at a curtained off triage room and peek my head inside. There on the hospital bed is my heart, and I finally feel like I can breathe again. She’s talking the ears off a male nurse, and neither has noticed my arrival.

  “And then, Cinderelly comed out and her singed like this.” Tillie gives her rendition of whatever song Cinderella sang and jumps right back into her story. “And Prince Abbott putted his fingers in his ears because him is a crazy Daddy! And then Cinderelly skaped around in circles.” She demonstrates with her pointer and middle finger, pretending they are the legs and moves them around in circles. When she asks where her daddy is and if he can take her to him, I finally remember why I am here.

  I rush through the curtain over to my sweet girl and swing her around in my arms. I cannot control the tears of relief that are flooding from my eyes. I kiss every inch of her little face and run my hands over her to assess for any damage.

  “She’s just fine, Miss. She may have a few bumps and bruises, but she appears to be just fine. Such a sweet girl you have here. I’ve enjoyed chatting with her about her date. Sounds like she had a great time,” the nurse says.

  “Mommy. Mommy, don’t cry. Why are you crying, Mommy?” Tillie’s eyes well up at the sight of my tears, and I try for all I am worth to suck it up and be brave for my sweet girl.

  “Mommy is just so happy to see you, baby girl. So, so happy! I was very scared.”

  “I’m just fine Mommy, see? Don’t cry. Big guhs don’t cry, like the song. Like my Daddy says, right, Mommy?”

  “Right, baby girl. That’s right.”

  “Mommy, my Daddy was bleeding a lot. I didn’t see him when I gotted here. I think they’re getting him Band-Aids. Can we find my Daddy? I want to kiss him better.”

  I look over to the nurse to make sure that it is okay for me to leave with her and he assures me that she is good to go. He hands me some discharge papers and information on concussions that I should be on the lookout for and wishes us well.

  I make my way back to registration with my heart literally in my hands. Cassie is pacing with a worried look on her face, which she does her best to cover when she sees us. “Hi, Bossyrella, I heard you had a hot date tonight. You look absolutely beautiful in that dress, my girl.”

  “Auntie Cass!” Tillie reaches over for Cassie, but I can’t bring myself to let her go.

  Cassie comes over and wraps her arms around us both and kisses Tillie’s cheeks. “Hold on to Mommy for a little longer, Boss Lady. She had quite a scare. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Okay, Auntie, I can do that. I’m a big guh, you know that? I’m gonna be free years old tomorrow!” She holds up four stubby little fingers to show Cassie. “Auntie, did you saw my daddy. Me and Mommy are going to find him and kiss his boo-boos. They taked him in another car. I don’t know where he is.”

  “No, baby. I don’t know where he is yet. We’re waiting for someone to come tell us.”

  I walk around the waiting room for what feels like hours—but is probably no more than minutes—mindlessly reading the public service announcements and medical pamphlets on the walls. The sterile smell is making me nauseous, or maybe that’s fear. I’m so terrified. What could possibly be taking so long? It’s close to midnight, and surprisingly, the waiting room is empty. I’m grateful for that fact when a doctor comes out of those double doors and calls my name. I pass Tillie off to Cassie and walk over alone. The mother in me knows to protect her innocent ears from the news I am about to receive. It’s that same part of me that manages to hold myself upright and not fall through that white speckled tile when Dr. Mullins’ first words are, “I’m sorry.”

  Vivienne

  “I’m sorry” is supposed to make everything better—not rip your fucking heart out. Those two little words are used so freely—so carelessly. Seldom do we lend them much thought. They are our free pass to forgiveness, which is most of the time undeserved. “I’m sorry” took on a whole new meaning when they fell from the lips of that emergency room doctor. “I’m sorry” just tore my world apart. Those two little words hold more power than I ever imagined.

  I’ve heard those same two words countless times in the last two days. Friends and family call to give their condolences, and always, always they say “I’m so sorry” because we believe that those two words somehow make things better. That they will help to alleviate some of the pain or maybe it just helps us feel better to say it. But “I’m sorry” no longer offers me comfort. Each time I hear those words, I am taken back to that place. To the smell of ammonia and medicine. To the single most devastating moment of my existence.

  “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save him. The EMTs tried to revive him on the way to the hospital, but they couldn’t bring him back.”

  They couldn’t bring him back. My husband. The love of my life. The father of my precious girl. Gone. His life dismissed with two. Little. Words. Lost at the hands of a drunk driver—an eighteen-year-old girl, who shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place. Her carelessness stole the life of the greatest man I have ever known. I don’t know how to even begin to process this—how to accept that this nightmare is actually my reality.

  I’ve spent the better part of the last two days hiding from my baby, and I feel like the world’s worst mother. Who does that? Who hides from their own child? Their child who just lost her father. I feel selfish and vile. I feel unworthy, but I can’t seem to pull myself together, and I can’t let her see me fall apart.

  I’m lying in our bed, my bed now, hugging his pillow and inhaling his scent. I need now more than ever to be wrapped in his strong arms. I need him to take this all away and make it better. Abbott always made everything better. I want to feel him—to taste him—and I know I will never again have that chance. I’ve replayed our last kiss over and over in my mind. It hardly seems fair that the last time our lips touched was a chaste, parting kiss. I want a do-over. I want to wrap myself around him and love him the way he deserved, to kiss him with everything in me. To leave him with a kiss that reflects how much he meant to me because, God, he meant everything to me.

  The funny thing about being so young is that you think you have all of the time in the world to make important decisions, like where you will be buried. In the nine years that we’ve spent together, five of those married, Abbott and I never had this discussion. It never felt like a priority. We had the rest of our lives to worry about such things. Well, the rest of Abbott’s l
ife came far sooner than we ever could have imagined.

  I need to pull myself together. I have arrangements to make and a daughter to care for. Taking a final sniff of Abbott’s pillow, I make my way to the shower. I vow to find my inner strength and to be the rock that my daughter needs. If I can’t be Abbott’s wife any longer, I can at least be the mother he would want for our child. Tillie deserves more than this.

  “Mommy!” Tillie runs across the room and jumps into my arms. “Are you all better now? Auntie Cass said you were sick and to let you sleep. But I reeeeeally wanted to wake you up because someone bringed me some new toys!” She hops down and pulls me over to the kitchen table and waves her hand at all of the presents that our neighbors and friends have so graciously dropped off for her.

  Yesterday was her birthday. Yesterday, on May 21st, my girl turned three years old, only hours after her father lost his life. I spent my daughter’s birthday locked away in my room. I feel sick with guilt. I am so ashamed. I fight back tears and feign excitement for her benefit. “Oh, wow! You are a lucky girl. Look at all of this stuff!” Lucky, hah!

  “People keep stopping by with gifts for Tillie and food. The fridge is loaded. Why don’t you go grab something to eat, Viv?” Cassie begs. The irony that our roles have suddenly reversed is not lost on me.

  Cassie has been here, loving my daughter, wiping her tears. She’s fed her, sang her to sleep, and even celebrated her birthday. All while I wallowed in my own misery. No more. No longer will I put my own grief above my daughter and my best friend.

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “You need your strength,” she says, looking at me sternly. “Tillie needs your strength,” she adds in a whisper.

  “Maybe I can eat a little something,” I concede. “Are you hungry, baby girl?”

  Tillie shakes her head at me. “No, tank you, Mommy. Auntie already feeded me. We ated some zahnia. It was soooo yummy!”

  “Well, then, I must have some of this amazing lasagna.” I walk over to the stainless fridge and pause to take in the photographs on the double doors. The first is of Abbott and me standing in front of our lake house. This was our dream home, and we brought it to life together. There’s another of Abbott and Tillie when she caught her first fish only a month ago. She’s beaming with that little perch dangling from her princess fishing pole. He was such a great father. I smile to myself and finally open up the fridge in search of this killer lasagna.

  I prepare myself a plate, even though the last thing I feel like doing is putting food into my mouth. Then, I walk over to the breakfast table and scoot a few toys out of the way to sit opposite Tillie and Cass. They’re putting together a ballerina puzzle. Matilda loves puzzles. Her face is all scrunched up in concentration. She brings me so much joy. I could just watch her for hours.

  “Are you going to call your father?” Cassie asks hesitantly.

  I scoff, “Is that a serious question?”

  She shrugs.

  “No. Honestly, I hadn’t even thought of him ’til you asked. I doubt he even knows I’m married, and he wouldn’t give a shit anyway, Cass. I haven’t seen him since I was thirteen, and the last time I heard from him was a card on my eighteenth birthday with a check to pay for my college tuition. Even if he would care, which is highly doubtful, there’s just too much that would need to be said between us and Abbott’s funeral is not the time.”

  Cassie nods. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “Has his mother called again?” I ask Cassie, dismissing the subject of my father, as I take another mouthful of lasagna. I could be eating cardboard and wouldn’t know the difference.

  “Only a dozen times. That woman is a ruthless bitch.”

  “Cassie! She just lost her son, and she’s...” I gesture my head toward Tillie and mouth her grandmother.

  “Oh, I know very well who she is. Does she?” she asks as she too motions to Tillie with her head. “His mother hasn’t seen him in years and thinks she has a right to dictate when the funeral is and where you bury him? You need to do what you feel is right. What Abbott would have wanted. And I can tell you that he would want to be here in the city where the two of you fell in love. Here with his daughter. Here where he was finally at peace and happy with his life. Why would you even entertain the idea of burying him back in Georgia where his grave would rot with neglect?”

  “I know you’re right.”

  “Damn straight I am! No one knew Abbott better than you, Viv. Even I knew him better than that shrew. I knew him enough to know that he would never want to be anywhere you’re not, even in death.”

  “All right, then, I guess it’s time that I contact the funeral home. Do you think two more days is enough notice to allow time for any family members who want to come down?”

  “Two days is more than enough time. Anyone who cares enough to be here will make it work. You can’t keep thinking of everyone else, Viv. Be considerate, sure, but we need to not drag this out any longer. It’s time to lay Abbott to rest and start figuring out how to go on without him.” Cassie bends under the table to grab a few puzzle pieces that fell and asks Tillie if she wants to go outside and swim so that I can make some phone calls.

  Matilda abandons her puzzle and runs off to her room to put on her swimsuit. I hear her little feet patter up the wood stairs and down the hall to her room.

  While we await Tillie’s return, Cassie pulls me into a tight hug. Through her own tears, she promises me that we will get through this. She’s here for Tillie and me. She will help me raise my daughter, and I know she will. Cassie loves my little girl as her own. Together, I know we will be okay. We have to be.

  Moments later, Tillie stands before us in her blue and white seersucker tankini with her initials embroidered on the front. It was Abbott’s favorite. He loved her in anything blue because he loved the way it brought out her eyes. His eyes. She has his eyes. She has his face. I don’t know how I will ever look at my girl and not see her father. It’s comforting, yet it hurts at the same time.

  “Mommy, will you come swimming with us?”

  “That sounds like a lot of fun, baby girl. Let Mommy handle some boring business calls and then I’ll be out there to join you and Auntie, ’kay?” She nods her head, and I slather on some sunscreen and tie up the back of her suit. “See you ladies in a few.”

  I make my way out back to my favorite area on the property: the pool. We really do have our own little slice of heaven out here. The goal was to feel like we were on vacation in our own backyard, and I am already feeling a little less tense. I watch Tillie climb up the rock steps to the slide, which doubles as a waterfall. She’s such a big girl. Swims like a fish already. I jump in and surprise her when I catch her at the bottom of the slide.

  “Mommy!” I will never tire of hearing the excitement in her sweet little voice every time she calls out my name. “Are you done wif your phone calls?”

  “I am. How about we spend the rest of the afternoon out here? No more phone calls, huh? Does that sound like a plan?” I glance over at Cassie, who smiles in agreement and then rises from the pool, wraps herself in a towel, and collects our phones.

  “I’m just going to put these naughty things away and grab us some lemonade. Be right back.”

  As I watch Cassie make her way back into the house, I feel Matilda’s hand on my cheek, pulling my face back toward hers. “Mommy?”

  “Yes, baby?”

  “When is my daddy gonna get not dead anymore?”

  My breath catches in my throat. Holy shit.

  Shit! Shit! Shit! I am so not prepared for this. Be strong for Tillie. Be strong for Tillie—my new motto.

  “Well, Daddy can’t not be dead anymore, sweetie. When you die, you go to heaven with Jesus, and you don’t ever come back.” He is never coming back...

  “But I don’t want my daddy to be dead. I want him to come back home wif us.” I don’t know how I won’t die from the pain of her broken heart. I could go my entire life wi
thout ever witnessing it again.

  “Oh, baby girl, Mommy does, too. I want him with us, too. He can’t come back, but we have our own angel. Daddy is up in heaven watching us now.”

  “Is heaven in the sky?” she asks as she looks up.

  Is there a book on how to explain these things to a three-year-old? Surely I am not qualified. I do the best I can and wing it. “Yes, Tillie. Heaven is way-way up in the sky.”

  “Well...I don’t want a angel in heaven. I want my daddy to come home. I want him to be in my house, not at heaven.” She crosses her chubby little arms on her chest and releases some of the largest tears I’ve ever seen. My composure is lost. I hold my baby, and I cry with her. Because, Goddamn it, I want that, too.

  So much for not letting her see me fall apart.

  Vivienne

  I stare out blankly from the altar of our church, and I am overwhelmed by the number of friends and family who’ve shown up to pay their respects. The shrew is here, front and center, and staring daggers at me. If looks could kill, let’s just say that Cassie would be planning my funeral next and inheriting a child. Cass and Tillie are seated in chairs to my right. I wanted them up here with me. I need their strength if I am to have any chance of keeping it together. The three of us united. It’s how it will be from now on.

  I take one last look over at my girls and feel Cassie’s cold fingers tighten around mine. Our eyes meet, and she gives me an encouraging smile as I rise from my seat, smoothing down the fabric of my black skirt. When I move to take a step forward, the room begins to spin. I close my eyes, pulling in deep breaths and blowing them out slowly. With measured, careful steps, I inch my way over to the podium and grip the wooden top with trembling hands. Tears well in my eyes, and my throat begins to collapse in on itself as my heart thrums loudly in my ears. This is it, I think to myself. This is goodbye.